Chapter 16 #3
There are no buttons in this private elevator, just a lone keycard reader she’s certain Max didn’t even use.
Her gaze drifts over the steel walls until something catches her eye: a slim panel of glass interrupting the seamless metal.
No markings. No buttons. No clues. Just a glossy, out-of-place rectangle with absolutely no reason to be there.
“What’s this?” Lila asks, the question slipping out before she can stop herself.
When she glances over at Max, she catches a strange flicker in his eyes, hesitation threaded with a spark of excitement he doesn’t bother to hide.
“A way to access a really cool, secret floor,” he says casually.
She gives him a flat look, the kind that says she’s not buying whatever joke he thinks he’s making.
“I’m not lying,” Max adds, his voice low, almost earnest.
“There’s really a hidden floor here?” she asks, her eyes widening. “Like a hidden… pool or something?”
“Not quite.” His gaze holds hers for a beat, something unreadable simmering beneath it. “Would you like to see it?”
Though intrigued, she decides to decline, shaking her head. She has only one goal tonight: finish her business with him and leave for good.
“What a shame,” he remarks. “I thought someone who packed up their whole life to take on New York City would be more of a curious cat.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she replies warily.
“But satisfaction brought it back.”
“Maybe next time?” she offers with a nervous chuckle.
The elevator chimes as the doors slide open, and he gently takes her hand, leading her through the spacious foyer of his penthouse.
They climb the black steel industrial staircase to the secondary floor, the butterflies in her stomach whipping into a nauseating frenzy with every step.
They stop just outside the master suite, and he turns to her.
Leaning in, his lips hover near her ear, the warm scent of his cologne drifting from his neck.
Her pulse quickens, though she can’t tell if it’s nerves or anticipation.
She knows that by agreeing to go on a date with him, sex is likely to be on the table, but she can’t help feeling nervous and shy all the same.
“I got something for you,” he whispers.
“What is it?” she asks, her hazel eyes brimming with curiosity as she gazes up into his dark eyes, deep and endless, with a mischievous glint. He’s being so playful and charming that she can’t help but admit she’s enjoying his company.
“You’ll see.”
The words hang in the air as he pulls away, charged with an unspoken promise that sends a shiver down her spine.
He opens the door and guides her into the bedroom, every inch of it bathed in the warm, romantic glow of candlelight.
On the familiar end table by the armchairs sits a magnificent arrangement of pink peonies, pale lilies in full bloom, and white snapdragons. A flutter blooms in her chest at the sight of them.
“Oh gosh. Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathes, her gaze sweeping over the vibrant flowers as they move closer.
“The flowers reminded me of you,” he confesses beside her, his voice soft with sincerity as he gestures toward the arrangement with a small nod. “Vibrant yet delicate… and undeniably pretty.”
A gentle blush tints her cheeks at his compliment. She reaches out, brushing her fingertips lightly over the petals, feeling their softness beneath her touch.
“They’re really stunning,” she murmurs, her gaze lingering on the peonies and lilies. “And they smell so nice… Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like them,” he says with an easy grin.
“Did you personally pick this?” she asks. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d handed the task off to someone else, yet her heart hammers at the thought of him choosing an arrangement filled with some of her favorite flowers just for her.
“What if I say yes?” He gives her that half-smirk that makes him look like he knows things he shouldn’t and enjoys keeping secrets.
“Then I’d say you have good taste,” she teases.
He chuckles at her rare compliment, his laughter warm and unguarded. “I’m glad you approve.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he murmurs, “I can get you flowers every day, you know. Fresh and beautiful… just like you.”
Not just on Valentine’s Day, and they wouldn’t be wilted either. He recalls that photo of her in another man’s arms, cradling a sad, lifeless bouquet.
Her body stiffens instantly, and she shakes her head. “You don’t need to do that. But thank you.”
The date is so close to being perfect.
He can’t quite pinpoint what a perfect date would have entailed; it’s already better than anything he could’ve realistically hoped for.
He hadn’t been entirely delusional to believe she’d be over the moon at his efforts after everything he’d done to her.
Still, it feels good to glimpse her sweetness tonight, even if it’s just a facade meant to get rid of him.
One perfect evening should release him from her spell. He’s banking on it.
