Chapter Thirty-Seven
Maro n
“Oh, please,” Mindy groans. “Suck my clit!”
I run my tongue up her slit, dancing at the tip across her clitoris, then I press my mouth against it. “Fuck!” she cries, and her head drops back on the pillow. Then I start licking and sucking her clitoris with long, flat strokes, giving it no mercy. Now, she can’t help herself. She moans and thrusts her hand into my hair, pressing my face against her pussy harder. I welcome it. I ravage her cunt, being relentless with it until she spirals completely out of control.
“Fuuuuck! Eat my pussy… you bastard!” Mindy is lost in an ocean of pleasure as I continue licking. “Oh, fuck… please, Maron,” she pants, “don’t… stop… I’m… I’m going to burst!”
“Then fucking burst for me, baby.”
With a scream that’s muffled by the pillow she pressed her face into, she cums, squirting her juice into my mouth like a fountain.
“Oh, God. Ohhhh!” she screams, her body shaking uncontrollably from her orgasm.
“Good girl,” I growl. “Now you’re going to suck my cock.”
Barely waiting for her shaking to subside, she eagerly obeys. I place my erect dick against her lips and thrust into her mouth. Her throat relaxes, and her mouth sinks down my shaft, licking and sucking it. My groans of encouragement spur her on with even greater enthusiasm.
“Deeper, lisichka ,” I order, and she takes it all the way in. My nuts are so tight they nearly hurt. I want nothing more than to be deep inside her, buried to the hilt. To feel her walls squeezing my dick without mercy. “I want to come inside you,” I say. I pull my hard rock cock out of her mouth, lift her legs on my shoulders and start fucking her like a man possessed.
“Maron!” Mindy is screaming again. “Harder! Fuck me harder!”
“You…” I pant, “like this, don’t you?”
“Yes. I… love your cock!” She’s struggling to speak. “Yes! Oh God, fuck me, baby,” she stammers with her eyes closed as I keep thrusting into her.
By the time her inner muscles start to contract, signaling that she’s about to reach her peak, my own orgasm also begins to work its way through my body. Electric jolts of pleasure fire through me, making me feel the sensation from head to toe. Mindy’s toes curl as her nails rake down my lower back, all the way down to my ass, and I toss my head back in pleasure and pain.
“That’s it, milaya moya ,” I gasp, sinking lower until I’m lying on top of her. I glance over at the huge mirror on the wall to see us together. The sight of our naked bodies slamming together, my dick deep inside of her, and her face twisted in pleasure are almost too much to bear, but I can’t take my eyes off it. I’m fucking the woman of my life.
“Maron, I’m coming… fuck… don’t stop, baby…” She thrusts her hips upwards to grind them against mine. I pump harder and faster, hearing her pitch rise.
I fuck her like nothing outside of this moment matters. Maintaining my grip on her with one hand, I wind the other in her hair and pull, making her arch her back as I thrust into her with sheer, animalistic force. I can feel the orgasm boiling up inside me, my cock throbbing as she screams my name and spasms around me.
“You’re…” thrust, “mine…” thrust, “and…” thrust, “no one…” thrust “else’s…” thrust, “understand?” I growl. Lost in the throes of her impending orgasm, Mindy seems unaware of the world around her.
“Yes!” Her grip on me tightens. We’re both oblivious at this point, too lost in our bliss to pay attention to anything that’s going on around us. My senses are dulled. All my focus is on pleasing her. Nothing else matters right now.
Lying on top of her, my whole body shakes. I know that my release is about to crash over me like a tsunami, sending explosions of ecstasy through all my nerve endings. I just know that I’m about to have the orgasm of my life.
And that is when things suddenly change. I have no idea why, but it feels like she’s frozen under me. A moment ago, she was bucking her hips against mine and moaning in pleasure, now she’s the complete opposite. My dick is still deep in her pussy, but I know something is wrong. The atmosphere has shifted and I stop thrusting.
“What’s wrong, lisichka ? I ask. “Am I hurting you?
“Maron,” she pants, and there’s horror in her eyes. She lifts her head, and her eyes dart between my face and the door. Time has slowed down around us. It’s like one of those nightmares when you’re being chased, but your body can only move in slow motion.
