22. Cora
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
cora
As we pulled up to the townhouse, my breath caught. Maxim’s Manhattan home was precisely what I’d expected: grand, foreboding, and impeccably intimidating. The tall, brick facade loomed over the quiet Upper East Side street like a fortress, its windows glowing faintly with soft, golden light. Two guards stood by the front entrance, their expressions stoic, and the air seemed to hum with the subtle tension that followed Maxim wherever he went.
I clutched the lined cape tighter as Maxim stepped out, turning to offer me his hand. Although his tuxedo jacket was slightly rumpled after the reception’s whirlwind, he still exuded the same commanding presence that always made me feel simultaneously safe and wary.
“Welcome home, zayka,” he said, his voice rough, though there was an undercurrent of something softer beneath.
“Home,” I repeated, hesitating as I gathered the heavy skirts of the wedding dress and stepped onto the curb. My heels clicked against the stone, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness of the night. I hadn’t felt like I’d had one of those for a long time.
The guards nodded silently as we passed, and Maxim’s hand remained firm on the small of my back, guiding me inside. The door clicked shut behind us, muffling the sounds of the city and plunging me into a world that was distinctly his. It even smelled like him — sandalwood and spice.
The interior was… unexpected. I’d braced myself for cold marble and sharp, modern furniture, but the townhouse was warm and inviting, with dark wood accents and deep jewel-toned furnishings. A grand staircase swept up to the second floor, and a crystal chandelier sparkled overhead, casting soft prisms of light onto the polished hardwood floor.
“You live here?” Unable to hide my surprise.
He smirked, loosening his tie and giving me that side eye that made me all hot and bothered. “What were you expecting? A dungeon?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Considering your whole vibe? Maybe.”
Maxim chuckled, the sound low and rough. “I save the dungeon for special occasions.”
I rolled my eyes, but my stomach fluttered at the way his gaze lingered on me as if he could see straight through my bravado.
Before I could respond, a sudden, faint meow broke the charged silence. I turned toward the sound, my heart leaping.
“You didn’t,” I said, a grin spreading across my face.
Maxim stiffened beside me, his head snapping toward the noise. “I certainly did not.”
Sure enough, a familiar ball of fluff came bounding down the hallway, his tiny paws skidding on the sleek floor. It was my kitten, Clyde, his little tail held high as he darted straight for me.
“Clyde!” I exclaimed, dropping to my knees to scoop him up.
Maxim stepped back, his expression shifting from mild confusion to outright horror. “Who brought that here?”
“Maxim, he’s not a rabid wolf.” I cradled Clyde against my chest, scratching behind his ears as he purred loudly.
“He has claws,” he muttered, his gaze wary. “Could be rabid.”
I laughed, standing up with Clyde still in my arms. “You’re still afraid?”
“I’m not afraid,” he said sharply, though the way he kept his distance told a different story. “I just don’t trust cats.”
“Well, you’ll have to get used to him,” I said sweetly. “He’s family now.”
His scowl deepened. “Whose idea was this?”
“One of your men must have brought him,” I said, shrugging. “They probably thought I’d want him here.”
Maxim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remind me to have a word with my staff about boundaries.”
“You’re just jealous because he’s cuter than you,” I teased, holding Clyde up so his tiny face was level with his.
He glared at the kitten as if he were a ticking time bomb. “Keep him away from me, Cora.”
“Noted,” I said with a smirk, setting Clyde down. He promptly darted off, his little paws barely making a sound as he disappeared into the shadows of the grand home.
Maxim sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Your things are upstairs,” he said gruffly. “I had them brought over earlier today.”
“All of them?” I raised an eyebrow.
He nodded. “You don’t own much.”
The comment stung, though I knew he didn’t mean it maliciously. My worldly possessions could probably fit into a few suitcases, starkly contrasting the luxury around me.
“Well, I don’t need much, really,” I said, crossing my arms. “As long as I have my camera, things are good. I’d prefer that people weren’t shooting at me, of course.”
His gaze softened, but his reply was firm. “Well, we’ll work on both of those things. Try to make your life safer, but you’ll need to work with me on your nightly excursions.”
“Your safe isn’t the same as mine, Maxim,” I said quietly, though I didn’t push further. The weight of the day—and the reality of this new life—was pressing down on me, and I wasn’t ready to battle tonight about how my life would change. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but if Maxim thought I’d let him steamroll me, he was in for a surprise.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” he said, his tone gentler.
I nodded. “Okay.”
As I turned to ascend the staircase, I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes following me, their intensity burning into my back.
I hesitated at the base of the staircase, my fingers trailing along the wood railing. Maxim’s voice echoed faintly from downstairs, smooth and commanding as he gave last-minute instructions to someone I couldn’t see. His townhouse felt cavernous, the weight of its silence pressing on me now that I was alone.
The steps under my bare feet were carpeted in a deep, plush fabric that muffled my movement. I gripped the railing tighter as if it could steady the whirl of emotions inside me. The heady scent of sandalwood intensified as I ascended, wrapping around me like a tangible reminder of him.
At the top, the hallway stretched wide, the gray walls softened by warm, golden light from ornate sconces. I paused in front of the door at the end of the corridor. It wasn’t marked, but I knew it was his—ours, now, I supposed. The oak door was massive and unyielding, just like the man himself.
Pushing it open, I stepped inside and froze.
The room was larger than I’d expected, accentuated by the towering floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering city skyline. Heavy midnight-blue drapes hung to the sides, half-pulled, their weight lending the room a sense of quiet intimacy.
The bed caught my eye first. It was massive, with an intricate and elegant blackened iron frame—a piece of art as much as furniture. The bedding was simple yet luxurious, with deep charcoal-gray sheets and a black duvet that seemed too perfect to disturb.
