Seventeen #3
Without a word, he guides me to a table, seats me, and takes his place beside me.
For a while, all eyes are on us, but when it becomes clear that Maxim and I aren’t about to put on some dramatic show, the attention drifts away.
Maxim eats his dinner and drinks his wine, chatting casually with the men at our table.
When it’s time for the dance, he politely asks me to join him, and I accept.
Under the dim glow of the stage lights, I muster the courage to open my mouth and try to explain myself. “Maxim, about what you saw…”
My words are cut off as his lips crash onto mine. He pulls me tighter against his rock-hard body and murmurs against my ear, “Not here.”
The command in his voice and the roughness of his movements send a clear message to my senses. It’s in my best interest to obey and stay silent.
That silence stretches through the rest of the night and into the next day, lingering during the drive back home, each passing moment intensifying the anxiety churning inside me.
My mind’s only defense mechanism against the crushing weight of that silence and the torturous waiting is to replay the scene I saw at the pool, over and over, trying to justify what I did and convince myself I wasn’t entirely to blame for my stupidity.
Now, layers of rage, fear, dread, restless anticipation, and raw anger rise to the surface one after another, taking control of my body and soul. Emotions that turn me into a volcano on the verge of eruption, just waiting for a single spark to set me off.
***
With Aurora finally asleep, it’s like I can hear a bell ringing in my head.
The fight’s on. I pull my hair up into a messy bun and step into the room I’ve shared with Maxim for the past month.
He’s sprawled on the couch, shirtless, wearing nothing but jeans.
A leather belt dangles from one hand, a glass of scotch in the other.
His bloodshot eyes and that belt make my stomach twist.
He downs the scotch in one gulp, sets the glass aside, and rises from the couch—six foot four of pure muscle, advancing toward me with raw hostility. Now it’s fear that shoves all the other layers aside and takes center stage.
Two steps from reaching me, instinct kicks in.
I spin around, grab the doorknob, and try to pull it open.
But before I can, his arm shoots out, slamming it shut again.
The hand holding the belt reaches past me, twisting the key in the lock.
Then he pulls it out. Panic flares as I grab for his hand, trying to snatch the key, but he catches my arm and shoves me back into the room.
As he pockets the key, I scream at the top of my lungs, “Are you insane? Why the hell are you locking the door?”
He brings the leather strap between his hands, pulling it taut, then snaps it apart with a whip-crack that echoes through the air.
He tilts his chin toward the bed and gives a low, dangerous order, “Take off your jeans and lie down.”
I stagger back a step, disbelief hitting me hard. My voice isn’t as sharp now. “Have you lost your mind?”
His jaw muscles clench tight, and he lunges toward me.
I scream and scramble onto the bed. He stops at the edge, glaring down, and growls through gritted teeth, “You’re the one who’s lost her fucking mind.
I told you to stay the fuck away from those strippers, and you go and lock lips with one of those motherfuckers? ”
I’m gasping, adrenaline and fear crashing through me. “You don’t get to judge me. I was drunk, I didn’t even know what I was doing. But you looked wide awake when you were grinding your dick against that naked girl’s pussy. You can be a slut, fuck around with the whole world, but I can’t?”
Before I can even finish, he launches onto the bed with a speed that shouldn’t be possible for his size.
I twist to bolt, but he snags my ankle and yanks so hard I slam face-first into the mattress.
He traps the fists I swing in wild self-defense and pops the button on my jeans.
This time, my punch lands, square against his jaw. His head jerks with the hit.
His lethal glare pins me in place for a heartbeat before he flips me over and cracks his hand down hard on my ass. I thrash under his unyielding grip, screaming for him to let go, but it’s useless. He drags my jeans down to my knees.
My stomach’s slung over his thigh, my bare ass exposed and vulnerable. The cool air kisses my skin, and I know it’s over, so my body goes still.
I crane my neck, tears and rage burning in my throat. “Let me go. You have no right to treat me like this.”
He raises the belt and cracks it down hard on my ass, ripping a scream from my throat. My skin burns like fire, and tears spill unbidden down my cheeks. He grabs a fistful of my hair, loosened from its clip during the struggle, and yanks my head back.
