Chapter 6 - Alyssa
Floating twenty feet underwater in perfect silence might be the closest thing to heaven I’ve ever experienced.
The world above disappears into a shimmering blur while I drift in this liquid sanctuary, and my lungs hold steady as my heartbeat slows to match the peaceful rhythm of the water around me.
No Troy, no fear, no constant looking over my shoulder—just blessed quiet and the weightless freedom I’ve craved for weeks.
I close my eyes and let myself sink deeper, counting the seconds the way I used to during my freediving days. Thirty, forty, fifty. My body relaxes muscle by muscle until I’m nothing but consciousness suspended in blue tranquility, just like when I was a little kid in grandma’s pool.
This is what I remember. This is what I’ve been missing.
Suddenly, strong arms wrap around my waist and yank me toward the surface, sending a stream of bubbles in my wake. I break through the water’s surface, gasping and disoriented, blinking away droplets as I come face to face with Maksim’s panicked face.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, sputtering up water.
He holds me out at arm’s length as he inspects every inch of my body. “Are you okay? I thought you were drowning.”
“I wasn’t drowning.” I push wet hair back from my face, still trying to figure out what just happened. “I was freediving.”
“Freediving?” He doesn’t release his grip on my waist, instead opting to keep me anchored against him in the shallow water. “You were under for almost two minutes.”
“That’s nothing. My personal record is three minutes and thirty seconds.”
His blue eyes search my face like he’s trying to determine if I’m lying or just insane. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him with a nervous giggle. “I didn’t think anyone was watching.”
“Well, I was watching. I saw you go under and when you didn’t come back up…”
“You jumped in to save me,” I articulate just as I realize it.
“Someone had to.”
I notice for the first time that he’s stripped down to nothing but black boxer briefs.
His expensive suit is probably scattered somewhere on the pool deck in his rush to reach me.
Water droplets run down the dark hair on his chest, and I catch sight of the tattoos I remember from our night together—detailed designs that wrap around his shoulders and disappear beneath the waterline.
“Where did you learn to hold your breath like that?” he asks, apparently deciding I’m not in immediate danger of drowning.
“College. I took up a lot of outdoor activities after I turned eighteen.” I push into the deep and tread water beside him, hyperaware of how close our bodies are in the confined space. “Swimming, hiking, rock climbing, freediving. Anything that got me away from people and into my own headspace.”
“Running away from something?”
I turn, drop my eyes to the water, and answer, “Not running. Escaping.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Running implies you’re being chased. Escaping means you’re choosing to leave. I chose to leave.”
“Your family?”
I don’t answer immediately. Talking about my family isn’t something I do, especially not with men I barely know, no matter how many times they’ve swooped in to rescue me.
But something about floating here with him, surrounded by the privacy of his hidden oasis, makes the words want to come out of my shell.
“Let’s just say they weren’t the type of people you’d want as parents,” I finally reply.
“I think most people feel that way about their parents at some point.”
“Your parents weren’t gamblers and alcoholics who treated their daughter like a burden they couldn’t wait to get rid of.” I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. I don’t need his pity or his psychoanalysis of my childhood trauma.
But Maksim doesn’t offer empty sympathy or ask probing questions about my past. Instead, he simply nods like he understands the need to escape toxic situations.
“Is that why you were so independent when we met?” he asks. “All that talk about not belonging to anyone?”
“I spent my entire childhood being controlled by people who didn’t have my best interests at heart. When I finally got free, I swore I’d never let anyone have that kind of power over me again.”
“And then Troy happened.”
“And then Troy happened.” I sigh and tilt to float on my back to create some distance between us. “He made me feel safe at first. Protected. I thought I’d finally found someone who cared about me without wanting to control me.”
“But he did want to control you.”
“In ways I didn’t even realize until it was too late,” I admit. “The constant texting, the showing up unannounced, the way he’d get jealous if I talked to other people. I thought it was romantic attention. Turns out it was just a different kind of prison.”
“You’re not in prison anymore,” he points out.
“No, but I’m not exactly free either, am I?” I wave my arm around, gesturing to his home hidden behind the shrubbery. “I’m hiding in your house, depending on your protection, and letting you make decisions about my safety. How is that different from being controlled?”
“Because you can leave whenever you want.”
“Can I?”
We both know the answer isn’t as simple as he’s making it sound. Yes, technically, I could walk out of here anytime I choose. But realistically, I have nowhere to go and no resources to get there. My safety depends entirely on his willingness to protect me, no matter how much that irks me.
“You could,” he says finally. “But you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because despite everything you’ve been through, you’re smart enough to recognize when someone genuinely wants to help you.”
