20. Maxim
TWENTY
MAXIM
I ’ve had one hell of a fucking day, and for her to ask this of me right now—it feels like too much. My mind is a tangled mess, and I’m not in the right headspace to explain everything weighing on me. I still can’t make sense of the bomb my IT guy dropped on me earlier. I’m afraid to even say it out loud—afraid it will make it real. If it stays locked in my head, at least I can keep pretending it’s nothing until it eventually shatters me.
“Talk to me,” she whispers, her voice soft but insistent as she wraps her arms around me, her head resting on my shoulder. “Whatever you’re dealing with…you’re not a burden. I want to help.” The words hang in the air, but the room is otherwise silent, save for the sound of our breaths mingling. I don’t know how long we stay like that, her warmth grounding me, before she speaks again, her voice laced with longing. “Please.”
I let out a slow breath, the tension in my shoulders easing just slightly, and sink to the cold tile of the shower floor. The sound of the water running, the rhythm of it, is a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind.
“I don’t know where to start,” I admit, my voice rough.
She doesn’t hesitate. Without a word, she lowers herself to the floor, settling between my legs, her arms draping over my thighs. The weight of her presence is like a lifeline, and I’m pulled back into the moment by the simplicity of her touch. The water falls over us, the chill of it momentarily cutting through the heat building between us. I look at her—really look at her—and everything inside me tightens. She’s perfect in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
But this isn’t just about her body. It’s about something deeper, something unspoken that we’ve never quite acknowledged. I need her—more than I’ve ever needed anything—and I can feel her need for me too, palpable in the air between us. I need to forget the weight on my chest, forget the storm raging in my mind, if only for a while. The desperate hunger for connection overrides everything else, and before I can second-guess myself, I pull her closer, ignoring her startled protest, and settle her onto my lap, her legs straddling me.
Her breath catches in her throat, and I know she’s about to say something—probably tell me to slow down, to talk, to face whatever’s broken inside me—but before she can, I kiss her. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s urgent, raw, a plea for her to feel what I’m feeling. She resists for a second, and then, just as quickly, she melts into me, her hands trembling as they thread through my hair, down my back, across my chest.
“I need to be inside of you,” I murmur against her lips, my voice rough with need. The words sound almost too vulnerable, but I can’t stop them. “I need to feel you, to know I’m not alone in this, in everything that’s been tearing me apart.” I press soft kisses along her neck, my hands roaming over her skin as I whisper against her ear, “I need to hear you scream my name, Sophia. I need to get lost in you, in us. Please.”
She gasps, her body trembling against mine as she whispers, “Yes.” It’s all she says, but it’s enough, enough to strip away the remaining fragments of my control.
Before I can think, I kiss her again, deeper this time, our tongues fighting for dominance, a silent understanding between us. My hand slides over her chest, finding her nipple, hard and sensitive beneath my touch. She lets out a soft, almost pleading sound, her body arching into me as my own desire flares, the pressure building inside me.
“Mine,” I growl, the word slipping out without thought. I lower my mouth to her breast, taking her nipple between my lips, sucking gently at first, then harder, as if I can mark her, as if I can pull all of her inside me and make her a part of me in a way words never could. She arches against me, her hands clutching at my shoulders, her body responding to every touch, every kiss.
“I need you,” I whisper, my lips grazing over her skin, moving from one breast to the other, my hands never leaving her, as though I’m trying to memorize every inch. “I need you more than you’ll ever know.”
“Please,” she begs, her voice breathless.
For a moment, I slide her down my body, taking a second to undo my belt, unbutton my pants, and drag down the zipper, freeing myself from the ache that has been building all day. I lift her up, positioning myself at her entrance, and slowly lower her onto me, giving her time to adjust to the fullness.
“So fucking tight,” I rasp, my voice hoarse with desire. She feels incredible, like nothing I’ve ever known. I can’t think straight. “Ready, baby?” I ask, trying to hold back, needing her permission before I lose control.
She grips my shoulder, her nails digging in slightly as she nods, her breath hitching. “How do you want it?”
“Hard,” she whispers, her voice tinged with need.
“As you wish,” I reply, my breath shaking with relief. Thank fuck, because I don’t have the strength to go slow right now.
I lower my hands to her hips, gripping them tightly, and thrust up into her, burying myself deep. My eyes roll back at the overwhelming tightness.
“Oh God,” she moans, her body trembling on top of me. She starts to move, her rhythm matching mine, and every second feels like heaven. She is perfect. Every single time, she’s perfection. She is my addiction, my weakness, my salvation.
I open my eyes and catch the way she throws her head back, her breasts bouncing with each movement. My hands roam over her body, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples.
