7. Zoya
ZOYA
W hat the hell am I doing?
What the actual fuck is going on right now?
Maksim's hands are on me—all over me, in fact.
His lips crush against my mouth, and I moan softly as he pulls me against his body.
I'm lost in a sea of confusion with thoughts swirling around my head like tiny gnats, landing every so often to remind me how fucking dangerous this is and what a colossal idiot I am for letting my guard down.
But here I am kissing the man who wants to have my brother killed.
I tense as the realization hits me, and Maksim pulls back, being the perfect gentleman. "Is everything okay?" he asks me, eye searching my face as if he actually cares, as if he wouldn't just pin me down and take this from me under any other circumstance.
I swallow the tension in my throat and nod, but my eyes flick back and forth between his, where wide, inky pupils stare back at me.
This isn't just some game to him right now.
No one's pupils are blown wide like that when it's a game.
He wants this. He wants me, and fuck if I don't want him back, but how the fuck do I explain that to my brother?
And what happens when we have very real sex and give ourselves to each other like that, and then he fucks Damir up? How do I untangle my heart from that mess?
"Zoya, we don't have to..." He's so patient, so tender as he curls a strand of my dark hair around my ear.
What fucking Mafia man is patient and gentle like this?
I know this is his plan—to soften me up and get me on his side so I'll tell him where my brother is.
I walked into this mess with eyes wide open.
So why is he breathing as hard as me, just as desperate to get our clothes off and make this happen as I am?
"I want to," I choke out, past the voice screaming at me to stop.
Past the giant red flag waving in the air between us, past the warning my brother gave me still ringing in my ear.
"I want this." I reach for his buttons, start undoing them, and he continues his relentless assault on my lips as he begins undressing me.
His shirt falls open under my fingers, revealing the solid wall of muscle beneath.
Ink sprawls across his chest and down both arms—dark lines, brutal symbols.
Every one of them earned in blood. I press my palms to his chest anyway, feeling the heat of him, the tension in every inch of his body.
He's holding back, giving me space, waiting for me to say stop. But I'm not going to.
"I'm not fragile," I whisper against his mouth with desperation. "You don’t have to be careful with me."
His breath catches. “That what you want, Zoya?” he murmurs, voice dark and low. “You want me to stop pretending I’m not fucking starving for you?” When he says it, I believe him. Fuck if I’m not a complete idiot, but I believe him when he says that.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Show me.”
He groans and grabs my hips, dragging me hard against his body.
I can feel his cock through his jeans, thick and heavy and already hard.
He grinds into me as he speaks, each word laced with hunger for me.
My heart is hammering in my ears so loudly, I almost don’t hear him when he speaks again.
I’m delirious with lust for him, my core aching to be filled.
“You’ve been teasing me since the second I laid eyes on you. Walking around like you don’t know how fucking gorgeous you are. Like you don’t know how much I want to ruin you.” His hands are greedy and dangerous, and I love it. I’m on fire for him and probably soaking wet too.
I gasp as he lifts me effortlessly, setting me down on the edge of the table. My legs part instinctively, and he steps between them, his hands sliding up my thighs, as he spreads me wide. A zing of arousal shoots down my spine at his touch.
“You want me to be the bad guy, Zoya?” His voice is a growl now.
“You want me to fuck you like I’m not supposed to?
” Maksim’s fingers find the waistband of my jeans and toy with my skin.
I’m shuddering, a fucking puddly mess for this man I should be hating, but for the love of God, I can’t find a reason to push him away.
Not when my pussy is screaming for his dick.
“God, yes,” I whisper. “I want you to make me forget.”
He yanks my jeans open and pulls them down and tosses them aside, followed by my panties. Then he drops to his knees and his mouth finds the inside of my thigh, then higher, closer, until I feel the heat of his breath against my dripping center.
I want that stubble to rub me raw, to scrape at my sensitive flesh until I’m screaming his name and trembling around his head with my thighs gripping him. I lace a hand through his wavy locks and watch him admire my bare flesh with wide eyes.
“Fuck, you’re already soaked,” he groans. “Is this all for me?”
I nod, breathless, too far gone to speak. Even the wind in my lungs has fled me, like my good morals and my better judgment. Damir would kill me, but I remind myself I’m doing this for him, getting close to the enemy to draw him in and find a way for my brother to go free.
