Chapter 10 #2
That’s when I take back control, flipping our positions. I lift her legs to my shoulders so I can stare down at her, watching her face as I slam inside her. I want to memorize every soft gasp, the way she arches her back, the soft plea of “Max” on her lips.
Her gaze finds mine, then her palms slide up to cup her breasts. She still manages to tease me even when I’m taking her, even when I’m making her mine.
Afterward, we lay in silence.
Constance curls into my side like she’s always belonged there. My fingers trace the curve of her spine and neither of us speak.
But I know what she’s thinking.
This changes everything.
And if I’m not careful, it will likely destroy us.
That’s why I need to remind us both of the bigger picture.
I shouldn’t still be touching her. Not after what I learned tonight. Not after what I still need to do.
“Constance,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “There’s something you need to know. Pellegrini confessed that it was the Bratva who paid him to stay away from the restaurant,” I tell her, knowing it’ll ruin the mood.
As expected, Constance sits up and clutches the bedding to her chest. “Who? Did you get names?”
“Alexei Volkov’s nephew Kirill,” I answer. “He lied to Pellegrini; told him your father was betraying me—”
“That’s bullshit!” she exclaims.
“I know it is, firefly,” I agree. “They lied to Pellegrini so he would feel less guilty about taking fifty grand to fuck over me and your father.”
Constance scoffs. “Fifty thousand dollars? That’s the price he put on my father’s life?”
“It’s fucking disgusting,” I agree. Then, my fingers reach for the length of her hair spilling down her back, twirling them around my fingers. And even though I know I shouldn’t, I tug on the strands to pull her head back down on the pillow next to mine.
“We can’t go after them tonight,” I tell her when she’s flat on her back again, her jaw clenched in anger. I trace it with my fingertip. “But Kirill will pay, firefly. Alexei too if he knew what his nephew was up to,” I reassure her.
I should stop this now, send her away, back to her room.
But Constance is looking up at me like I’m the only thing holding her together… and I break before she does.
I kiss her because once wasn’t enough. I already need her again. She’s impossible to resist while I have her in my bed.
“Promise?” she asks against my lips.
“Promise,” I vow. That’s all the reassurance Constance needs before she spreads her legs in offering, making room for me to wedge my hips between them.
Her fingers thread through my hair, kissing me with all the strength and fury in her sexy body meant for her father’s killers.
I know she needs an outlet, a release for that anger as much as I do tonight.
Pinning her wrists above her head, I reach down to line myself up since she’s still soaking wet and ready for me.
Then, I slam inside, making her scream my name on every rough thrust. I fuck her wild and hard with just a hint of the brutality that I plan to inflict on every one of the bastards who killed her father.
I wake before dawn, tangled in sheets and shadows.
Constance is still asleep beside me, her breath even, her body warm against mine. I study her face in the dim light, the curve of her lashes, the soft parting of her lips, the way she clutches the pillow to her like a long-lost lover.
I slide out of bed without waking her and pad into the bathroom with my phone in case there are any updates from my men. There, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, taking in my bruised knuckles, my messy black hair, and deep-set eyes.
It’s the face of a man Constance should hate.
And yet, she kissed me.
Touched me.
Let me inside her.
What the hell am I doing? What kind of man fucks a woman after he failed to protect her father?
My phone buzzes on the counter distracting me from my jumbled emotions. Enzo’s message lights up the screen…
We spotted Volkov and six of his men over at the southside warehouse, near Pier 17. Several trucks are being loaded under heavy guard. Looks like they’re prepping for export.
I close my eyes and force myself to focus. The bastard is packing up to move product. Or to run. Either way, he’s exposed.
I’ll catch him before he disappears, and I’ll make sure he learns what happens when you hurt what’s mine.
Christ. Even thinking of her that way should terrify me.
When I return to the bedroom, Constance is awake, propped up on one elbow. “You’re leaving,” she says quietly.
“I have to go handle something.”
She stares at me, trying to search my face in the dim light from the bathroom. “Is it Volkov?”
I nod.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
Her voice is steady, but her fingers curl slightly, betraying the tremor she refuses to acknowledge.
That’s why my response is simple. “No.”
Her hazel eyes sharpen. “You said you’d let me see this through. You gave me that choice.”
“I also said I wouldn’t let you die for it.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“That’s the problem. You should be, and that’s exactly why you’re not ready.”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
Then she stands, still completely naked and completely fearless. She walks up to me and presses a hand to my chest.
“You leave me behind, and we’re done. Whatever this is, it’s over, Maximo.”
I close my eyes. I want to call her bluff, but I can’t risk not having her underneath me again. “This will get bloody.”
“I’m sure you can guarantee that with one hundred percent certainty,” she remarks. Then, “I have a car, you know. Even if you try to leave me behind…”
I laugh, low and bitter. “You’re goddamn impossible.”
“Good. That means you’ll remember me when I’m gone.”
She says it like a threat, but all I hear is truth.
I look at her, this defiant woman who should hate me, who probably does hate me, and realize I should face Volkov without her, but I can’t leave her behind. I don’t want to do this without Constance.
Somewhere in the chaos of tonight, I crossed a line I can’t uncross.
I’m already hers.
Lord help me.
“Get dressed, firefly,” I tell her.
Her lips curve into a satisfied smile, telling me that there’s no going back.
We’re in this together now.
For better.
Or for much, much worse.