“Tonight, I’ll show you exactly what rights I have. Didn’t I tell you if you’re mine, I’m never letting you go? Didn’t I say you don’t get to touch another man?”
Another strike lands, turning my sobs into heaving gasps.
“Primitive bastard. Caveman. You’re a fucking asshole, Maxim. Let me go.”
This time, when I writhe beneath his grip, he doesn’t resist. He lets me go.
I scramble away from him, and instead of worrying that he might come after me again, I twist around and look over my shoulder at my ass, staring at the angry red marks his belt has left across my skin.
I turn back to him, disbelief and fury blazing in my eyes.
Still gripping the belt, he says, “I never pretended to be anything more than a bastard. A bastard who protects what’s his. No fucker’s hand gets to touch what’s mine. You chose to be mine.”
I grit my teeth. “I told you this goes both ways. I said you don’t get to be with anyone else either.”
His fist tightens around the belt.
“Being with someone for me means having my cock buried to the hilt in her pussy. Not playing some stupid truth-or-dare game and flirting with a woman who means nothing to me.”
Even as the sting in my ass has me floating in agony, my face still wet from the tears I’ve shed, I ask, “What the hell do you mean?”
“That woman was a game. A fucking bet. I was supposed to grind her against me and not get hard. What did you expect me to do? Say, ‘Ava forbids me from touching another woman’?”
My eyes widen at his sheer audacity, the pain forgotten for a split second. Rage surges through my veins like adrenaline on fire.
Without even realizing what the hell I’m doing, I launch myself at him, reaching for the belt and trying to rip it out of his hand.
“Of course you should’ve said exactly that, you son of a bitch. You’re beating me for something far less. The one whose ass deserves to be fucking red from that belt is you, not me.”
He jerks the belt out of my grasp and flings it blindly across the room. He’s breathing just as hard as I am when he catches both my wrists and yanks me forward until I slam against his bare chest.
“I don’t make a fool of myself in front of my men. And I’m sure as hell not letting you do it either.”
In one quick move he doesn’t see coming, I twist my head and sink my teeth into his hand so hard a roar of pain tears from his throat.
He releases me instantly.
I try to pull back, but he’s faster.
His hand closes around my neck and he knocks me back onto the sheets, bending over me. I can taste his blood on my tongue from where my teeth broke his skin.
I expect him to choke me.
Instead, a wicked smirk curves his lips.
He lowers his head, slowly licks the smear of blood from the corner of my mouth, then trails his tongue over the tears still damp on my cheek. Staring straight into my furious eyes, he murmurs,
“If you’d stayed one fucking second longer, my pretty little vixen, you would’ve seen that I won that bet.”
He captures my chin and kisses me deep and wet before continuing,
“There was no fucking reason for you to get that jealous and try to piss me off. My cock only wants you.”
His mouth travels lower. With his hand still pressing my neck gently against the sheets, he dips his head to kiss my breasts, but I fist his hair and yank it viciously, slipping out from underneath him.
His amused laughter follows me.
A second later, he grabs the jeans still bunched around my knees. I refuse to stop fighting him, which only gives the evil bastard the opportunity to drag them completely off my legs, leaving me sitting bare-assed on the bed.
I whirl around and glare at him.
He separates my white lace panties from my jeans, lifts them to his nose, and takes a deep, shameless breath.
“Fuck, you look hot when you cry, Strawberry.”
Completely ignoring the fact that I’m sitting bare-assed in front of him, I snap,
“You think I’m supposed to be on fucking cloud nine because your cock only wants me? The same cock you offer to every woman with a pulse?”
He tosses my panties aside, steps off the bed, and starts undoing his pants.
“I already told you that you have no reason to be jealous of any woman, Ava. My body has become fucking immune to other women.”
He drags his pants and underwear down together, his thick, hard cock springing free. He kicks the clothes away and sinks both knees into the mattress as he starts advancing toward me.
“But look at what you do to me. The only woman who’s ever humiliated me in front of everyone, made a fucking fool out of me, and clawed me up like a wildcat... and my cock still wants you like a man fucking possessed.”
As he comes closer, I’m breathing hard with rage again. I twist away from him.
“I hate you and your fucking cock.”
His large hand lands on my shoulder and knocks me back onto the mattress. He settles between my legs.