Page 58 of Captive Prize

Roman just cocked his eyebrow at me, silently asking if I was serious.

"I’ll still fight you. Tooth and nail. You will never break me."

There was something forbidden and thrilling about watching the iron grip a man kept around his self-control at all times simply shatter.

His dark, calculating eyes widened and became wild, lit by lunacy from within.

"Changes nothing?" He stalked around the bed toward me.

I shrank back, pulling my feet up and pressing myself to the headboard as I tried to inch away from him.

Everything still hurt, but my instincts overrode the pain and told me to flee.

Not that it mattered. He was too fast, and I was too sore.

In an instant, his body was on top of mine, his hips pinning mine down to the bed as his hands gripped the headboard, caging me in.

He leaned forward, his face inches from mine, and stared down at me.

I stared back, meeting his rage with defiance.

"If you get hurt, you could bleed out and die. Do you fucking understand that?"

"Oh, is the big bad bratva enforcer, the demon of the Ivanovs, worried that I might get hurt?" I taunted. Roman terrified me. My heart was racing, and a cold sweat ran down my spine. He didn’t need to know that. "How did you think this was goingto end, Roman? A tickle fight? Or did you think you could just spank me into submission?"

"I can try," he countered.

"I am not a damsel in distress that needs the big, muscular man to come and save me. You forget who I am. I can play with the big boys."

"So, what? You risk your life to prove a point?" he growled, lowering his head a little further.

His breath brushed my lips and tasted of sweet, spicy rum.

"If I die, I die."

His growl vibrated through the space between us, making my skin prickle with an intoxicating blend of fear, arousal, and anticipation.

"You goddamn stubborn woman." His hand moved from the headboard to around the back of my neck and his lips slammed down onto mine.

This wasn’t a kiss.

It wasn’t a show of affection or passion. It was a fucking battle.

A warning. A punishment. All wrapped up in a claim.

I shoved against his chest, fought against his weight, but he was immovable. He called me stubborn, but he was even worse.

I pushed against his chest again. He still didn’t move, so I pressed my nails into his flesh, carving little half-moons into his warm skin through his clean cotton T-shirt.

He growled again, a raw primal sound that sent something sharp and hot through me, tightening my stomach, heating my desire.

My body betrayed me again.

How could I control others when I couldn’t even control my own body, or the way it melted for this man?

I stilled under him, not accepting, but not fighting either.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still dark, his pupils blown wide and his breathing heavy. His expression unreadable.

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