Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CAMILLA
The silence of the master bedroom is deafening, broken only by the sound of the brush moving through my hair. I stand in front of the vanity mirror, still trembling slightly from the sheer whiplash of the evening.
The ivory wedding gown sits discarded on the chaise lounge, and I am dressed in a simple, silk camisole and matching pajama shorts, trying to process the fact that my new life is officially a war zone.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors click and swing open.
I whirl around, the brush freezing in my hand as Maksim steps into the room.
He looks like a man who just walked straight out of hell.
His tuxedo jacket is gone, the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up to his forearms, stained with soot and a faint smear of dark blood.
His hair is disheveled, and his jaw is set in a rigid, lethal line.
"Are you okay?" I breathe out, stepping toward him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What happened at the docks?"
But he doesn’t speak.
Instead, his piercing eyes slowly track down my body, his gaze landing heavily on my short pajamas and the bare skin of my legs.
The sheer intensity in his eyes makes the air in the room turn thick and suffocating.
He stands completely still, but the raw, predatory energy radiating off him is overwhelming.
He ignores my questions entirely. Instead, his voice drops into a deep, commanding rumble that vibrates right through the floorboards.
"Put your wedding dress back on."
I freeze, staring at him in utter shock. "What?" I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "Why would I—"
"Put it on, Camilla," he repeats, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. His eyes burn with a dark, insatiable hunger that tells me exactly what is running through his mind. He doesn't want the night to end in defeat. He wants to claim what is his.
A sharp spark of my usual defiance flares up, but beneath it, a treacherous, familiar heat curls deep in my stomach. My blood begins to thrum with intense anticipation, remembering his promise.
Turning the moment into a deliberate provocation, I hold his gaze as I walk slowly toward the chaise lounge.
I deliberately sway my hips, picking up the heavy layers of ivory silk and lace.
I want to defy him, want to show him he doesn't own my mind, even if my body has already completely surrendered to the look in his eyes.
I turn my back to him, undress and step into the gown, pulling the heavy fabric up my legs and over my hips.
Because of the intricate corsetry and the dozens of tiny silk buttons lining the spine, the dress is nearly impossible to put on by oneself.
I struggle with the fabric, my fingers fumbling with the lace, my breathing turning shallow as the silk brushes against my bare skin.
Maksim doesn't offer to help. He just stands by the door, leaning his massive body against the frame, watching my slow, agonizing progress with a dark, unblinking intensity.
Every sigh, every lift of my arms, and every frustrated tug of the fabric is fully exposed to his gaze, turning the act of getting dressed into the most intoxicating, annoying torment.
Finally, with a breathless gasp, I manage to pull the straps over my shoulders, the heavy gown clinging loosely to my form since the back remains completely open.
I turn around slowly to face my husband, the train pooling around my feet, my chest heaving as I wait for his next move.
He slowly walks toward me. When he’s close, he tears the gown from my body.
I gasp, and his mouth catches mine before the cold air can even hit my bare skin, crushing the gasp right back into my throat.
The heat of his palms presses hard against my waist, anchoring me as he leans in close, his breath ragged against my lips.
"I haven't stopped thinking about this," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough grate that vibrates against my skin. "Not since the second you stepped onto that stage in Sicily. You've completely ruined me, Camilla."
Before the words can fully settle, his hands lock beneath my thighs. The world tilts as he lifts me effortlessly, the mattress rising to meet my back a second later. My fingers immediately tangle into his shirt, pulling him down with me, desperate to close the distance.
He presses deeper, his tongue tangling with mine, turning the kiss into something heavy and consuming.
His hands slide down my arms, dragging the shredded remnants of the gown with them until the fabric pools uselessly on the floor.
The sudden rush of cool air makes me shiver, but his gaze burns hot as it tracks down my body, leaving me entirely exposed beneath his stare.
"You are beautiful," he breathes against my jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of my hip. "You were meant to be worshipped, Camilla. And I’m going to worship every inch of you tonight."