“Oh God, Maxim, yes. Oh, fuck. I’m so close,” she gasps, her voice breaking with the pleasure she’s losing herself in. Her moans push me, urging me to move faster, harder. I obey, thrusting deeper, my hips slamming against hers, hitting that spot that drives her crazy.
She digs her nails into my shoulder, the sharp sting only adding to the pleasure, and she starts to move faster, matching my frantic pace. Our breaths are heavy, tangled together, drowning out everything else. Her body clenches around me, and with a cry of my name, she comes, her release tearing through her, shaking my control to pieces.
“Maxim!” Her voice is desperate, for me, for this connection, and her orgasm sends me over the edge. With one last powerful thrust, I spill inside her, my body wracked with pleasure as she collapses onto me, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.
I loosen my grip on her hips, pulling her closer, wrapping my arms around her, my hands gently caressing her back as we stay like that, tangled together.
I’m not sure how long we stay there—seconds, minutes, hours? I don’t care. The water continues to fall around us, but it feels like nothing could disturb this moment. I close my eyes and breathe her in—the scent of vanilla with a hint of lavender wraps around me, soothing the chaos inside.
This…this is what I want. To come home to her, to leave everything else behind. To forget about the weight on my shoulders until I’m ready to face it. So why does my stomach feel tight with knots?
Because she asked you to be open with her.
Why is it so hard for me to do? I want to tell her about my day, about everything that has been weighing on me, but I’m scared—scared of her leaving. Things are already hard for her, and when she realizes it’ll never get easier, she’ll walk away.
No. She loves you.
I spend a few more minutes, internally battling whether to unload on her. I know what I need to say, but the truth is, it’s not going to be easy for her. She has been through hell, fought her way back, and I’m terrified what I’m about to say will set her healing back—destroy any progress she’s made. But I also know she won’t stop asking. She won’t let me sweep it under the rug with a half-assed excuse. I can’t lie to her.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, and before I can change my mind, I blurt it out, the words spilling out of me like a confession I’ve been holding back for too long. “We found some incriminating evidence on Andrei. We think he might be behind everything that’s been going on.”
I brace myself for her reaction, ready for anything—anger, disbelief, maybe even fear. But I don’t think I’m ready for what I see next.
She lifts herself up from my chest, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and concern. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her breathing shallow. “What sort of incriminating evidence?”
“Money transfers to multiple accounts. One of them is Marco’s bank account. All under Andrei Sidorova—my mother’s maiden name.” I take a shaky breath, knowing the worst is yet to come. “We found emails where Andrei’s feeding someone information about me, my business, the blueprints for all my properties…details about you. About my staff. Names. Pictures.”
Her face hardens, and without another word, she climbs off me, turning off the water. She grabs a towel and dries herself, but I can see her hands shaking. I know it’s not just from the cold or from what I’ve told her. She’s processing something, something I’m not sure she’s ready to face.
I stand, my clothes soaked through, and I strip them off, letting them fall to the bathroom floor. I grab my own towel and dry myself off before following her out of the shower, my chest tightening with a sense of dread. I find her sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall, brushing her hair with a numbness I can’t ignore. Did I make a mistake? Should I have kept this to myself? But I know I can’t lie to her, not anymore.
I walk over to her drawers, grab some underwear and a pair of pajamas, and turn back to her. She’s so lost in her head, she doesn’t even protest as I help her get dressed. She doesn’t push me away, doesn’t tell me she’s not a child. Her silence screams louder than words, and it’s crushing me. My heart begins to pound as worry for her—fear, maybe—starts to settle in my chest.
I gently lower her back onto the bed and pull the covers over her, hoping the warmth will calm her shaking. But I don’t speak. I just get dressed in silence, trying to ignore the ache inside me as I watch her.
When I’m finished, I leave the room to make her a cup of tea, desperate to do something—anything—to ease the tension. When I return, she’s exactly as I left her, staring at the wall, lost in her thoughts. I set the cup on the nightstand, the sound snapping her out of her stupor.
“You think Andrei had me kidnapped?” she asks, her voice heavy with emotion. Those six words carry so much weight. “Andrei and I don’t have the best relationship, but I don’t think he would do this—not to me, not to you.”
I sigh and sit beside her on the bed. She props herself up on her elbows and looks at me, her expression a mix of confusion and frustration. “All the evidence points to him,” I admit, my voice uncertain. “It’s hard to accept, but I can’t let my feelings cloud my judgment. I have to follow the facts, no matter how difficult it is, until I know otherwise.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” she asks, anger flickering in her eyes.
I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. “It was complicated. I didn’t want to believe it myself, and you’ve been dealing with so much already. I didn’t want to add to your burden.”
She reaches out, her hand warm against my cheek. “You’re not a burden,” she says softly, her words soothing some of the tension knotted inside me. “But listen to your heart on this, Maxim. It doesn’t add up. Andrei being your brother is no secret, and your mother’s maiden name isn’t exactly hard to find.”
