Chapter 18 #3
With a rough, impatient swipe of his large hands, he grips my thighs and spreads my legs wide, pushing the skirt of my dress all the way up to my waist. The cool air of the security room hits my bare skin, creating a sharp contrast against the blistering heat radiating off his body.
He stands between my thighs, his gaze dark, blown-out, and bordering on feral as he stares down at my dripping center. The clinical, powerful Pakhan is entirely gone, replaced by a man completely consumed by a desperate, maddening hunger.
"I need to have you right now, right now, princess," he groans, his voice cracking with a raw, uncharacteristic vulnerability that shocks me to my core. His large hands dig into my hips, pinning me to the glass as his forehead drops against mine. "Please, Camilla."
Hearing the word please rip from the throat of a man who commands an empire completely breaks me. The last shred of my control evaporates, leaving only a desperate, aching need to be filled by him.
Maksim doesn't waste another second. He reaches down, his large fingers hooking into the lace of my panties.
He doesn't even take them off, pushing them aside, too consumed by the primal urgency rolling through his veins.
He aligns the thick, aching length of his cock against my soaking wet heat and drives straight into me in one deep, unyielding thrust.
I gasp loudly, my back arching off the cold glass desk as my hands fly up to grip his broad shoulders. He fills me entirely, stretching me to the absolute limit and sending a blinding jolt of electricity straight to my core.
"Fucking hell, Camilla," he groans against my mouth, his chest heaving as he immediately begins to fuck me.
The pace is hard, heavy, and relentlessly demanding.
Every time his hips snap forward, the heavy glass conference table rattles beneath us, the wet, slapping sound of our bodies echoing off the sterile walls and security monitors.
He isn't pacing himself now; he is taking me with a feral intensity that leaves us both breathless.
His hands grip my hips like vices, anchoring me to the desk so he can drive deeper, his thighs slamming against mine with every powerful stroke.
I throw my head back, panting heavily, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back as the friction builds into an unbearable, blinding heat.
He groans low and rough with every thrust, his gray-blue eyes locked onto mine, completely consumed by the storm of his own making.
He goes hard, his pace turning fast and furious as the friction inside me pushes us both past the point of no return.
I cry out his name, my fingers clawing at his shoulders as a violent, blinding orgasm ripples through my entire body, clamping down around him.
The sudden tightness completely shatters his restraint.
Maksim lets out a low, feral growl, driving into me one last, deep time as he comes hard, his body stiffening completely as he fills me with his heat.
We stay like that for a long moment, panting heavily against each other as our heartbeats slowly synchronize and we come down from our high.
He slowly pulls out of me, a low sigh escaping his lips. With a surprising gentleness that contrasts the raw power from moments before, he helps me down from the glass desk. My legs are trembling, but he holds me steady, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against my forehead.
I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "I have to hurry up and shower," I say, my voice still a little breathless. "I have to go out with Nastya."
“Where?” He frowns.
“I don’t know.”
Maksim’s eyes darken as he looks down at me, a dangerous, possessive smirk slowly spreading across his face. "No shower, princess. You're going out exactly like that."
I freeze, staring at him. "What?"
"You heard me," he murmurs, his gaze trailing down my body. "You're going to keep my cum dripping down your thighs while you're out. Consider it a reminder of who you belong to."
"Are you insane?" I argue, my cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "I can't go out like this! Maksim me—"
He isn't listening. He completely ignores my protests as he turns around, casually fixing his clothes and buckling his belt as if he hadn't just completely unraveled me on a war room desk.
"Unlock the door," I snap, my jaw clenched as I realize he has absolutely no intention of changing his mind.
He walks over to the control panel, hitting the manual override with a calm, deliberate click. The heavy steel door slides open, and the second it does, I turn on my heel and stomp off down the hallway, leaving him standing there.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in the back of a sleek, armored SUV with Nastya. As the car speeds down the highway, weaving through the afternoon traffic, she glances over at me, her sharp eyes taking in my flushed face and rigid posture.
"What is wrong with you?" she asks, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "You look like you're about to murder someone."
I choke back the sudden surge of heat that rises in my throat.
I absolutely cannot tell her what her brother just practically put me through on a glass war-room desk, or that I am currently sitting on the leather seat with his hot release still sticking to my thighs, a constant, shameless reminder of his dominance.
I just shake my head, forcing my voice to remain even. "Nothing. Just a long day already. Where are we going anyway?"
Nastya giggles, completely buying the deflection. "We’re going to shop for a dress for you, of course. Tonight’s Bratva dinner is incredibly important, Camilla. The entire council and the allied families will be there. I want you to make a gorgeous, terrifying impression."
She winks at me, pulling a gleaming, black titanium credit card from her designer purse and waving it in the air between us. "Plus, I managed to swipe Maksim's black card before we left. We don’t have to worry about maxing it out. We are going to drain his account."
A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of my lips despite my lingering fury at him. If I have to walk around carrying his mark all afternoon, the least I can do is make him pay for an obscenely expensive wardrobe.
"Let's do it," I say.
Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulls up to a high-end boutique in the city's most exclusive fashion district. The guards step out first, scanning the perimeter before opening our doors. Nastya grabs my arm, pulling me through the glass entrance of the store, and we start shopping.
The first dress I pick is a dark blue, elegant silk gown with a modest neckline. I think it looks sophisticated, but Nastya glances at it and quickly rejects it, shoving the hanger back onto the rack.
"Too safe," she declares, shaking her head.
I sigh, crossing my arms. "It’s a dinner, Nastya. It looks fine."
I figure this is just about appearance and her picky taste, but Nastya’s playful expression suddenly fades, replaced by a deadly seriousness that reminds me exactly what family she belongs to. She steps closer, lowering her voice so the store attendants can’t hear.
"You think this is just about looking pretty, Camilla, but tonight is a test," Nastya explains, her eyes locking onto mine.
"The older Bratva men at that table are going to dissect everything you do. They will be watching to see if you are weak, if you are a spoiled princess, if you are too foreign to fit into our world, or worse—if you are easily controllable. If you look soft, they will see you as a vulnerability Maksim can’t afford. "
A cold chill settles over me, the sticky reminder of Maksim’s touch between my thighs suddenly feeling like armor. I nod, understanding the assignment immediately. This isn't a party; it's a political battlefield.
As we continue to sift through the aisles, Nastya keeps her hands busy moving hangers, but her mouth moves in a quiet, rapid whisper, feeding me invaluable intelligence.
"Watch out for Uncle Yuri," she murmurs, pretending to admire a beaded gown.
"He fears Maksim because Maksim took his territory, but fear makes men desperate. You’ll meet Igor, he hates my brother.
He thinks a younger Pakhan is an insult to tradition.
And the older captains on the south side—they are greedy.
If Viktor offers them a better percentage on the weapons network, they might be tempted to turn. "
I listen intently, memorizing every name and every motive. If I’m going to be sitting at that high table, I need to know exactly where the knives are hidden.
Armed with Nastya’s warnings, I push past the pastel silks and the soft, bridal-style lace.
I find exactly what I’m looking for at the back of the boutique.
It’s a severe, tailored black gown. It has sharp, structured shoulders, a high collar that commands authority, and a thigh-high slit that cuts like a blade.
It isn't a dress meant to please a husband; it is a dress meant to intimidate an enemy.
I pull it from the rack and hold it up against my body.
Nastya looks at it, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across her face. "Perfect."