Page 56 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“So you’d rather keep me in the dark forever?” Her breathing has quickened, though whether from anger or our proximity, I can’t tell. “Treat me like a liability instead of an asset?”

“You’re not a liability.” The words come out rougher than intended. “You’re—”

“What?” She pushes slightly against my chest, but the movement is halfhearted.

“Mine.”

“You’re awfully confident about that.”

“I am.” I lean closer, my mouth near her ear.

Her breath catches at the implication. “You’re trying to distract me from the actual argument.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

Her pulse is racing visibly in her throat, and her hand is still fisted in my shirt. “We’re not done discussing this.”

“We’re not done,” I agree, letting my hand slide from her jaw down the side of her neck. “We can table it for now.”

“Why would we table it?” She stops when my fingers find her pulse point, pressing lightly. “Pavel.”

“Yes?” I trace the rapid flutter with deliberate slowness. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that, uh…” Her words falter when I lean in, my mouth hovering just above the spot my fingers are touching. “That you’re being manipulative.”

“And?” I don’t kiss her throat, just let her feel my breath against sensitive skin.

“It’s not going to work.” But she tilts her head back slightly, giving me better access despite the protest.

“No?” I move fractionally closer, not quite making contact. “You seem fairly affected right now.”

“I’m angry at you.” Her voice lacks conviction.

“I know.” My free hand finds her hip again, fingers spreading across the curve possessively.

She makes a small sound that’s definitely not anger.

“We’re still arguing,” I agree against her skin. “That doesn’t change the fact that I want to bend you over this desk right now. Want to remind you exactly why you chose to stay despite disagreeing with how I handle protection.”

“That’s not resolving anything.”

“No, but it would feel good.” I pull back to look at her properly. “Wouldn’t it?”

Her eyes are dark with want that mirrors my own, her breathing rapid and shallow. “Yes.”

The honest admission makes heat spike through me. I could have her right now—she’s already responding, already leaning into my touch, already showing every sign of wanting exactly what I’m offering.

Something holds me back.

“Tell me what you need,” I say quietly. “Partnership means asking instead of taking.”

She blinks, clearly surprised by the question. “What?”

“You want me to treat you as an equal. To include you in decisions.” My thumb traces her hip bone through the fabric of her jeans. “So decide. Tell me what happens next.”

She struggles visibly with the sudden shift in dynamic. “I don’t know.”