Clamping her hand over her mouth, Mindy tries to prevent a scream. There’s panic in her eyes, which causes my pulse to quicken. The look on her face burns itself into my brain.
I turn my head to the door to see what she’s looking at, and that is when I notice the person standing there. It’s Maurice. He stands there with a gun in his hand, pointing it straight at me. "How dare you fuck my woman," he says and his finger squeezes the trigger.
My eyes pop open and I find my entire body swimming in cold sweat. My heart is galloping with the speed of a racehorse. But there is quiet around me. I blink away the memories of the previous moment and look at what’s in front of me. The only thing staring back at me is the dull paleness of the ceiling.
It was just a nightmare.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's 5:30 in the morning and I'm lying naked on the bed, my legs spread. I'm alone in the darkness, the sheets tangled around my ankles. The remnants of the dream cling to me like a second skin, vivid and unsettling.
I run a shaky hand through my sweat-damp hair, trying to slow my ragged breathing. The room feels too small, too confining. The darkness presses in, and for a moment, I swear I can still smell Mindy's perfume, hear the echo of that gunshot.
Blyad!
My body is torn between my lingering arousal and the feeling of being shot at. I know both feelings too damn well.
I push myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and drop my head into my hands. This isn't the first time I've dreamed of Mindy, but it has never ended like this. The image of Maurice, his face twisted with rage and hurt, is seared into my mind. Is this guilt? Fear? Or some twisted premonition?
I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep and nightmare.
I can't.
Days have passed since Mindy's cryptic message and her sudden departure from my life. Since then, I buried myself in my work at Global Media, trying to ignore the nagging questions and doubts that consume me. But no matter how many meetings I sit through, or how many deals I close, I can't shake off the restless frustration clawing at me like a feral animal. And when night falls, my mind becomes a battleground for haunting nightmares. The suppressed thoughts and questions about why she decided to leave me rise to the surface and haunt my dreams.
My finger hovers over her name on my phone. I almost dial her number but then I remind myself that it's dawn and she’s probably asleep. Or sucking some dude's cock. I throw my phone onto the floor in disgust and frustration.
My hand glides through the tip of my hard cock, and I find it damp from precum. Even now, I’m fueled by this primal need. I've jerked off countless times at night, but nothing on this godforsaken planet can satisfy me.
OnlyMindy Williams can. I want her back. I need her back. And not just because I still need a wife who can provide me with an heir. I need Mindy. The curves of her body, the silkiness of her hair, the smoothness of her pussy. Her sensual lips around my cock. The fire in her eyes, the strength of her spirit. The way she looks at me, like she sees the man beneath the monster. She sees me.
I grip myself with brutal force and begin to stroke relentlessly, my legs spreading wider. The sound of my strokes echo through the room as my fingers work furiously. I tilt my head back in a mix of pleasure and frustration. My body is still slick with sweat, but I don't care. All I care about is relieving this insatiable desire. My grip tightens to the point of pain, but I welcome it. It means temporary relief from this craving. But deep down, I know that no amount of release will truly satiate me. The only person who can do that is Mindy herself.
I keep stroking my cock until orgasm comes and with a guttural moan, I release onto the palm of my hand.
But it’s nothing like any orgasm I had with her. Not even close. I can't fucking go on like this. I really can't.
As my breathing slows, my mind begins to wander. Sure, we signed a contract. So what? Do I drag Mindy back, punish her with sex, and force her to live with me? The idea isn't unfamiliar but somehow, I can't fucking get myself to actually do it. Not with her. Not against her will. This is why I decided to not look for her, despite the all-consuming urge to do so. For whatever fucked up reason, I feel compelled to respect her wishes. Which is fucking ridiculous for me. I was always a man who went for what he wanted. And today, I am a man who always gets what he wants. Always. Except when it comes to Mindy Williams. Because deep down, I know that she would never forgive me if I forced her to do something against her will. She would hate me forever. And I could never forgive myself for that.
