Page 129 of Fierce Pursuit

Even if some shameful, buried part of me liked it when he was a brute.

Marrying him was impossible.

"See, that right there," I said, grasping for logic, for reason. "I can’t marry you. You’re my brother.”

“Brother-in-law,” he corrected smoothly, as if that changed anything.

And I hated that it did.

He wasn’t my blood. There was no shared DNA, no biological tie. But it was still morally wrong.

“You’re married to my sister.”

“Was married.” His voice was steady, without remorse. “I owe your sister nothing. Neither do you. You will be my wife.”

A chill ran down my spine despite the heat of the water.

“Not that you bothered asking,” I spat, shoving against his chest. “But no. I won’t.”

I twisted in his grip, fighting like hell, managing to pull myself up a few inches.

Before his fingers wrapped around my wrist and wrenched me back down.

My breath hitched.

He was done playing.

“I am warning you,moy zaichonok.”

His voice was pure steel, a razor’s edge pressed against my throat.

A shiver ran through me.

This wasn’t a fight I could win.

Not like this.

I hated when he called me that.

That stupid, possessive term of endearment. I hated how it made something deep inside me clench, how itmade me want to run to him, let him hold me, let him claim me.

“Warning me?” I laughed, though my voice shook. “What are you going to do if I don’t marry you?”

“You will marry me.” He said it with a casual shrug, like it had already been decided, like my protests were nothing more than background noise. “But if you don’t start behaving, I’ll show you what happens to little brats who don’t do as they’re told.”

“Fuck you.” I spat the words, jerking away from him, my body coiled with resistance.

A flicker of something dark crossed his face. Annoyance. Hunger. And beneath it all, something that almost looked like respect. As if he wanted this fight. As if he liked that I didn’t make it easy.

“Just remember,” he murmured, “you asked for this.”

His hand shot out, gripping my hair, twisting it in his fist as he rose to his knees. A sharp gasp ripped from my throat when he wrenched me forward, bending me over the smooth, damp edge of the tub.

I clawed at the marble lip, trying to push myself up, trying to crawl away, but he was already there, his hands branding my skin, keeping me locked in place. The cold porcelain bit into my stomach, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water still swirling around my thighs.

“I already spanked you once before,” he said, his voice rich with cruel amusement as his palm caressed the curve of my ass. “You fought me then too. I thought you’d learned your lesson.”

His fingers trailed lower, slow, teasing. Threatening. “Clearly, a more intense punishment is needed.”

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