8. Hayley
8
HAYLEY
I almost call to Maxim to remain with me. To keep touching me, because with his hands on my body, I feel safe, and I can dream that he wants me the way I do him.
Thankfully I manage not to. My boss is not what I thought he was, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s way older and wealthier than me. He’s friends with the most notorious mafia bosses in London. I think their banter counts as friendship, anyway. They seemed genuinely concerned about Payton, and I’m cautiously optimistic that they’ll find her as they promised.
It wasn’t what I expected from a group of mafia bosses, but I suppose I have a lot to learn about Maxim.
For instance, the way he killed all those men… My god.
I look down at my blood-splattered top and jeans. Revulsion rolls through me, as though after everything that’s happened, I’m finally seeing and feeling the blood. The need to get them off is unbearable. I scratch and claw at my apron and clothes, tugging them off and leaving them where they fall.
It has seeped through to my knickers, and a sob rises in my throat as I see the red on the white cotton.
I strip them off too, then I’m standing naked in the middle of the room, and my vulnerability slithers down my spine.
Blindly, I stumble to the shower. It’s fancy, and I jump back with a squeak as I soak myself with freezing water when I turn it on, and slap my hand over my mouth as I see red in the water flowing to the drain. Not much. Just droplets.
Then the water turns warm, and I step beneath the massive rain-style shower head, and let it fall over me, thawing me.
There are the sort of toiletries I can’t afford in the glass cubicle, and they smell really good. Expensive.
I’m horrified, but I’m not shaking anymore as I wash myself off, trying to focus on the scent of the shower gel.
My boss saved me. Maxim saved me from… I don’t know exactly what Payton’s boyfriend was going to do, but I’m glad I didn’t find out. Scenes from the attack scroll through my mind.
And yeah, it’s scary. My brain knows this, but also… I replay the furious, protective expression on Maxim’s face when he saw me.
And the way he killed those men…
This is wildly inappropriate, but it was pure competence porn.
I guess I always suspected Mr Zaitsev was powerful, but I didn’t realise just how much, because he’s so nice.
A man like him isn’t going to be interested in the waitress of one of his cafés, even if technically I’m the manager.
I wash until the only thing I can smell is the luxury scent of the shower gel, and Maxim’s face is all I see.
It’s only when I step out and wrap myself in a thick white towel that I realise the problem. Padding over to my clothes I pick up my top. I ripped it as I took it off. The jeans are inside out but I can still see blood, and my stomach rolls, threatening to eject the contents.
I can’t put them on my body.
I can barely cope with picking them up, folding them and leaving them in the bathroom, then washing my hands again. But I have nothing to wear.
It’s a bit entitled to just holler from the bedroom he left me in, so pulling the towel more tightly around my chest, the end tucked under my arm, I venture out. The hallway that’s wider than my bedroom at home leads to a huge living space with a lounge area with white leather sofas, that seamlessly goes into a kitchen which is almost unnaturally tidy, all marble and stainless steel.
An oven is on though, and the scent of warm bread drifts over.
Beyond, there’s a dining area, with a large, solid table covered with a white tablecloth. Elegant pale-blue ceramic plates with a speckled glaze are set. Two places. There’s a small vase with five red roses in it, and a lit candle, the flame dancing. Delicate wine glasses and a pitcher of water stand to the side.
My throat clogs, because it’s gorgeous, laid as though for a dinner date. The sort I’ve never had.
But there’s no Maxim.
“Hi!” I say aloud.
No response. Where is he? It’s a huge place, but open plan mostly, so it’s easy to see he’s not here.
I clutch my towel more tightly around me, and return to the corridor where the bedroom I used the ensuite of is.
There are only a few doors, and one other that’s open. I venture towards it, a little nervous, but also curious. Peeking my head in, I see it’s a bedroom, pale and tidy and cool, and my heart skips.
From it comes the sound of a shower, which makes sense. There’s a closed door that I guess is a bathroom, and Maxim probably wanted to wash the blood off, as I did.
So this must be his bedroom. I should leave, but I can’t.
He saved me, and I’m a bit… Obsessed.
I have this one chance to know him better, and I need it. So I look around at the glass and steel, with windows that look to the north over the river. The sky seems endless from here. And there are no curtains.
“Maxim?” I say quietly. “I’m just looking for something to wear.”
When did I become such a little liar?
My gaze slides to the bed. It’s big, and almost austere with crisp white sheets. I imagine snuggling into it and waiting until Maxim got in, his big body touching all four sides when he stretched out. Then I would…
I take another step forwards, then freeze. The door I had imagined was the bathroom, is not. I know because the actual bathroom door is wide open, and I’m looking straight through it, at Maxim.
In the shower. Totally naked.
It’s one of those walk-in showers, and the angle means there’s nothing obscuring my view of my boss.
He’s tattooed everywhere. I mean, I thought he must have a lot of tattoos since his hands and neck are covered, but while they trail off at his waist, they resume mid-thigh. And between… My god.
He’s all muscle. He’s standing slightly with his back to me, and his rear… It’s a work of art. I have the strangest urge to bite it.
I can see scars too, pale lines that cut through his dusting of dark hair that blurs the tattoos on his legs and lower arms.
But it’s not the tattoos that catch my immediate interest.
For a second I think he’s soaping his belly. His head is dipped, and one arm is moving. Then he shifts to brace an arm on the wall and all the air disappears from the room, because I see his cock.
His hand, gripping his cock.
And it is huge. Red, swollen. Very much erect and making his big hand seem petite.
But that’s not the most shocking thing. No. What steals my breath is that there are a series of metal piercings down the length.
Not a couple, either. Enough that his fingers have one between each, and two more beneath. His balls hang big and heavy below.
Electricity zaps through me right to my core, instantly heating me.
He is jerking off. I stare. I can’t take my eyes off him.
My boss is pleasuring himself in the shower, and not only is he tattooed, he’s pierced in such a way I had never imagined.
“Hayley.”
For a second I think I’ve dreamed that sound. He just said my name, in a voice so hoarse and dark it ripples like something forbidden and sinful.
“You can come closer.”