"That's not?—"
"Isn't it?" I take a step toward him, my hands clenched into fists. "You don't give a shit about me. You just want to make sure your heir is safe and sound. Well, guess what? I haven't decided if I'm keeping it yet. Maybe that’s where I was trying to run to. Somewhere I can finish what I started when you grabbed me."
His face goes very still. "What?"
"You heard me." I spit the words out, wanting to hurt him. "I haven't decided. And you can't make me. You can lock me in this apartment, you can watch me every second of every day, but you can't force me to?—"
He moves so fast I don't have time to react. He picks me up and—carefully, I have to admit—puts me back through the window, depositing me in the living room before following me inside, clearly determined not to have this argument on the rickety fire escape. He reaches for my wrist, turning me to face him.
"Don't." His voice is low and deadly. "Don't even think about it."
"Or what?" I try to pull away, but his grip is iron. "What are you going to do, Kazimir? Hit me? Hurt me? Punish me like you did back at the cabin?"
Heat flashes in his eyes—heat and anger and clear lust at the memory of that night.
"If you weren't pregnant," he says, his voice rough, "I'd do exactly that."
My heart slams against my ribs, and I feel a bloom of lust in my own veins, which I try desperately to ignore. "Of course you would. I wouldn't put it past you to abuse a pregnant woman."
He laughs, and the sound makes my skin prickle.
"Abuse?" He leans in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Is that what you call it? Because I remember it differently. I remember you soaking my fingers. I remember you begging me not to stop."
Heat floods my face. "I did not?—"
"I had you on the verge of coming all over my hand." His voice drops lower, intimate and cruel. "You were so close, weren't you? So desperate. And you want to call that abuse?"
"Let go of me." My voice shakes, and I hate that he can see how much his words affect me.
"You enjoyed it." He's so close now I can feel the heat of his body. "Admit it. You enjoyed every second of what I did to you."
"I didn't?—"
"Liar." His free hand comes up to cup my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "Your body doesn't lie, Svetlana. I felt how wet you were. How ready. How much you wanted it."
"Stop." The word comes out as barely a whisper.
"Do you know what I did after?" His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I feel the touch everywhere, down to my center, my clit suddenly throbbing as if he touched me there instead. "After I left you there, aching and desperate? I went outside, and I jerked myself off with your arousal still on my hand."
Oh God.
"I used it." His voice is rough, raw. "The feel of you, the smell of you, while I stroked myself. Came so hard I could barely stand. I came in the snow while I could taste you on my tongue."
I can't breathe. Can't think. The image he's painting is obscene, filthy, and my body is responding, no matter how much I don't want it to.
"There are other ways I could punish you." His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. "I could make you beg."
"I would never?—"
"You would." He pulls me closer, until our bodies are nearly pressed together, the small gap of space between us making me ache to lean in. I fight against it with everything I have. "I could make you beg so prettily. Make you plead for me to let you come. Make you admit how much you want it."
His mouth is so close to mine I can almost taste him.
"I could tie you down." His voice is barely above a whisper now, low and dark. "Spread you open. Use my mouth on you until you're crying. Until you're so desperate you'd promise me anything just to feel me inside you."
My breath hitches. I know he hears it.
"I could make you come over and over until you can't remember your own name." His breath is warm against my lips, the echo of his body touching mine. "Until the only word you know ismine."
