Fifteen #3
I run my hand over his damp skin, his warmth seeping into my fingertips. “What about your father?”
He smirks darkly. “I had a special plan for him. I got him locked up for fifteen years. He got out a few months ago. I went after him, cut off his cock, and made sure he’d live. To suffer. To cower in some dark hole, dreading the day I come to collect his soul.”
His words are like water dousing a fire. It’s as if Nico, my father, met this fate. I lean forward, kissing the tattooed dates. “You did the right thing.”
He brushes his finger across my cheek. “I’d have done the same to your father. If I’d caught him alive, I’d have made him pay for what he did to you and your mother.”
I place my hands on his shoulders, pulling myself up to straddle his lap. There’s a lump in my throat that makes my voice weak and shattered. “He should’ve suffered.”
He fists my hair and tilts my head back. “He’s dead, and that’s what matters in the end. You have a long, happy life ahead, and he can’t touch you anymore. You’re alive, Ava, and he’s not. Don’t let that bastard steal another second of your life.”
Warm, heavy tears roll down my cheeks. In his eyes, I see a restlessness I’ve never noticed before.
He twirls a lock of my hair between his thumb and finger, then gives me a bitter smile. “He hated red hair.”
I don’t ask who, just hold his gaze as he continues. “Leo. He always treated the red-haired slaves worse than the others.”
It’s like curtains parting, revealing what’s been hidden behind them. “Is that why you’re drawn to redheads?”
With that same restless look, he murmurs, “I wanted to be the exact opposite of Leo. The opposite of that motherfucker.”
I shake my head. “I never met him, but I know you’re nothing like him.”
A flicker of something dark flashes in his eyes as his muscles tense. His voice drops into something rough and primal, all the softness from moments ago gone.
“I want to fuck you.”
The fire in his eyes burns hotter than the flames in the fireplace.
I say nothing, just press my forehead to his.
He squeezes my ass with one hand and grips the back of my neck with the other.
Then he kisses me deeply, softly, full of possession and heat.
I return his kiss, pressing myself closer, rocking against his body.
His fingers slither under my sweater like a snake, pushing my bra aside to grasp my breast. I moan into his mouth and tilt my head to let him take more of my mouth. Both hands tug my sweater off, and then he lays me down on the wooden floor.
The cold surface prickles my skin with goosebumps.
He looms over me, his eyes wild and piercing.
He unclasps my bra, tossing it beside the sweater.
Our heavy breaths mingle with the crackle of burning wood and the roar of the rain.
He braces his hands on either side of my head, dominating me completely.
“You sure about this?” he growls.
I run my palm over his bare chest, tracing the story I just heard in the ink beneath my touch. “What do you mean?”
“If you give yourself to me, there’s no going back. I’ll never let you go. You’re mine, Ava. For as long as you live, whether you like it or not.”
“And if I don’t give myself to you, will you let me go?”
His jaw tightens, the muscles in his chest flexing under my hands. “No. I’ll still make you mine. One way or another.”
After staring into his eyes for a long, heavy moment, I whisper, “I’m yours. I want to be yours.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He leans in to kiss me, but I stop him with a soft murmur.
“But you’re mine too. I won’t share you with anyone.”
He nips my lip, not gently, and lets out a masculine groan at my gasp. “Good girl.”
Just to make it clear, I warn him, “If you ever cheat on me, I’ll leave you. You’ll lose me and your daughter.”
He glares and growls through clenched teeth, “Don’t ever threaten me, Ava. It’ll backfire. Only death can tear us apart.”
He slides his hands under my thighs and lifts me like I weigh nothing, then sets me on the bed.
He unbuttons my pants, pulling them down along with my panties.
Slowly, deliberately, he grazes his teeth and tongue over every inch of skin on his way down—biting, then licking.
The pain he inflicts is thrilling, igniting a new craving in me. I want this pain. I want more.
When he’s stripped my pants off, I sit up and undo his jeans impatiently.
He strokes my hair, letting me do as I please.
I tug his jeans and boxers down together, staring at his masculine length—thick, long, thick veins running along it.
I glide my hand gently down the smooth skin, circling my finger over the velvety tip.
Maxim’s grip on my hair tightens, his body rocking slightly. I don’t know what I’m doing, just following instinct. I kiss the tip, then take him into my mouth.
“Watch your teeth,” he groans.