Page 39 of Stolen Empire

Before she can move, before she can even think about running, I'm on her.

I grab her wrist and yank her forward, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall.

Her back is pressed to my chest, and I can feel every inch of her body against mine, the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the heat radiating off her skin.

My other hand comes up to brace against the wall beside her head, caging her in, and I lean down so my mouth is close to her ear.

"Careful," I murmur, and my voice is nothing but a growl.

"You keep throwing things at me, and I'm going to start thinking you want my attention."

She tries to twist away, but I don't let her.

I lock my grip on her wrist, not enough to hurt but enough to keep her still, and I feel her body go rigid against mine.

God, she feels good.

The curve of her back against my chest, the way her ass presses against me when she struggles, the scent of her hair—it's driving me insane.

I want to slide my hand down her body, feel the shape of her under my palm, find out if she's as soft as I imagine.

I want to turn her around and kiss her until she stops fighting, until she melts into me and admits she wants this too.

But I don't.

"Would you fuck me for your freedom?" I ask, and the words come out as raw as the desire I feel for her.

She goes completely still, and I feel the shift in her breathing, the way her body tenses in a different way now.

"That's the deal," I continue.

"You do this job for me. You infiltrate the Radich crew, you get me the information I need, and you sleep with me. One time. And then I let you go. You walk out of here, you go back to Perm or Moscow or wherever the hell you want, and you never see me again."

She twists in my grip, and I loosen my hold just enough to let her turn.

Her face is inches from mine now, her eyes blazing with fury.

I swear I see desire in her expression too, like she's fighting the desire to fuck me instead of just giving in.

"You're going to take it anyway," she snips, and then she spits in my face. "Men like you don't ask for consent."

The saliva hits my cheek, and for a moment I don't move.

I just stand there, letting it sit, feeling the insult of it.

Then I release her wrist and step back, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

The defiance, the fire, the absolute refusal to submit—it makes me want her even more.

I'm so fucking turned on by how she fights me, I'm actually tempted to do exactly as she said.

I'm not the sort of man to harm a woman, but she's driving me insane, pushing me to my limits.

"I'm not going to take anything from you," I tell her, and my voice is calmer now.

"I'm a gentleman, Katya. I won't lay a hand on you without your consent."

She stares at me, disbelief written all over her face as she rubs her wrists.