“And you genuinely want to help me?”
“More than you know.”
The way he says it makes my heart speed up. There’s something in his voice that has nothing to do with protection and everything to do with the attraction that’s been simmering between us since that night at the club.
I realize we’ve drifted closer again, close enough that our legs brush against each other as we tread water. The pool might be large, but it suddenly feels very small with both of us in it.
“The freediving,” I say, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.
“It started in my grandmother’s pool when I was little, and I took it to the next level when I was in college.
The water was one of the few places I could go where the world just…
stopped. No noise, no demands, no expectations. Just me and the silence.”
“I can understand that.”
“Can you? You seem like someone who thrives on noise and demands and expectations.”
“Sometimes. But everyone needs a place to escape to.” His gaze travels over the landscaped walls that surround us. “This pool is mine.”
“Your sanctuary.”
“Something like that.”
We’re floating face to face now, close enough that I can see water droplets dangling from his eyelashes. His dark hair has come loose from the bun, and it’s falling across his shoulders in wet strands that make him look younger, less intimidating.
“Thank you,” I blurt out.
“For what?”
“For caring enough to jump in after me. Even if I didn’t need saving.”
“You need saving, Alyssa. The question is whether you’ll let someone do it.”
The words should annoy me, should trigger all my defenses about independence and self-reliance. Instead, they make me want to close the distance between us and find out what it feels like to be saved by someone who actually gives a damn.
“Maybe I’m tired of saving myself,” I admit.
“Maybe you don’t have to anymore.”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and his thumb brushes away a droplet of water near my temple. The gesture is so gentle, so different from Troy’s possessive touches, that it makes my breath catch.
“Maksim…”
“I know this is a messed-up situation,” he says, reading the conflict in my voice. “I know you have every reason not to trust me, not to trust anyone. But I need you to know that what I feel for you has nothing to do with controlling you.”
“What does it have to do with?”
“Want. Pure, simple want.”
The honesty in his admission dissolves my defenses, and before I even realize what I’m saying, I whisper, “I want you too.”
His thumb traces across my lower lip, and his legs brush against mine again as we drift even closer. This time, I don’t pull away. Instead, I wrap my legs around his torso and press my core against his groin.
He answers by grabbing my hips and grinding against me, letting me feel exactly what effect our proximity is having on him. The hard length of his arousal prods against my pussy through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs, making heat flood my system.
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Yeah. Oh.”
My hands find his shoulders, and I dig my fingers into his muscles as I use him to anchor myself in the water. The movement brings our bodies into full contact, chest to chest, hip to hip, with nothing but wet lace and soaked cotton between us.
“This is probably a bad idea,” I manage to say, even as my body betrays me by pressing closer to his.
“Probably.”
“I’m supposed to be your houseguest, not your…”
“Not my what?”
“I don’t know what this would make me.”
“Mine,” he declares. “It would make you mine. And you already are”
The possessiveness in his voice should scare me; it should remind me of all the reasons I swore off controlling men. Instead, it sends a thrill through me that settles between my thighs.
“Maksim…”
His name comes out like a plea, though I’m not sure what I’m asking for. More distance? Less? For him to stop looking at me like he wants to devour me, or for him to actually do it?
“Say it again,” he murmurs with his mouth so close to mine that I can feel his breath against my lips.
“Maksim.”
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, where his fingers tangle in my wet hair as he tilts my head back. I think he’s going to kiss me, hope he’s going to kiss me. I need him to kiss me more than I need my next breath.
Instead, the sound of a phone ringing cuts through the moment.
He freezes with his hand still entangled in my hair and his body still pressed against mine as the sound continues on the deck, just a few feet away.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
“Your phone?”
“My emergency line.” He looks genuinely pained to be pulling away from me. “I have to answer it.”
“Emergency line?”
“Each of my brothers has a specific ringtone set up for unique situations. That’s Dimitri, and he only uses that number for family emergencies.”
The mention of family emergencies cuts through the haze of desire clouding my judgment. Of course he has to answer it. Of course this moment, this perfect bubble of want and possibility, has to be interrupted by reality.
“Go,” I tell him, though every cell in my body is screaming at him to stay. “Answer it.”
He releases me reluctantly, and as he does, his hands trail down my arms as he backs toward the shallow end of the pool. The loss of his body heat leaves me feeling cold despite the warm water.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he instructs.
As if I could. As if I want to.
I float in the center of the pool, watching him prepare to take the call that’s going to shatter whatever spell we’ve been under. My body still thrums with unfulfilled desire, still aches from the promise of his touch, but I know the moment is gone.
Reality has a way of intruding on even the most perfect escapes.