Chapter 29 #4
Max leans in close, his lips brushing her ear. “Don’t leave just yet,” he whispers, his breath hot against her skin, before teasing her lobe with a light nip. “Do you want to do it again?”
A strained sound escapes her throat. Her resistance crumbles as she sinks back into him, her body betraying her before her mind can catch up.
“You mean here? Okay, but remember to pull out,” she whispers.
She’s grateful that this morning, when she’d woken to the press of his mouth between her thighs, she’d been clear-headed enough to warn him it was no longer safe for him to finish inside her.
“Or… or we can go inside my place, but we have to be quiet,” she adds, her voice shaky with excitement.
If Claire’s at home, then she must be fast asleep.
He chuckles, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Though she often wears a reserved exterior, he loves that she can tap into a carnal side that matches his ravenous sex drive.
Gone is the girl who once shied away from the idea of having sex in a car.
Sitting on his lap now is a seductive goddess—daring, beautiful—who’s just suggested another round.
A fleeting memory of her asking to swallow his load that morning, and again behind the restaurant, flashes through his mind.
It feels deeply unfortunate that she can’t take it deep inside her pussy today, of all days.
Seizing a handful of her hair, he pulls her close until their faces hover inches apart, then claims her mouth in a deep, heated kiss.
“You naughty little minx,” he murmurs, lightly swatting her ass. “Where is your mind at, sweetheart?” His lips brush hers again as he adds, “I meant we could stretch this little thing out for another month. You wouldn’t have to say goodbye to me just yet.”
“This… little thing?” she echoes, her heart sinking. She pulls back, her eyes boring into his.
“Yeah. This incredible thing we have going on between us. It’s been so much fun.”
He grips her hips, grinding her against the hardening bulge in his pants.
“We could go somewhere nice for Thanksgiving and Christmas,” he says lightly. “I’ll let you pick. Anywhere your sweet little heart desires.”
She presses her palms to his chest, trying to climb off his lap, but his hands keep her firmly in place. When she looks at him, his expression is one of genuine confusion, as if he can’t fathom why she’d resist.
“I… think this month has been enough,” she says. “Thank you for everything. You’ve been very generous.” Her voice is cool, clipped—carefully controlled.
“I’ll be paying you for your time, of course,” he replies immediately, taking her hand and brushing soft kisses along her palm and wrist.
She hates the way he treats money like a cure-all. As if she’s just another thing he picked up on a whim, something he can throw money at until it behaves the way he wants.
“That’s not it,” she says quietly. “What you’ve given me this past month has already been more than enough. And you’ve bought me so many things…”
His grip tightens around her wrist, fingers firm, unyielding.
“Two hundred,” he says calmly. His voice is cold now. Transactional. “A month.”
“Max… thank you, but—”
“Two fifty. Final offer.” He leans back, eyes sharp, expression set. “I’m covering all your expenses, so don’t be greedy.”
“No. Today is the last day,” she says, brows knitting as she finally pulls her hand free. “I’m serious. No matter how much money you offer, I don’t want it. I’ve made up my mind. Nothing you say or do will change it.”
“You’re kidding,” he says flatly.
“No. I’m not.”
What she wants is love. Real romance. Not this hollow imitation. Max gave attention and affection freely, but only because he’d paid for the convenience of a girlfriend without the inconvenience of commitment. “It’s over.”
“You’re turning down a quarter of a million?
” he scoffs. “So what now? Are you really okay going back to the way things were? Oh gee, let me guess! You’ll find work at some dingy club again, parading yourself in cheap, skimpy clothes, serving drinks.
Do you enjoy entertaining a room full of perverts, Lila? Is that your kink?”
His voice rises with every word. Max is furious. Really, truly furious.
“Didn’t you say you’d help me find work?” she cuts in. “Something in art?”
“I’m attractive, intelligent, and fucking rich,” he continues, ignoring her entirely. “And right now, I want to keep seeing you. I can give you everything you want. So what’s the problem? What more do you want?”
She can almost see the wheels turning in his head, calculating, rearranging the details until they make sense. Then his expression darkens, something cold and dangerous sliding into place. A chill skates down her spine.