I walked farther in, my bare feet sinking into the thick, soft rug that covered the dark wood floor. The room's scent enveloped me—him, distilled into this private space. To the left, a sitting area held two low, leather armchairs flanking a small table. On it sat a half-empty decanter of whiskey, an ashtray with a single stubbed-out cigar, and a stack of books.
I reached out, fingers brushing the spines. Tolstoy, business strategy, and—oddly—a tattered collection of poetry. It didn’t seem like Maxim, but then again, I barely knew him beyond the layers he chose to reveal.
The walls were equally revealing. On one side, sleek shelves displayed books, files, and what I assumed were personal mementos—trophies of a life that straddled intellect and violence. On the opposite wall hung a single painting, its starkness drawing me in. It showed a wolf pack in a snowy forest, with the leader standing apart. The wolf’s eyes burned with a fierce, lonely intensity, and I shivered despite myself.
In the corner, a black suit jacket hung casually on a coat rack near a perfectly neat desk. The desk was almost unnervingly tidy, with papers stacked in precise piles and a pen placed parallel to the edge. Everything was in its place, just like the man who owned it.
My gaze fell on a silver-framed photo sitting on the desk. Maxim, unmistakably, stood beside a younger boy with the same piercing eyes and rigid posture. His brother, I guessed. The boy’s expression was guarded, almost defiant, a shadow of the man he’d become.
I turned away, my heart beating faster as my eyes landed on a door to the side of the room. A closet, maybe, or something else. My curiosity itched, but I stayed where I was. Tonight wasn’t the time for trespassing, not in a space like this.
I caught sight of myself in the tall mirror near the bed, my reflection pale and uncertain against the rich darkness of the room. This was my new life now, wasn’t it? A life that began tonight.
The sound of footsteps below pulled me back to the moment. Maxim would expect me ready—whatever that meant—and waiting. I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing myself to breathe evenly, and turned toward the en suite bathroom.
I was inexplicably nervous, staring at myself in the mirror.
“Mrs. Volkova.” I tried it out. “Cora Volkova.” For Russian women, an ‘a’ was added. Maxim was ‘Volkov,’ and I was ‘Volkova’ … it was interesting. The girl in the mirror looked unsure of the name. Pale and young. Reaching for the zipper on the back of my dress, I edged it down. Luckily, this was a simple affair.
Elise hadn’t steered me wrong. She’d set me up with a tempting lingerie set. Scooping up the dress from the floor, I gathered it in my arms and moved towards the connecting closet.
The walls were lined with suits in a spectrum of blacks and greys, shiny shoes, ties, and crisp shirts. Whoever kept track of Maxim’s clothes obviously had an eye for detail. Everything was organized and precise.
In contrast, space had been made for me, but most of it was empty.
My paltry jeans and tee shirts were literally hung up. Le gasp . Hung up. The shelves were backlit, so they looked even funnier. I wanted to snap a picture of my Zombieland t-shirt hanging next to Maxim’s suit jacket, but instead, I took one of the covered wooden hangers and twisted it out on the wall hooks to hang up the gown. Sitting on the low bench in the middle of the room, I stared at the dress and everything it represented.
“It’s a beautiful dress.”
I startled. Maxim was framed in the door, his jacket off, tie gone, eyes smoky.
Hot.
I’d never seen him so disheveled.
“You’re my wife now. Mine.”
I tipped my chin up. There might be nervousness on my part, but none of it stemmed from what would happen in the bedroom. Getting to my feet, I walked to meet him, hyperconscious that every flaw I had was on display. I felt brave and sexy. He liked what he saw. His tongue came out as he licked the bottom of his lip and then bit it as if stopping himself.
“That’s right. I’m your wife now,” I confirmed as I came closer. “You’re my husband.”
“Yes,” he breathed. “That’s right.”
“If I’m yours, then you’re mine.”
I sank to my knees.
“Are you going to let me fuck that mouth that I’ve been fantasizing about?”
I nodded. Desire pooled as he pulled his belt from the loops with a snap.
“You look a vision on your knees,” he groaned.
I wanted to see him in all his glory. He complied, pulling his cock out so I could stroke his length. It strained toward me. Hot, hard, and thick, the veins standing out on it like it was angry and hungry.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.
“No.” I shook my head, my eyes rapt on his. He looked viciously pleased.
“We’ll start slow, but I like it hard.” He cautioned. “I’ll help you.”
I wanted to please him. Leaning forward, I licked the slit experimentally, lapping the milky-white pre-cum from the tip as he groaned. Encouraged by his response, I stroked him as I drew his cock partially into my mouth enthusiastically as far as I could. Alternating between licking and sucking, I worked on pulling him into my mouth, watching him from under my lashes, the way he breathed as he looked down at me, struggling to let me control the movements and not thrust into my mouth as I got used to him.
“Just like that, zayka. Can you take a little more?” When I nodded, he began to stroke into my mouth, his hips flexing as my lips stretched around his cock, saliva pooling around the corners until he hit the back of my throat.
He was breathing hard now. Head thrown back. He’d clamped a hand to the back of my head, tangled it in my hair as he thrust into my mouth. There was an ache in my jaw as he pumped. The earthiness of his smell surrounded me — but I felt …
Powerful.
Sexy.
“Fuck. Fuck. Just like that. Suck harder.”
Feeling like my goal was close at hand, I redoubled my efforts, cupping his balls, tugging on them just as he groaned and released into my mouth, salty and warm in a rush. Drinking him down, I licked him gently as he released my hair, and his eyes opened with renewed interest.
“I think this marriage thing is going to work out,” he said.