Page 86

“That anyone would.” She pushes off from the door, taking a step closer. “My father made it clear I was property to be traded. Anton saw me as something to break.” Her eyes meet mine, fierce and vulnerable. “You're the only one who's ever seen me as worth saving.”

The space between us is charged with electricity. I can smell her shampoo and see the pulse hammering at her throat. Every instinct screams at me to close the distance, to claim what I fought for.

But I force myself to stay still.

“Katarina—”

“Don't.” She moves closer, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes. “Don't tell me this was just about strategy or preventing an alliance. Don't lie to me.”

My jaw clenches. “It wasn't.”

“Then what was it?” Her hand lifts toward my chest, hovering inches from contact. The air between her palm and my shirt burns. “What was it, Erik?”

“You know what it was.”

Her fingers finally make contact, pressing flat against my chest. I can feel my heart hammering against her palm, giving away every secret I've tried to keep buried.

“Say it.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I need to hear you say it.”

The words stick in my throat. I've killed men without hesitation and torn apart empires, but three simple words feel impossible.

“I couldn't let him have you.” The admission tears out of me. “The thought of his hands on you, of him—” My hands clench into fists at my sides. “I would have burned down the entire city before I let that happen.”

Her breath catches. “Erik.”

“I started a war for you.” The truth spills out like blood from a wound. “My brothers think I've lost my mind. Igor's already hit our operations. Everything we've built is at risk because I couldn't?—”

Her mouth crashes against mine, cutting off my words. The kiss tastes like desperation and relief, like coming home afteryears in exile. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us.

I break away, breathing hard. “This complicates everything.”

“Good,” she whispers against my lips. “I'm tired of simple.”

Her admission breaks the last thread of my restraint. I slam her back against the door, my mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear that makes her gasp.

“Mine,” I growl against her throat. “You're fucking mine.”

“Yes.” The word comes out breathless, desperate. Her nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt. “I'm yours.”

I bite down on her pulse point, marking her, and she arches against me with a moan that shoots straight to my cock. Three weeks. Three weeks since I've had her beneath me, since I've heard those sounds she makes when I take her apart piece by piece.

“I dreamed about you,” she pants as I tear at her sweater, needing skin, needing contact. “Every night in that room. Your hands, your mouth?—”

Her sweater hits the floor. I palm her breast through her bra, rough and demanding. “What else?”

“Your cock filling me.” Her eyes meet mine, dark with want. “The way you make me come so hard I forget my own name.”

“Fuck.” The word comes out strangled. I unhook her bra with one hand, watching her pupils dilate as the fabric falls away. “Tell me what you need.”

“Everything.” Her hands unfasten my belt. “I need you to fuck me like you own me. Like you'd kill for me.”

“I would.” My voice turns savage as I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist.

She laughs, wild and reckless, and the sound makes my chest tight. This woman—brilliant, fearless, completely fucking unhinged—chose me. Chose this chaos we create together.

I carry her to the bed, dropping her onto the mattress before tearing off my shirt. Her jeans disappear in seconds, and then she's spread beneath me in nothing but black lace that I rip away without ceremony.

“Two weeks,” I growl, settling between her thighs. “Two weeks without tasting you?—”