“…Is there someone else?” he asks.
His voice is low, icy. The question hangs in the air a beat too long—heavy, suffocating, brimming with unspoken threats and a tangible sense of imminent danger.
The image flashes through her mind without warning: Tony bound to a chair, face battered and bloodied.
“No,” she says, carefully controlling her voice to mask the panic rising within. Her heart pounds so loudly she’s sure he can hear it, but she meets his gaze without flinching. “Why would you think that?”
“Then?” he snaps. “I can hardly believe this.”
“I just don’t want your damn money!” she erupts, her voice trembling on the edge of breaking yet laced with raw fury. “Why are you surprised? You extorted sex from me and fucking raped me!”
It is the first time she has ever spoken that word aloud since it happened, and, of all people, she says it in front of him. Her chest aches, a wild mix of fear, anger, and disgust coursing through her. For a moment, the world tilts, and she feels both vulnerable and terrifyingly alive.
His firm grip falters. Slowly, she disentangles herself and climbs to the other side.
“Shit,” she mumbles under her breath, pressing a hand to her forehead in disbelief. Her mind is racing a hundred miles a minute. She can’t believe she has grown attached to the man who violated her. The brunch they shared earlier churns in her stomach like a storm, threatening to rise back up.
How had it come to this? Each memory of his touch, once thrilling just moments ago, now feels like a horrible layer of foreign grime coating her skin.
“Lila, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please,” he pleads, reaching toward her. His dark expression has softened into one of desperation. “I thought we were past that already.”
“Past… that?” she repeats, her voice hollow and incredulous. How had she not realized it sooner? He was never truly remorseful. His apology means nothing.
Stunned into silence, she blinks rapidly before letting her gaze fall to his outstretched hands. “We’re done here,” she says coldly, ignoring them.
“Lila, come on. Don’t be like that,” he pleads, his hands closing around hers as he tries to think of something—anything—that might fix this.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she cries out, ripping her hands free of his grasp.
She looks so small, vulnerable, and upset that he wants more than anything to pull her into his arms and comfort her.
“You’ll delete the footage of what happened to the car, right? You promised me. That was part of the deal.”
“Yes. I’ll delete it as promised—”
Before he can say anything else, she flings open the door and rushes out, striding toward her apartment building.
The worn black door, its paint chipped from years of weather and neglect, suddenly feels like a sanctuary.
Every crack and scar on its surface seems to call to her, urging her to slip inside and shut out the world behind her.
The old building is far from beautiful, but in this moment, its ugliness is a promise of safety.
It's a place where he can’t reach her, where she might finally breathe again.
Ten feet.
She hears him get out on his side, his footsteps pounding after her.
Seven.
“Lila!” he shouts.
Three.
“Don’t leave like this,” his voice cracks with a frantic edge. He lunges for her arm, but she jerks away, spinning to glare at him.
“I’m not for sale, asshole. I told you it’s over.”
“No. You’re not. I know you’re not. Please don’t leave like this. Please just let me explain.”
He loathes begging. The very notion clashes with everything his father drilled into him about strength, dredging up memories of moments he’d sworn never to revisit—times when he’d been small, powerless.
She holds the reins now, and the thought turns his stomach.
He feels like he’s standing atop a crumbling dam, fissures spreading beneath his feet, one misstep from total collapse.
Still, he can’t bring himself to back down.
She says nothing. She only stares at him, fury burning in her eyes, as if daring him to speak again.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asks.
He looks unsettlingly wild-eyed. There’s something almost intimate about it, as though she’s glimpsed an expression never meant to be seen, something painfully private she wasn’t invited to witness.
“No,” she replies icily, turning away to punch in the code on the electronic keypad. She angles her body carefully, shielding the numbers from his view.
The lock clicks. She slips inside.
Relief rises, thin and fragile, then dies instantly when his hand shoots out and slams against the door. She yelps, spinning back as he forces it open, his grip unyielding.
Shock gives way to anger, sharp and immediate. A string of expletives burns at the back of her throat.
“Then…” His voice breaks, rough with something dangerously close to despair. “…can you make me feel better?”
Her anger dissolves in an instant.