Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MAKSIM
It’s past midnight, and I am in the gym.
The heavy leather bag swings under the relentless force of my fists, the dull thuds echoing off the concrete walls.
I didn't bother wrapping my hands. Raw skin scrapes against rough leather with every strike, but I keep driving my knuckles into the target until I feel the warm, slick smear of blood across my skin.
I hit it again. Harder.
Fool.
I yell at myself in the quiet dark of my mind.
Am I completely out of my mind for walking away from her back in that suite?
A man in my position doesn't step back. I should have stayed.
I should have taken her in my arms, held her fast, and convinced her—made her understand—that she is the only woman in my life.
I don't have the time, the patience, or the desire for anyone else.
Not anymore.
I pull back, winding up for another heavy right hook, when the faint sound of soft footsteps on the polished concrete floor catches my ear.
I look up, and the breath catches straight in my throat.
It’s Camilla.
She’s standing at the edge of the training area, dressed only in a thin, silky nightgown that skitters over her curves and falls softly around her thighs.
Fuck.
She looks so breathtakingly sexy, framed by the harsh fluorescent lights of the gym, that my blood burns instantly hot.
I brace myself. I prepare for whatever she’s bringing down here—a quiet attempt at comfort, a fresh wave of anger, or more questions about Lydia.
She gives me none of that.
"You know," Camilla says softly, her voice carrying across the room as she folds her arms, "you are remarkably dramatic for a man who claims to be so controlled."
I freeze, my chest heaving, sweat dripping down the line of my jaw as I stare at her. The silence stretches between us, heavy and electric, before I slowly lower my fists. I let her take the lead, staying completely still as she closes the distance between us.
She stops right in front of me, her dark eyes dropping down to my right hand. Without saying a word, she reaches out, her small, warm fingers gently taking my wrist. She lifts my bloodied hand, tilting it toward the light to inspect the split skin over my knuckles.
She rolls her eyes, letting out a soft sigh before dropping my wrist. "Stay here," she murmurs, turning on her heel and disappearing.
When she reappears a minute later, she’s carrying the first aid kit.
She sets it on a nearby weight bench, opens it, and pulls out a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of clean gauze.
She takes my hand again, her touch surprisingly gentle as she dabs a soaked cotton pad over my torn knuckles.
I don't even flinch at the sting, my eyes locked entirely on her face.
She works in quiet focus, wrapping the white gauze tightly around my hand and securing the end. Once she’s finished, she doesn't let go. Instead, she lifts my wrapped hand to her lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss right over the bandage.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking up at me through her lashes. "For how I reacted earlier."
I look down at her, my pulse thumping against the collar of my shirt. "Do you trust that you’re the only woman in my life, Camilla?"
She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
A quiet weight lifts from my shoulders, but before I can say anything, she steps in closer, her dark eyes flashing with something warm and intentional.
"I want you back in the bedroom, Maksim."
A low rumble builds in my chest, a dark eyebrow arching. "Why?" I ask, leaning in just a fraction. "Don’t you like sleeping alone?"
A sly, gorgeous smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "There’s a certain appeal to sleeping with you."
"Is that so?" I hum, stepping into her space until her back is almost touching the heavy bag behind her. "What appeal?"
Without a word, she reaches up, taking my freshly wrapped hand in hers, and drags it down to press my palm flat over her bare breast beneath the thin silk of her dress.
The heat of her skin burns right through the heavy gauze.
She arches her back slightly, letting out a low, breathy moan that snaps the last thread of my control.
A deep growl tears from my throat.
Her dark eyes heat up, practically blazing with dark intent. Slowly, keeping her gaze locked onto mine, she gathers the hem of her silky nightgown in her hands and hitches it all the way up to her waist.
She turns around, reaching out to grip the thick steel frame of the smith machine in front of us. Pushing her chest toward the padded bar, she leans forward, bending at the waist and exposing her bare, perfect ass directly to me in the dim light of the gym.
I reach for her, wrapping my left arm tightly around her waist to anchor her against the steel frame, while my right hand comes down with a heavy, sharp slap across the curve of her bare butt.
The crack echoes off the concrete walls of the empty gym. Camilla lets out a throaty moan, but she doesn't flinch away—she arches further into my touch, her breath hitching as I smooth my palm over the expanse of her creamy, flushed skin.
With my pulse thumping wildly, I shove my sweatpants down my hips with my free hand, freeing my cock, which is already aching and rock hard. My fingers wrap tightly around the shaft, stroking once, twice, as I line myself up right at her opening.