Of course, I could always get myself out there, find another woman, and offer her a life of luxury in exchange for playing the role of my dutiful wife. It would be easy. Just another transaction in a world where everything has a price tag on it.
But the thought of settling for anyone else, anyone less than Mindy, and trying to build a life with a woman who means nothing to me… Fuck that.
The clock flashes 5:55 am, reminding me of my daily tasks. So, I stand up and drag myself into the bathroom, knowing that today will be just like every other day; ruthless, fast-paced, relentless.
I step into the shower, cranking the knob all the way to frigid. The ice-cold water slams against my skin, numbing my senses and washing away the lingering traces of my twisted dream. I let the freezing droplets pummel me, hoping they'll take away the memories of Mindy, at least for a little while. But not even this icy torture can ease the pain of her absence.
Two hours later, at eight o'clock sharp, I pick up the phone and call Maurice. "Come to my office," I tell him. Another half an hour later, he’s sitting in front of my desk with a fresh look on his face.
"What's so urgent, Maron?" he asks, placing one of his legs across the other.
I give my brother a nod of approval. "Looking sharp, bratok ," I say. It's true. His face is smooth, his hair perfectly styled, and his clothes are on point. "You’ve come a long way these last few weeks."
He shifts his weight on the chair across the table. "Thanks for noticing, Maron. I'm focusing on myself and putting in the work. It's starting to pay off."
I lean forward, my elbows resting on the polished wood of my desk. "How’s your AA group?" I ask.
Maurice meets my gaze unflinchingly. "Not bad," he says. "I haven't touched booze for fifteen days, twenty hours, and,” he glances at his watch, “four minutes. Not a single drop."
I feel a swell of pride in my chest. "Well done, brother," I tell him before changing the subject. "I'm proud of you. But I didn't call you here to discuss personal matters. Have you got anything on the Shirkov kidney?" I ask, leaning back in my leather chair.
"Finished. Done. I’m ready to move on to the next job."
My ears perk up at this. "Already? Tell me how it went. Last time I checked, it was about to be shipped."
"Well, it got shipped," he says with a hint of pride in his voice.
"Details, Maurice."
"Alright, alright," he holds up his hand in a typical Maurice gesture. "The kidney arrived from Bangladesh two days ago. I personally made sure it got to the hospital. Jennifer Shirkova had her new organ transplanted yesterday. She's doing well according to her doctors."
"What about her father?" I ask, feeling my heart rate pick up a little. If this is really sorted, then a decade-old family feud has been resolved.
Maurice chuckles. "The old man was with his daughter at the hospital and waited there till the end of her surgery. A sentimental, semi-senile, emotional mess, if you ask me."
I let out a breath of relief. "That he is. But you pulled it off, brother. I'm impressed."
"I told you I'd handle it, didn’t I?" Maurice boasts.
"Yeah, you did," I admit, and allow myself a smile. "And I know I promised you a pay rise. How does an extra five percent sound?"
Maurice’s eyes widen. "Fuck, are you serious?"
"Dead serious," I confirm. "With the Shirkov deal, you just saved our asses from a world of pain. You earned it."
"Thanks, Maron." There’s genuine emotion in his voice. "I mean it. And since we’re talking, there's something else too," he adds with a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I thought I'd let you know. Mindy and I... we're back together. She's still in love with me and we decided to work things out. I'm telling you, brother, I’m going to marry that woman. It will be my next step towards building a normal life."
What the fuck?
My heart suddenly drops to my stomach and all I see is red. My emerging good mood evaporates in an instant, and an all-consuming rage takes its place. I’m sure it shows on my face. Then the penny drops. Mindy's sudden departure, the message she left me without any explanation. Suddenly, all of it makes a sickening sense.
Yobany Urod!
She left... to be with Maurice.
She fucking left me, only to go back to the man who hurt her, who betrayed her, who was never worthy of her love in the first place.
I feel as if a donkey kicked me in the gut. I puff my cheeks and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. For a second, the world seems to tilt on its axis, and I have to grip the edge of my desk to steady myself. Betrayal, anger, disbelief – all of them race through my mind, but I force them down. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to retain my composure.
