Chapter 57 – VALENTINA
Fifty-Seven
VALENTINA
Two Months Later
“That was a bullshit run. No way he took me clean.”
Thirty minutes later, and I’m still fuming. I slam the car door and practically stomp my way around the hood. Okay, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. But losing to some fresh-faced kid on just my second run in two months is a blow to my ego.
“What, you think he cheated or something?” Maksim’s tone carries a hint of laughter.
When he reaches for my hand, I swat him away.
He’s trying to be funny.
“You’re not helping,” I snap, glaring at the ground instead of his smug face. I start toward the house, but he catches me by the throat and bends me over the warm hood.
“I can’t change the outcome, Kolibri. But I can fix that attitude of yours.” He winds my hair around his fist, tugging just hard enough to make me gasp. “I’m going to fuck it out of you.”
I grin, my breath fogging the paint as I arch my ass into him. “You can try,” I taunt, hissing when his grip tightens in warning—just how I like it.
“Try?”
“Yeah, very fucking hard.”
His deep chuckle vibrates in my ear, my eyes closing as his free hand slips in my leggings and between my thighs. I open up for him and rock side to side, as two of his fingers circle my clit.
“I think I’m going to lose more often,” I murmur, raising my arms above my head.
“Losing makes you this wet, baby?” He dips inside. “Goddamn.”
The cool fall air brushes over my skin as he eases my pants down, his breath and lips trailing after.
“You were amazing out there, as always,” he whispers against my ear just before he slams into me. Not slow or gentle, but rough and delicious.
“Maybe,” I breathe, biting back a moan. “But I’m still a raging bitch, Maksim. Harder.”
He yanks my head back and drives his hips forward, over and over.
“That what you wanted? Just like this?”
“Faster. Still angry.”
I grasp for the cold metal as he mercilessly fucks me into the car.
Maksim’s grip tightens in my hair as his other hand slides around my throat, holding me exactly where he wants me. Each thrust rocks the car, testing the suspension, and the night fills with nothing but the slap of skin and my broken moans.
“Still angry?” he asks, breathless as we both sag against the car, still riding the aftershocks of release.
He straightens but won’t let me up. The palm of his hand presses between my shoulder blades, shoving me down and spreading me wider.
“I’ve officially been fucked into oblivion, baby. But a little insurance doesn’t hurt either.”
He doesn’t let up. But then gravity takes over, and I don’t need to ask. I feel it, sliding down my thighs, dripping to the ground between my feet. I glance back and catch the prideful grin on his face.
“I could watch my cum drip out of you all day.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “It’s fucking beautiful.”
His hold finally loosens, and he helps me up, tenderly puts me back together, sticky pants and all, then wraps me in his arms.
I almost forgot why I was mad in the first place. It seems so trivial now.
Racing, the adrenaline, and the thrill of the ride will always be a part of me, something I’ll look back on with a smile one day.
But for now, I’ll take it for what it is.
An escape. A reason to get properly fucked by my Russian boyfriend, out here on the stretch of land that finally feels like ours.
No neighbors for miles, the perfect land to build my own track someday. And most importantly, a future for us.
Two months ago, all of this felt out of reach, slipping through our fingers before we could hold it. But peace like this is temporary, like the eye of a storm. Sooner or later, it’ll be our turn to face the worst of it.
We haven’t seen or heard from the crew with the scorpion tattoos since that night. Favors were called in, money changed hands, and every trace of what happened—every photo, every mention—was buried. It keeps us safe. For now.
No word on the Architect. And no one’s come looking for the infamous Ledger.
Could the Architect have been Alina all along? Her involvement leaves more questions than answers. But they say if you go looking for the devil hard enough, you’ll find him.
I trace my fingers along Maksim’s jaw, lose myself in his eyes, and decide that, for now, I’ll stick with the devil I know.
“I love you,” I whisper, tipping up to kiss him.
His lips brush mine, a smile curving against my mouth. “Enough to share the last bowl of Fruit Loops?”
I narrow my eyes, tapping my chin like I’m thinking it over.
“How about we race for it?”