"Are you wet for me, Camilla?" I growl against her ear, my chest pressing heavily heaving against her back. "Because you're about to have a very long night. I’m going to fuck you here first, and then I’m carrying you back to our bedroom and fucking you until you pass out on my cock."
Camilla moans louder, gripping the cold steel bar tighter, her knuckles turning white. "Maksim...get to it. Please."
A low groan tears from my throat. As much as I want to drive into her hard and claim her right this second, I force a fraction of restraint. I slide my fingers down between her thighs, slicking them through her folds to make sure she’s ready.
She’s soaking wet, dripping for me, hot and completely prepared for what’s coming.
That absolute surrender snaps the very last thread of my control. I wrap both hands around her hips, pull her back tight against me, and with one brutal, fluid drive, I pound all the way into her.
She cries out, the high-pitched sound echoing sharply off the cold concrete, and a guttural roar tears from my chest. We are both wired tight, desperate and burning hot for each other, moving together with a frantic, unhinged rhythm.
I pound into her hard and fast, my hands digging into her hips to keep her pinned against the cold steel frame.
The slap of our skin and the sharp rhythm of her breath fill the silent gym.
She grips the bar, her head thrown back against my shoulder, and within moments, her inner walls clamp tightly around me, pulsing in a violent, shivering climax.
The feel of her coming around my cock sends me completely over the edge. I drive into her a few more hard, relentless times, burying myself deep as my own release rips through me, pouring into her while she hangs in my arms.
We breathe heavily together in the dim light, our skin slick with sweat. But before she even has a chance to recover or gather her breath, I pull back, hitching her gown down just enough. I grab her by the wrist and yank her along with me out of the gym, burning with the promise I made her.
We hurry down the quiet, dimly lit corridors of the mansion, our eager, breathless footsteps echoing on the hardwood.
Mid-stride, as we rush toward our wing, Camilla suddenly slows down, her eyes catching a heavy, ornate double door tucked away in a quiet corner of the hallway—a room that remains perpetually closed even though it isn’t locked.
"What's in there?" she asks, panting slightly, her hand still locked tightly in mine. “I’ve noticed no one goes in there.”
I hesitate, the dark heat in my blood momentarily cooling into a strange, heavy quiet. I stare at the dark wood for a beat, then quietly reach down, turning the brass handle and pushing the heavy doors open.
The scent of polished wood, old paper, and lingering dust fills the air. Sitting right in the center of the dark, moonlit room is a magnificent, black grand piano.
"It was my mother's," I say softly, my voice gravelly. "She used to play."
Camilla looks at me, her eyes softening completely. She steps past me into the shadow-filled room, moving straight toward the instrument. She lifts the key lid, runs her delicate fingers over the ivory keys, and slowly sits down on the bench.
She presses a key. Then another. At first, the notes ring out clumsy and hesitant, her fingers rusty as she tries to recall the placement.
But slowly, her posture settles. Her touch turns lighter, more confident, as she remembers the notes, weaving together a simple, gentle melody that floats softly into the dark corners of the room.
I stand in the doorway, folding my arms against my chest. I don't stop her. I don't rush her back to the bedroom. I just stand there in the dark, watching her bring life back into a room that has been dead for years.
When she finishes, the last lingering note fades into the quiet room.
I step forward, closing the distance between us, and sit down beside her on the narrow wooden bench.
My large frame easily fills the space, our shoulders brushing in the dim moonlight.
I reach out, my wrapped hand hovering over the ivory, and begin to play the next part of the piece entirely from memory.
The melody rolls out smooth and slow under my touch, a song I haven't played since I was a boy.
Our hands dance across the keys, hovering so close our fingers almost touch with every pass.
Neither of us speaks a word. The air in the room turns thick with an intimate, quiet reverence, laying bare a raw, vulnerable piece of my soul I haven't exposed to another living person in decades.
Slowly, as the music flows between us, Camilla shifts slightly and gently leans her head against my shoulder. My throat immediately constricts, a sudden, heavy ache settling deep in my chest.
Despite how frantically we had been rushing back toward the bedroom, despite the fire still humming in my veins, I am suddenly in no hurry at all. The urgency evaporates, replaced by a profound, consuming peace.
I don't want to leave this room. I just want to stay right here, enveloped in the quiet dark, holding her close for as long as humanly possible.
Because right now, in this fleeting, perfect moment... nothing in the world is better than this.