He freezes immediately, but doesn't step back. "You don't mean that."
He's right. I don't. My body is already responding, already aching for his touch despite my anger. Maybe because of it.
"I hate you," I lie.
"No, you don't." He spins me around, pressing my back against his chest. We're facing the windows, our images reflected back at us. "Look at yourself."
I see what he sees—my flushed face, dilated pupils, the rapid rise and fall of my chest.
"You're already mine," he murmurs against my ear. "Your body knows it even if your mind won't accept it."
"I belong to no one."
"Liar." His hand slides down to my stomach, possessive and gentle at once. "You belong to me. Have since the moment I pulled you from that fire."
"Mikhail—"
"Watch." He turns us slightly so we're facing the mirror by the entrance. "Watch what you do to me. Watch what I do to you."
His hands are methodical, removing my clothes with careful efficiency despite the hunger I can feel vibrating through him. When I'm naked except for my underwear, he stops.
"Look at yourself," he commands. "Beautiful. Strong. Mine."
"I'm not—"
He bites the junction of my neck and shoulder, hard enough to mark. I gasp, my knees going weak.
"That's going to bruise," I protest.
"Good. I want everyone to see. Want them to know you're claimed."
"I have to hide it—"
"From who? Your nonexistent job?" His hand cups me through my underwear, finding me embarrassingly wet. "Your body's more honest than your mouth, little wolf."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
I try to turn, to take control, but he holds me in place. Makes me watch as he plays my body like an instrument he's been studying for years.
"Tell me you're mine," he demands, his fingers doing things that should be illegal.
"No."
"Tell me." He adds another finger, and my vision goes white at the edges.
"I—fuck—I can't—"
"Tell me you're mine and I'll let you come."
"That's not fair—"
"Nothing about this is fair." He slows his movements, keeping me right on the edge. "Say it."
"I belong to no one," I manage through gritted teeth.
"Liar. Your body knows who owns it." He proves his point by doing something with his thumb that makes me see stars. "Say it, Mariana. Three words."