Yet instead of feeling even a trace of satisfaction, he’s nowhere near fulfilled.
And that frustrates him.
He tilts her chin, forcing her to face him, the weight of his touch both commanding and unyielding. As he peers into her eyes, he catches a fragile flicker of uncertainty and panic beneath their surface, betraying the unspoken fear carefully masked by the tight, strained smile she wears like armor.
The effort she’s put in tonight…
Putting up with his initial coldness. Asking him questions. Coaxing him to open up over dinner, all under the guise of wanting to know him better.
And then laughing at his jokes… her lovely laughter rang out so naturally that he now wonders whether it was even genuine, or if she’s simply a great actress.
All he knows is that everything she’s doing is meant to eliminate his presence from her life, not because she likes him.
The more he thinks about it, the more it grates on his nerves.
He leans down, and without hesitating, she instinctively closes her eyes, anticipating a kiss.
“Strip. I want to see you in bed with your legs up and spread,” he commands in a low, husky voice, his mouth hovering an inch from her lips.
The unexpected crudeness makes her flinch.
Her eyelids flutter open as she steps back in shock.
She curses herself inwardly, embarrassed for believing, if only for a moment, that things might go differently just because he’d managed to keep up the act of a polite date for an hour and a half at dinner.
He isn’t polite company, but she’d hoped that after sharing a pleasant meal, he might keep the charade going a little longer.
His gaze drifts slowly down her body before snapping back to lock with hers, expectant, unyielding. His brows lift as if daring her to argue.
It takes everything in her to hold back the string of expletives screaming through her mind.
Thoroughly turned off and desperate to end the day, she hurriedly sheds her coat, black dress, and black bra, letting the fabric pool at her feet as she strips down to her last remaining undergarment. She can feel his eyes burning into her as she gracelessly steps out of her cotton panties.
“Leave your socks on,” he says, catching her just as she reaches for one of them.
She rolls her eyes, then straightens with a cold, detached smile.
Heading toward his bed, each step lands heavy and wrong against the unyielding dark wood.
Utterly naked and upset, she climbs onto the mattress with her back to him, every nerve in her body raw and exposed.
Her cheeks burn with shame, but she forces herself to push down the hesitation clawing at her chest.
Lying on her back, she slowly raises her legs and parts them, the cool air brushing against her heated skin. Her fingers dig into the backs of her thighs as she lies completely exposed… except for her feet, hidden away in worn cotton socks.
Calling her humiliated would be a massive understatement.
The rustle of his clothes hitting the floor and the slow, deliberate footfalls as he approaches make her breath hitch in her throat. Soon, the bed dips beneath his weight as he positions himself between her wide-open legs. Expecting him to dive right in, she squeezes her eyes shut in preparation.
But instead, her skin is greeted by the warm brush of his fingers, softly skimming over her most intimate place. She whimpers as she feels him pause at her sensitive clit.
His thumb surges forward, not rough but precise, and a sharp jolt of sensation shoots up her spine. Her eyes flutter open, and her legs snap shut instinctively, trapping his hand between her toned thighs.
“Open,” he instructs, his tone cold and commanding.
After a brief moment to steady herself, she slowly spreads her legs again, her fingers digging into her thighs as she presents herself to him with her bare pussy like a gift.
His fingers resume their relentless assault, alternating between thrusting his thick ring and middle fingers into her tight, slick heat and vigorously stroking her swollen pearl with his thumb.
Leaning forward, he spits onto her sex. The sight and the warmth of it landing between her folds only intensify the sensations coursing through her body.
He deliberately pushes his saliva deeper inside her, adding to her growing wetness. The unhurried thrusting of his fingers feels electrifying, but it isn’t enough.
“Max… please!”
“What do you want?”
She bites her bottom lip, hating how exposed she feels. Her silence is answered by the cruel quickening of his movements. The obscene, wet sounds from the steady thrusting of his fingers color her face a deep, burning red.
“Tell me.”
“You,” she mumbles.
“What about me?”
The perfect mask of stoicism settles back onto his face, broken only by the faint flush of lust spreading across his cheeks.
“I want you,” she cries out in frustration, but still, he doesn’t give her what she wants.
“Just fuck me!”
“Good girl,” he says, withdrawing his hand from her thoroughly slickened sex.