Chapter 14 #2
Realizing the futility of hiding any longer, I swallow the massive lump in my throat.
I slowly creep out from beneath the dark safety of the mahogany desk, my limbs stiff as I straighten up to my full height.
I smooth down my rumpled gown, lifting my chin defensively to meet his gaze as I stand before him.
Maksim stands with his hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets, his dark suit jacket pushed back just enough to reveal the leather holster beneath it. His face is an unreadable mask of cold, sharp angles, but his eyes burn with a dark, intense heat as they track my movement.
"Rifling through my personal drawers and hiding under my desk like a common thief," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sends a sudden, treacherous shiver down my spine.
"You know, princess... in my world, people are put in the ground for far less. You should be punished for this."
"Punished?" I fire back, taking a defiant step closer to him, my anger overriding the panic.
"Go ahead and try it, Maksim! You lock me in this house, you hide information that directly affects my survival, and then you expect me to sit politely in the lounge picking out lace samples while a psychopath drops bloody tokens at your front gates?
I have a right to know what is happening! "
Instead of blowing up, Maksim takes a slow, predatory step forward. The sheer size of him suddenly commands the space between us, the scent of his cologne filling my senses.
"I know exactly why you were here," he says, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a frustration that feels entirely too intimate.
"And it makes me fucking mad that you don't trust me to handle it.
It makes me mad that after everything I've said, you still think I'd let a single hair on your head be harmed. "
He stops just inches away from me. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, turning the air between us heavy, charged, electric.
"But," he whispers, his eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto mine, "I also understand your curiosity. You're a Caruso. You're used to looking for the blade in the dark."
"This isn't about my family background, and it's not just curiosity!" I argue, my chest heaving against the tight fabric of my dress, practically brushing against his chest with every breath I take.
His proximity is dizzying, a dangerous pull sparking between us. "It's about my life! You can't just keep me in the dark and expect me to bow my head and trust a man who leaves me half-undone in a bathroom and then treats me like a stranger on the ride home!"
Maksim's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening as the argument shifts from Viktor to the raw, unfinished tension that has been simmering between us since last night. He steps even closer, completely trapping me between his towering frame and the heavy mahogany desk behind me.
"Is that what this is about, Camilla?" he asks, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly hum that feels entirely too close to my skin. "You're tearing my office apart because you're still furious about what happened against that vanity? Because I left you wanting?"
I let out a sharp, mocking snort, forcing a cold laugh to hide the sudden, treacherous spike in my pulse. "Go to hell, Maksim. You flatter yourself if you think you have that much control over me."
Pushing my hands against his solid chest, I try to brush past him, desperate to escape the suffocating heat radiating between us. But I don't even make it a foot.
His hand shoots out, his fingers locking around my wrist like a velvet-lined handcuff, and pulls me right back into his space. "You're not going anywhere," he growls.
"Let go of me!" I hiss, twisting my arm, my heels sliding against the Persian rug as I struggle against his iron grip.
I bring my free hand up to shove his shoulder, but he merely traps that one too, pinning both of my wrists against his chest. I am completely flush against him now, the hard lines of his body anchoring me to the spot.
"Stop fighting me," he whispers, leaning down. His breath is hot, a stark contrast to the icy New York chill outside the windows. "I told you, princess. Actions have consequences. I'm not letting you leave this room until you are punished for breaking my rules."
The friction of our bodies, the memory of his touch from last night, and the sheer adrenaline of the fight coalesce into a reckless, burning fire in my veins. I stop pulling, tilting my chin up to stare directly into his eyes with pure, unadulterated defiance.
"Punish me then," I dare him, my chest heaving against his. "Go on, Maksim. Do your worst."
The tension in the room snaps, replaced by a sudden, predatory focus in his gaze. For a long, suffocating moment, Maksim just watches me, tracking the fierce defiance etched into my face, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged rhythm with mine.
Then, he moves.
With a brutal fluidity, he pivots and forces me back against the edge of the massive mahogany desk. Before I can even gasp, his large hands grip the hem of my gown, yanking the fabric up to my waist in one smooth motion.
"What are you doing?" I gasp, my hands instinctively reaching back to push at his chest, my heart hammering against my ribs in a frantic mix of panic and overwhelming heat.