“Words, Zoya.” His grip tightens around my thighs. “If you want my mouth, you beg for it.” Maksim’s voice is harsh and demanding, and it does something to me. I can’t resist him. I want him to talk to me like this, like I’m his, like he owns me.
“Please,” I whisper. “I want it. I want your tongue on me. I want to come on your face. I don’t care what you do to me—just make me come.”
His eyes flash with something darker than lust. Control? Ownership? He grips the backs of my knees and shoves my legs farther apart, spreading me open like he owns the right to. Then he blows hot breath across my moist valley and smirks up at me.
“That’s better,” he says, dragging his tongue slowly and firmly up my slit.
I cry out, fists clenched in his hair as he tortures me so deliciously.
He groans against me, like he’s tasting something he’s been denied for too long, and the vibration goes straight to my gut where it tangles with my hesitation and battles for dominance, suffocating any remaining trace of doubt.
I want this man. I want his cock. And I want him to fill me.
“You taste like sin,” he murmurs into my cunt, voice muffled by the wet mess he’s making of me. “And you’re going to come for me, right now. You don’t get to hold back.”
He circles my clit with just enough pressure to unravel me.
His tongue fucks into me, his grip bruising on my hips, holding me still while I writhe against his mouth.
One thumb mercilessly toys with my clit, pressing, swirling, and making me inch closer to the edge where I will jump over as soon as he allows me.
“God, Maksim… Fuck!”
He growls and doesn’t stop, tongue working me harder, his fingers digging in until I’m moaning and trembling, thighs clamping around his head.
The pressure builds in waves, but my body clings to the edge, strung tight and aching. I pant, sweat dampening my neck as his mouth works me mercilessly. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his stubble against my thighs pushes me closer… but not over.
“Maksim,” I gasp. “Harder. Please, don’t stop.”
He growls low, animalistic, and shifts his grip, forcing my thighs wider.
His fingers on one hand dig into the meat of my ass, holding me open while he drags his tongue over my entrance in slow, brutal circles.
Every motion is deliberate. Designed to destroy.
Played out to make me detonate like a nuclear bomb.
“You want to come?” he rasps, lifting his head just enough to speak. His mouth is slick, his voice rough. “Then take it. Rub yourself on my fucking mouth. Use me.”
The words wrap around my chest and make shame and need tangle deep in my chest as I obey, grinding down against his face, chasing the friction he gives so willingly. He turns his head from side to side slowly, only further torturing me. His stubble scrapes me raw, but I need it. I need more.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Fuck my mouth, Zoya. Come on my tongue.”
I roll my hips, shameless, desperate now. His tongue flicks harder, faster, matching the rhythm of my thrusts. He grips my ass and groans against me, soaking up every sound I make.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck, I’m close!”
My legs begin to shake, the tension coiling in my belly so tight it’s almost painful. I can’t stand it anymore and I don’t want to.
“Maksim, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”
He sucks my clit into his mouth, and the sound I make isn’t even human.
It rips out of me, raw and wild, as my orgasm crashes through my body like fire.
It consumes me one cell at a time until my thighs clamp around his head, my hands claw at his scalp, and I come hard, soaking his face as he groans against me.
My body jerks and convulses, my pussy clamping around his digits as he fucks them into me, and I can’t breathe. Stars explode behind my eyelids in white heat. Every muscle goes stiff and rigid, then turns gelatinous and hot.
When I finally relax, my body limp and shuddering, he stands and wipes his mouth again—smirking this time as he lets his shirt slip from his shoulders.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, reaching for his belt. “Now bend over. I’m not done with you yet.”
Suddenly, I need so much more than just his mouth. My core pulses, my belly burning with desire, and I slide off the table and turn. I’m delirious with lust, desperate to feel how deep he can go, and my God, do I understand how stupid and dangerous this is, and it only makes me want him more.
I brace myself on the table, still catching my breath, still trembling.
My skin feels too hot, too tight. Every nerve ending is lit up and hungry for more.
I hear the sound of his zipper, the rustle of fabric.
Then the blunt head of his cock slides past the waistband of his boxers as he shucks the material and kicks it away with his shoes.