Eighteen #2
Night falls, and after putting Aurora to bed, I slip into my black babydoll nightgown, sit on the edge of the bed, and start rubbing lotion into my skin.
Maxim walks in. He’s just showered and shaved, but he still doesn’t look rested.
A tight pair of black boxer briefs clings to him like a second skin, perfectly outlining the thick, heavy bulge beneath the fabric.
His powerful thighs strain against the material, the corded muscles thick and defined, looking like they were carved from marble by a master sculptor.
He stands over me, but I keep myself busy, acting like I don’t notice.
“Why did you come to this room?”
“Do you really think I’d sleep next to you after you left me black and blue?” I answer without looking at him, after setting the lotion jar on the nightstand.
“You earned those bruises yourself. You’re lucky I’m not punishing you for the shit you pulled a few days ago. You crossed my line.”
This time, I stand up and snap at him, glaring into his eyes with frustration.
“And you crossed mine too, but I couldn’t leave you black and blue. This sword cuts both ways...”
Before I can finish, he bends down, slides one hand under my knees, and hooks an arm behind my back, lifting me into the air and carrying me toward our bedroom. I kick and flail in his arms, protesting in a voice I try to keep low so I don’t wake Aurora:
“Put me down. Put me down.”
Ignoring my protests, he carries me to the room, and when he lays me on the bed, he doesn’t give me a chance to escape. He stretches out beside me and pins me against him from behind. I twist in his hold.
“I don’t want to have sex with you.”
He reaches over, turns off the bedside lamp, and the room sinks into darkness. Then he buries his face in my neck.
“I don’t want to fuck you,” he whispers. “Just sleep beside me. I need you, Ava.”
He kisses my shoulder, his voice breaking. “Please, baby.”
The desperation in his voice melts something deep inside me, softening my whole body into his warm, intense embrace. This is the same man who beat someone until his face was unrecognizable, the man drowning in power and wealth, who could have anything he wants, yet he’s begging to hold me.
He says he needs me. And even though I’m still angry, furious for what he’s done, and swear I’ll make him pay one day, I decide to call a truce. At least until Leonardo is found.
I turn softly in his arms, guide his head to my chest, and stroke his messy curls until his breathing slows. Wrapped in his warmth, I drift into a quiet, uneasy sleep.
***
I don’t know what time it is when a shrill siren jolts me awake with pure dread. I press my hand to my heart, which feels like it’s about to explode from my chest, and sit up halfway. The siren cuts off, and I see Maxim grabbing his phone from the nightstand and throwing on clothes in a rush.
“Maxim, what’s going on?”
Instead of buttoning up a shirt, he yanks on a T-shirt and pulls a leather jacket over it.
“I have to go. Something’s wrong with work.”
He’s in such a hurry he doesn’t even flinch at Aurora’s cries echoing down the hall, she must’ve woken up from that terrifying noise. He doesn’t stop. He just storms out of the house.
I go to Aurora’s room, soothe her back to sleep, but after that, I can’t close my eyes again. Phone in hand, I pace the living room, debating if I should call him or not. I walk back and forth until dawn.
When the sky starts to lighten, I get Aurora ready and head to the hotel with her.
After she goes to the kids’ room, I stop by Emily’s office to see if she’s heard anything from Maxim.
But the receptionist tells me she’s still in one of the hotel suites.
I remember she had a date with her husband last night, and it hits me that it must’ve gone really well.
I drag myself back home, feeling strangely hollow, and try to distract myself by making lunch. Then I hear the door, followed by hurried footsteps pounding up the stairs. It can only be him.
I climb the stairs and peek around the doorframe. It’s him. He’s standing by the bed, staring down at something in his hand. Once I’m sure it’s really him, I step into the room.
He catches sight of me from the corner of his eye, and when our gazes meet, the look he gives me is filled with pure hatred, rage, and hostility. It freezes me in place. The house is warm, but I feel cold seep into my bones. Without thinking, I take a step back.
“What’s wrong, Maxim? Are you okay?”
He drags out that stare for a few more seconds, then bends down, tosses whatever was in his hand into the drawer, and slams it shut.
Facing me with this fake calm, he shrugs off his jacket and lets it hit the floor.
He pulls his handgun from the back of his waistband, sets it carefully on the table, and starts toward me.