His gaze drops to my chest, and before I can catch my breath, his head lowers. The wet heat of his mouth centers over one aching peak, drawing the nipple past his lips.
The tug of his mouth sends a sharp, electric jolt straight to my core, his tongue swirling around it. At the same time, his free hand finds the other breast, his fingers twisting and rolling the sensitive tip until a breathless whimper breaks from my throat.
I writhe against the mattress, the friction of the sheets against my bare skin only heightening the ache. I cry his name, my fingers clawing into his shoulders as I beg him, "Please. Maksim—please.”
"Shh, be patient for me," he murmurs, his hot breath brushing my skin as he briefly pulls away, his eyes dark with a fierce, heavy focus. "Don't worry. We're taking our time tonight. I want to make love to you, but you have to wait."
He doesn't give me time to protest. His head shifts, his mouth centering over the neglected breast to suckle and soothe the ache his fingers left behind.
But before I can even lean into the new wave of pleasure, his hand slides down the curve of my stomach, his fingers brushing past my hip before sinking directly into the heat between my legs.
The slick heat of his touch makes my hips jerk upward instinctively, a shattered moan breaking past my lips as his fingers stroke over my sensitive clit. He lingers there for a heartbeat, testing the wetness coating his fingertips with a slow pressure that makes my toes curl into the sheets.
When he pulls his hand away, I blink up through the haze of pleasure. His gaze never leaves mine, a dark, possessive smirk touching the corners of his mouth.
"You're flooding for me," he growls softly.
Before I can even find my voice, his hands lock around my knees, spreading my legs wide and anchoring my thighs against the mattress.
He leans over me, his shadow completely engulfing mine, and then his head lowers. The first touch of his tongue is a searing stroke that strikes like lightning, devouring me completely as he drives me over the edge.
The friction of his tongue is relentless. I lose all control, my hands flying to his head, my fingers tangling deep into his hair to pull and tug, trying to anchor myself against the overwhelming tide of sensation.
He doesn't budge. Instead, his heavy forearm locks down across my hips, pinning me flat against the mattress so I can't squirm away from the pleasure. He licks and sucks with a fierce, consuming hunger, driving the pressure higher and higher until the tension inside me snaps completely.
A loud, shattered scream rips from my throat as my body convulses, the intense wave of the orgasm crashing over me while he drinks in every single vibration.
The violent tremors of the release gradually subside, leaving me entirely limp against the mattress, my chest heaving as I fight to pull air back into my lungs.
Every inch of my skin feels hyper-sensitive, humming with the residual electricity of the climax.
I look up through half-lidded eyes, my vision blurred by a thin veil of tears, only to find Maksim already shifting his massive weight over me.
He doesn't give me a single second to recover.
His eyes are completely dark, as his hands slide up from my hips, pinning my wrists flat against the mattress on either side of my head.
The raw, possessive heat of his body presses down against mine, the coarse fabric of his trousers a stark contrast to my bare skin.
"Look at me, Camilla," he commands, his voice a rough, gravelly rumble that sends a fresh shiver straight down my spine.
I force my gaze to meet his, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. The sheer intensity in his stare is terrifying, but it makes the desperate, coiling heat between my thighs flare right back to life.
"No more waiting," he growls softly, his jaw clenching as he positions himself between my thighs.
He looks down at me, his expression softening just a fraction, though the dark hunger in his eyes remains entirely unbroken. His hand slides up to cup my face, his thumb smoothing over my flushed cheeks.
"I know you’ve never done this before, princess," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my lips.
I frown, a sudden wave of confusion cutting through the haze of my arousal. I stare up at him, wondering how on earth he knows that. I’ve never told him anything about my sex life, and I’ve certainly never given him a reason to think that.
But before I can open my mouth to ask, he continues, his gaze locking onto mine with absolute seriousness.
"Do you trust me, Camilla?"
The question catches in my throat. He is a dangerous man, a Bratva boss who dragged me into his world by force. Yet, looking up into his honest, fiercely protective eyes, the answer is already written in my heart.
"Yes," I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it.