Her words give me a flicker of hope, a lifeline I didn’t realize I needed.
Sophia yawns, her exhaustion catching up to her.
“Get some sleep,” I urge gently. “You need to rest.”
“I can keep talking if you want,” she offers, her voice quieter now. As much as I’d love to keep the conversation going—because talking to her eases my mind—I know she needs sleep more than anything.
I lean in and press a quick kiss to her lips. “Take a nap. I’ll be fine.”
She studies me for a moment, as if to make sure I mean it, then nods. “Alright,” she says, settling back down against the pillows.
I lie beside her, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts spiraling as I try to make sense of everything. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing soft and steady beside me. Reaching over, I grab my phone, my mind still racing. I glance at the time—5 p.m. It’s still early. I’ll get some work done while she rests. If she hasn’t woken up by 8, I’ll wake her up to eat. She didn’t eat lunch today—she went straight from the clinic to home, and I know she has been neglecting herself.
I laugh softly to myself, shaking my head. She always throws it in my face that I act like a mother hen, but right now, I feel like one. It’s hard not to when she doesn’t take care of herself. Life would be so much easier if she just listened, but then, she wouldn’t be the woman I fell in love with.
I settle into the recliner, pulling my computer towards me, and dive into a contract my realtor sent me. The quiet click of the keys and the steady hum of the house are the only sounds in the room.
I’ve been looking for a place for us for months. Something away from the city, away from the past. A fresh start. I found it—an hour and a half away from the chaos of her clinic and the city life. It’s far from the bullshit that has followed us, the shadows of old memories that haunt us both. This house could be ours.
My plan was to give the Volkov residence to Andrei and Elena, but if what we found out is true, then he won’t get a damn thing from me. I could feel the rage bubbling up when I first learned the truth—my fingers itched to grab my Glock, find Andrei, and put a bullet in his head. But the phrase “he’s your brother” kept echoing in my mind, holding me back.
I know my instincts are to act—fight first, ask questions later—but I can’t afford to go down that path right now. He is my brother, no matter what, and I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. But that doesn’t mean I’m not torn up inside. This isn’t just about business or betrayal; it’s about everything I’ve ever known being turned upside down. And right now, I need to focus on what’s in front of me: her.
I release a sigh and sink deeper into the chair, resting my head against the headrest, closing my eyes in an attempt to soothe the pounding headache that has been lingering, relentless, for days. What the hell am I supposed to do if everything we found is true? If Andrei’s behind everything—the hit on me, Sophia’s kidnapping? My mind spins, replaying every moment of the last couple of months—hell, the last couple of years. He was the one who got shot, not me. Could it have been an accident, or did he orchestrate it so I wouldn’t see this coming? Nothing adds up.
He and I have always been close—always had each other’s backs. Sure, we’ve fought over stupid shit, but we’ve always made up. There has never been a hint of resentment between us. Could I have been wrong about our bond this whole time? What if all there is now is hate—resentment I never saw coming?
Her sweet perfume lingers in the air before I feel her hands gently resting on my shoulders. Instinctively, I grab her hands, pressing a soft kiss to each one.
“Hi,” she says, her voice soft, sleepy.
“Hey, krasavitsa. Did you have a good nap?”
“Yes,” she answers, walking around the recliner to sit on my lap, resting her head on my chest. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. I felt drained after…well, after everything today. You needed me, and I wasn’t able to be there.”
I press my index finger to her lips, silencing her with a gentle but firm gesture. I hate hearing her apologize like that. How many times do I need to tell her to stop?
“Please stop apologizing, Sophia.”
“You needed me, and I wasn’t there,” she insists, rolling her eyes in frustration.
“And aren’t you here now? Or did you develop the ability to project yourself from an undisclosed location?” I tease, holding back a laugh, grateful for this light moment.
She smacks my chest playfully, a small laugh escaping her lips. “You’re hilarious. Have you quit your job to become a stand-up comedian?”
My eyebrows shoot up, the corner of my mouth tilting into a half-smile. I love that she can bring a little bit of humor into this madness.
“Have you talked to your brother about what you found?” she asks, her voice suddenly serious.
The shift in the room is immediate—like the air has gone cold. The warmth of our moment vanishes in an instant. I knew she was going to ask. I just didn’t know how much I’d dread hearing it.
“Not yet,” I admit, lowering my head and resting my chin on top of hers. “And if I’m being honest…I’m terrified to.”
“Why?” she asks, the quiet understanding in her voice almost too much to bear.
“Because what if it’s all a lie? What if someone planted the evidence to turn us against each other? And what if—what if it’s all true?” The words come out in a rush, like I’ve been holding them back too long.