I stand my ground, but my stomach’s churning because I can tell something’s off with him, really off.
When he reaches me, both his hands dive into my hair, yanking my head back as far as it can go.
The grip of his strong fingers is firm, digging in enough to sting my scalp and pull at the roots, but not so hard that I want to protest, because the sharp little pain feels good, grounding, electric.
He leans down and crashes his lips against mine.
He kisses me with raw power and violence, like he’s terrified this is the last time he’ll ever taste me and he’s determined to take every second of it.
He doesn’t even notice if I’m kissing back or not; he just seems hell-bent on sucking the soul right out of me with that kiss.
I plant both hands on his chest, trying to push him away, but it’s no use. Finally, when he shifts to change the angle, I manage to gasp his name.
“Maxim… what’s wrong?”
His face flushes red all the way to his hairline, and his breaths come ragged, out of sync.
When he pulls his hand from my hair, my scalp tingles with that sharp, lingering sting.
He wraps an arm around my waist, hoists me up, and carries me toward the bed.
As he lays me down and peels off my clothes piece by piece with this deliberate care, goosebumps erupt all over my skin, and I realize these three weeks without him have turned my body into a junkie jonesing hard for its fix, pulling me right back under.
That’s why I don’t pull away like I did last night.
Instead, I settle onto the bed willingly, letting his hands roam over me like they’re mapping every inch.
Once he’s stripped me bare, he sheds his own clothes without a word, his cock hard and heavy.
He plants his knees on the mattress and advances over my body.
His thighs nudge mine apart, settling himself between my legs.
A moment ago it looked like the rage of the entire world lived inside him.
Now the look he gives me is a raw mix of fury and pain.
He lowers his head, mouth finding the side of my neck, kissing and tasting the skin there as he guides himself to my entrance.
Slowly—achingly slowly—he pushes inside, burying every thick inch while a long, broken moan rips from his throat, half pure pleasure, half something that sounds like grief.
I’m so soaked for him that my body takes him to the root without resistance.
A helpless sigh of pure bliss leaves me as I dig my nails into his back and pull him deeper still.
He stays like that for long, endless seconds, fully sheathed, breathing hard against my throat.
When he finally lifts his head, the look he gives me is a raw mix of fury and pain.
One strong arm braces against the mattress so his weight doesn’t crush me; the other hand slides into my hair, stroking gently as he whispers against my lips,
“My red vixen… why?”
Before I can even ask why what, he pulls back and then drives in hard.
My breasts bounce with the force of it and a long, raw moan tears from my throat.
The pleasure is so blinding that the question dissolves completely.
He grabs my knees, hooks them over his shoulders, and folds me in half as far as I can go, his body looming over mine.
It drives him deeper than ever, flooding me with this twisted mix of stretch and heat that shoots straight through me.
He stretches my arms out above my head, holds them locked there, and unleashes.
The wet slap of his balls against my ass and my loud, shameless cries fill the room.
He fucks me like he’s trying to drill a tunnel straight through my core, rearranging both my body and my soul with every brutal, perfect thrust. His head buries in the crook of my neck like his next breath depends on the scent of my skin, pistoning in and out without mercy.
“Oh God… Maxim—oh God—” I sob the words between broken moans, the pleasure so overwhelming I can’t stop calling out to heaven as he wrecks me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t bother swallowing my screams, I let them fly. With Aurora out of the house, I crank the volume as loud as I can.
He keeps slamming into me, over and over, so deep and relentless that I have no choice but to writhe and scream beneath him.
Then I hear his low, guttural male moans rising, growing louder, and I know he’s close.
The sound alone makes my whole body tremble.
I clench hard around his cock, milking him, and a broken cry of pure release rips from my throat as the orgasm crashes through me.
“Fuck, Ava… fuck—” Maxim growls against my neck, the words raw and desperate as his body shudders hard. A few more punched-out groans vibrate against my skin while he empties every last drop deep inside me.
For one heartbeat he stays there, still buried to the hilt.
Then one hand leaves mine and the next instant I feel the cold, unmistakable press of metal against my temple.
My eyes fly open in shock. Maxim is still on top of me, cock still inside me, eyes closed as he brushes his mouth over mine and whispers,
“You betrayed me.”