Page 99 of Sinful Blaze

He sighs. “Daph?—”

“No. None of this ‘Daph, listen’ bullshit. I want the truth! Did you mark me? With this?” I shake my fist at him, the necklace dangling from my clenched fingers.

His jaw clenches. I have to make a solid effort to ignore the way the hot water is dripping down his muscular chest and washboard abs and…

No. No distractions. I’m not going to be manipulated by this pretty man again.

Pasha, however, has other ideas.

He grabs me by the waist and hauls me into the shower, ignoring my yelp of surprise when he moves me under the spray before pinning me to the wall.

“Of course I marked you.” He says it like it’s the most obvious, acceptable thing in the world.

I need to be angry. I should shove against him and tell him to stay the hell away from me.

But if I touch him, I’ll be touching his chest.

His naked, warm, wet chest.

It doesn’t help that he’s caged me in. He’s bracing his hands against the wall on either side of my head, and I get the impression that if I were to try to duck under them, he’d just catch me and shove me right back to where I am.

And, God help me, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave at all.

“Well, don’t!” I clench my fists and keep them at my sides. I won’t give in to the growing temptation hammering at the back of my brain. “I am not your property!”

“No,” he agrees, “but you are the mother of my child.”

“Like that has anything to do with it!”

“It has everything to do with everything.” The most infuriating thing about this confrontation is how goddamn calm Pasha remains, whereas I’m moments away from screeching like a vulture and slapping that smirk off his face. “If you think I’m going to let you wander around the city unprotected and unmarked, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

My bottom lip trembles. I don’t know if it’s more rage or my willpower crumbling, but he notices. He notices and locks his gaze on my mouth, heat flaring in his eyes.

“Do you not realize how fucking tempting you look?” Pasha lowers his hands, but only to graze down my sides and pin me closer to the wall with his body. “Do you not even notice the way men stare at you, just as hungry for you and your beautiful moans as I am?”

My breath catches in my throat.

Can’t say I’ve noticed that in particular, nope.

“So forgive me,” he drawls sarcastically without an ounce of actual apology, “for wanting to make sure that no one in their right mind gives in to any wrong ideas.”

I swallow back a moan. His hands keep rubbing, stroking, caressing me as he speaks.

“You’re mine,” Pasha rumbles in my ear. “And I can think of so many different ways to make sure the whole world knows it. This is only the beginning.”

I scoff, but only so he doesn’t notice how close I am to moaning. “Is this just some one-way street, then?”

He pulls back, but only far enough to look me in the eyes.

Like he’s waiting for me to do something.

Like he’s waiting for me to answer that question for him.

My lips crush against his in a searing, angry kiss. I don’t just thread my fingers through his wet hair—I tug and pull him to me so he knows I’m not playing around.

He wants to stake his claim? Fine.

I’m staking mine.

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