The room falls into silence. Seconds, maybe minutes, pass, but the weight of it feels like hours. I’m suffocating on my own thoughts, unsure how to make sense of everything. I’m about to say something when she finally speaks.
“I know it’s hard to face something head-on, especially when you’re scared of the outcome. But you need to. For your peace of mind. It’s going to eat at you—consume you—until you deal with it.” She pauses, her fingers lightly tracing circles on my chest, like she’s trying to ground me. “You’ll drive yourself crazy until you do.”
She’s right. It’s all I can think about, and it’s ruining everything. I need answers, but I’m terrified of the consequences.
She lifts off me, her gaze steady, meeting mine. “Just don’t be your usual control freak. Let it happen when it happens. If you try to plan it all out, if you try to control every moment, you might just chicken out.”
I raise an eyebrow, my heart skipping. Chicken out? Me? My expression softens into a smile despite myself.
She laughs lightly, the sound a welcome distraction. “I’m kidding. Relax, tiger.”
I let out a deep breath, the tension in my body slowly easing. She’s right. She always is. I just need to face it. Face him. The silence stretches between us, but this time, it’s different. It’s not suffocating. It’s just…quiet. We both know what I have to do. It’s only a matter of when.
Sophia’s phone rings from her room, the sound cutting through the quiet. She leans down and presses a soft kiss to my chest before getting up. “I’ll be right back,” she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep. She walks toward her room, the door closing behind her, and the sound of her mother’s name—“Mom”—echoes faintly through the space before it fades as the door clicks shut.
A surge of instinct drives me to follow her, to listen in on the conversation, but I force myself to hold back. She needs her privacy. She deserves her space to talk to her mother without me hovering, suffocating the moment. I glance at my computer, deciding it’s better to return to what I was doing before she woke up than let my mind spiral with imagined scenarios of what they might be talking about.
Half an hour passes, and the quiet is broken by Sophia’s footsteps as she walks back into the room. Her face is clouded with a kind of despair that immediately catches my attention. I push myself out of the chair, not even flinching at the loud thud as my laptop hits the floor, and rush to stand in front of her. “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”
She sighs, offering a tight, almost bitter smile. “Yes, I’m okay. My mom just called to tell me… More like ordered me, really.” She snorts, the sound dripping with frustration. “She wants me at the house tomorrow for Jenny’s birthday. Apparently, they’re throwing her a little get-together.”
I pause, eyes narrowing slightly as I take in the look on her face. It’s not the news that’s troubling her. “That’s it?” I ask, crossing my arms and trying to read her. “Why the look of despair?”
Sophia sinks to the floor, her exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. “It’s not just any party, Maxim. It’s my family. And every time there’s one of these get-togethers, I’m stuck going. No ifs, ands, or buts. It’s like a rule.”
I raise an eyebrow, walking over and sitting down beside her. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t. Simple.”
She laughs, but it’s bitter, empty. “Oh, if only it were that simple.” Her eyes meet mine, full of an unspoken history. “In my family, when there’s a party, you’re obligated to be there. No excuses. Since I was a kid, my mom would drag me along to every single one—even when I begged, kicked, or screamed. She’d say she wasn’t going to be the talk of the family. So now, it’s just…expected. There’s no option.”
I can feel the weight of her words sinking in, the exhaustion of years of this cycle. I try to lighten the mood, but the concern creeps in. “What’s so bad about these parties?”
She tilts her head back and lets out a sarcastic laugh. “The parties my family throws make the ones you’re used to going to look like funerals. No joke. They’re loud, they’re crazy, and they never stop. It’s like being in a circus of…chaos.”
My lips twitch with curiosity. “How bad can a small group of people be?”
She turns to look at me, a wry smile forming on her lips. “Small? To my family, ‘small’ is at least a hundred people. And that’s just the close ones.”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “A hundred people? That’s a party, not a ‘get-together.’”
I kneel in front of her, gently cupping her face in my hands, urging her to meet my gaze. “If you don’t want to go, then you don’t. Simple.”
She rolls her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she looks at me. “I already said we’d go. My family is dying to meet the blue-eyed gringo who captured my heart.”
I swallow hard. My palms are starting to sweat, and I feel that same tight knot in my chest. Why does the idea of meeting her family feel more terrifying than a firefight? “You’ve warned me, haven’t you?” I murmur, trying to calm the rising panic inside.
She pats my shoulder, her smile playful but with a hint of mischief. “You’ve been warned.”
I stand up, shaking off the unease creeping up my spine. It can’t be that bad, right? It’s just a family get-together. A hundred people, maybe—how overwhelming can that be?
But deep down, I know it’s more than that. It’s the chaos of her world colliding with mine, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.