"Are you sure about this, Maurice?" I grit out, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. I can feel a vein pulsing in my temple, and my is jaw clenched so tight it's painful. But I can't let him see it, I can't let him know how deeply this news has cut me.
As Maurice speaks, seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil, I feel something dark stirring within me. It's a familiar feeling, the cold calculation of a predator preparing to strike. But for now, I push it down, forcing an artificial grin on my face that feels more like a grimace.
"Then you have my blessing," I grind out, the words tasting like poison on my tongue.
Maurice beams, oblivious to the sarcasm dripping from my words. "Thanks, Maron. I knew you'd be happy for us."
Ublyudok!
My fists clench beneath the desk and my nails are digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood. Happy? I'm fucking devastated. Enraged. The only woman I've ever loved in my fucked-up life has chosen my pathetic fuckup of a brother over me.
Loved?
What the fuck are you thinking, mudak?
She left you for fuck’s sake!
She doesn’t deserve your love!
I feel like I’m going to murder someone if I’m not left alone with my thoughts. And I fear that someone might end up being Maurice. "Don't fuck up this time, brother," I say, gritting my teeth and waving him off. "And now, if you'll excuse me. I have a lot to do."
He smiles and walks out of my office, shutting the door behind him with a decisive click. As he leaves, I feel something inside me break, something vital and irreplaceable.It’s like a small voice from the core of my soul telling me that Maurice is doing this on purpose. He’s doing this to fuck with me for whatever the fuck his reason is.
But whatever the case, the situation speaks for itself. I've been betrayed by my brother and the woman I… love ? Fuck that. All I can feel now is rage, bitter disappointment, and fury. A lethal mix of emotions surging through me like a wildfire, destroying everything in its wake.
The next thing I know is that I’m reaching for the bottle of whiskey on my desk, not even bothering with a glass. I take a long, burning swig, straight from the bottle. The alcohol sears my throat, my chest, but it does nothing to dull the pain that's ripping me apart from the inside out.
Mindy... with Maurice. Fucking Maurice kissing her. Fucking her. Mindy screaming under him, bucking her sweet hips against him. The thought is like a knife twisting in my gut, a sickening, unbearable agony I can't escape. I take another swig of whiskey, then another, and another. I drink until the room starts to spin and my vision blurs at the edges.
But even through the haze of alcohol, I still feel the rage burning inside me, the primal, animalistic urge to destroy something, anything, just to ease the pressure building in my chest.
I stagger to my feet, my eyes landing on the antique fire poker that sits beside the fireplace. Before I can think better of it, I'm gripping the cold metal in my hand. The weight of it feels strangely comforting as I begin to swing it wildly around the room.
I smash it into the bookshelves first, sending priceless first editions and leather-bound volumes flying across the room in a flurry of torn pages and splintered wood. I hear the satisfying crack of glass as I take out a display case full of ancient artifacts. The shards are raining down around me like glittering diamonds.
But it's not enough, not nearly enough to quell the storm that's boiling inside me. I turn my attention to the furniture next, swinging the poker like a baseball bat as I shatter lamps, vases, splinter chairs, and tables into kindling.
I'm a man possessed, a whirlwind of destruction and fury as I lay waste to everything in my path. I can feel sweat pouring down my face, the muscles in my arms as they scream with exertion, but I don't stop. I can't stop until every last piece of my carefully curated world is lying in ruins around me.
And then, just as suddenly as it began... it's over. I'm standing in the middle of my office with my chest heaving and my lungs burning, surrounded by the wreckage of my own making.
The room is unrecognizable. It’s a fucking a war zone of shattered glass, splintered wood, and torn fabric. But even as I take in the sight of the destruction, even as I feel the first flickers of shame and regret creeping in around the edges of my fury... I feel a scream building in my throat. It is a howl of pure, unadulterated agony that I can't hold back. So, I let it rip from my lungs. It comes out as a sound that's more animal than human, more rage than sadness.
I will have her back. No matter what it takes, no matter who I have to rip to shreds in the process. Even if it means burning the world to ashes and salt.
Even if it means tearing my own brother apart, piece by fucking piece.