"Shut up," he growls, his voice a dark, command-filled rumble.
He grabs my wrists, forcing my hands down until my palms are pressed flat against the polished wood of the desk. "Hold the desk, Camilla. Grip the edge. If at any moment you let go, I swear to God I will start the punishment completely over again."
A helpless whimper slips from my throat as he moves behind me.
The cool air of the office hits my skin as his fingers hook into the waistband of my lace panties, dragging them down my legs and completely exposing my bare ass to the room.
I grip the edge of the mahogany desk so tightly my knuckles turn translucent, the reality of my vulnerability crashing over me.
Maksim pauses. I feel the heavy, searing warmth of his palm as he smooths his hand slowly over the wide expanse of my exposed skin, his touch possessive and entirely too grounding.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick and rough as his hand traces the curve of my hip. "Absolutely stunning, princess."
"Go to hell, Maksim," I bite out through clenched teeth, burying my face against my shoulder as the anticipation turns my muscles into tight coils.
The first strike lands with a sharp, echoing crack.
A cry of pure shock and stinging heat bursts from my lips, my hips instinctively jerking forward against the desk. The pain is instant, a blooming fire that radiates across my skin, followed immediately by a heavy, dizzying rush of adrenaline that floods my veins.
"One," Maksim commands from above me, his voice entirely steady, though his breathing has grown dangerously heavy. "Count them, Camilla. And remember the rule—do not let go of the desk."
"Stop," I choke out, the stinging heat on my skin making my eyes water as I press my forehead against the cool, hard wood of the desk. "Maksim, stop."
"You've gone past the privilege of choice, princess," he growls from behind me, his tone dropping into a dominant, unyielding register. I hear the rustle of his suit jacket as he positions himself again. "I warned you to count. If you don't speak the numbers, we stay here all day."
The second strike descends with a heavy, resounding smack that makes my entire body shudder. The fire on my skin burns twice as hot, the sharp sting morphing into a deep, throbbing ache.
"Two," I gasp out quickly, trying to get it over with, my fingers digging desperately into the carved bevels of the mahogany.
"No," Maksim corrects, his voice dangerously smooth as he strokes a thumb over the newly reddened flesh. "It's one. Since you didn't count the first strike when I told you to, we start from the beginning. Count it properly, Camilla."
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches, swallowing a sob of pure frustration and overwhelming arousal. "One," I spit out, the word dripping with forced defiance.
Crack.
The third impact lands squarely, right on the curve of my cheek. "Good girl," he murmurs, his breath hot against the back of my neck as he leans down closer, his chest pressing into my back. "Look at how beautifully you take it. So red. So pretty."
"Two," I whimper, my hips tilting instinctively away from the heat, only for his heavy hand to anchor my hip firmly in place.
Crack.
"Three," I cry out, a tear finally slipping down my cheek.
"Fucking gorgeous," he growls, his dirty words whispered directly into my ear as his palm strikes me again, harder this time.
"Breaking my rules just so you can be pinned down against my desk. You wanted this, didn't you? You wanted to feel exactly who owns you before our wedding."
Crack.
"Four!" I pant, my breathing completely shattered as the adrenaline overwhelms my senses. Every strike is rough, deliberate, and intoxicatingly heavy, blurring the lines between pain and a wicked, building pressure deep in my core.
Crack.
"Five," I gasp.
"Count it, princess. Let me hear how loud you can get for me," he commands, his voice thick with a dark, predatory hunger as he rains down the next few strikes in a steady, unmerciful rhythm.
He continues to talk dirty, calling me his stubborn, beautiful little captive, marking his territory on my skin with every heavy blow.
Crack. "Six."
Crack. "Seven."
Crack. "Eight."
My hands are shaking so violently I can barely maintain my grip on the wood, but the fear of him resetting the count keeps my palms glued to the desk. The heat between my thighs is an absolute torment now, slick and aching, completely at the mercy of his rough, heavy hands.
Crack. "Nine."
"Last one, Camilla," he whispers, his voice a gravelly, possessive promise right before his hand descends with a final, stinging force that leaves my skin completely burning.
Crack.