Chapter 8
The music doesn’t seem quite as bad now as Lila finds herself dancing, just another body in the crowd.
She feels a rush of giddiness as the women around her take turns pulling her in, their friendly smiles and heady perfume gently dissolving the last of her anxiety.
Everyone seems so happy, so free, so unguarded.
She’s euphoric.
At ease.
Until a pair of hands grip her waist, pulling her back and away from the group. She stumbles, her back colliding with someone’s hard chest as their arms wrap tightly around her.
Irritated by the disruption, she looks up and finds herself face-to-face with the last person she wants to see. Her breath catches, a chill skimming down her spine.
“Are you stalking me?” she squeaks, voice tight and barely audible over the pounding music.
“Are you high?” he shoots back, raising a brow as he studies her face.
“What? No!” she says quickly, shaking her head as she pulls away.
He takes the thoroughly chewed plastic lollipop stick from her hand, eyeing it with faint amusement. “No more candy for you,” he says casually, flicking it to the floor before turning his gaze back to her. The intensity in his dark eyes makes her want to shrink back.
He steps closer, and she instinctively retreats until her back presses against the cold glass window.
“Move away. It’s cold,” she complains.
He lifts her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
A sinking feeling twists in her gut, every instinct screaming that he followed her here, to the very party she hadn’t even wanted to attend.
“You look so pretty tonight, little waitress,” he murmurs, leaning down until his breath grazes her ear. “I’m getting a bit jealous of all these men staring your way.”
A rush of warmth floods her cheeks as she blushes, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. It makes her feel shy. Disarmed, even. Her mind feels hazy, slightly off—but somewhere beneath the fog, she knows she should scream, call for Claire, do something.
Come and take a look at this guy.
The guy who fucking raped me.
But for some reason, she can’t. She can’t even bring herself to say the word “rape” when she’s alone.
“I asked if you’re stalking me,” she says, trying to keep her composure despite the rapid pounding of her heart.
“This is my friend’s party,” he replies smoothly, without missing a beat. “Why are you here?”
She tries to pull away again, but he refuses to budge, stepping even closer until she’s effectively pinned between the cold glass and the heat of his hard body.
Max looks unexpectedly casual in a dark turtleneck and a thin platinum Cuban-link chain, still devastatingly handsome. The absence of his usual suit makes him seem… more deceptively approachable.
She bites down on her lower lip as a rush of emotions crashes over her, leaving her vulnerable and confused.
His gaze sends a trail of tingles down her spine, even as her mind unwillingly replays their last encounter.
The memory of his brutality clings to her—unwelcome, unshakable, forever seared into her.
And yet, he seems okay. More than okay, actually, as he smiles down at her like everything in his world is perfectly in place. The sight of him stirs a storm in her muddled brain, a chaotic blend of fear, anger, and something dangerously close to longing.
On a reckless impulse, she reaches up and takes his face in her hands. Her fingertips graze the faint stubble along his jaw as she pulls him down to her. She kisses him deeply, and feels his body go rigid the moment their lips meet.
How do you fucking like it when people do things to you without your permission?
However, as the shock of her kiss melts away, he responds, surprising her with even more urgency. He grips the back of her head, holding her in place as his mouth crashes into hers, his tongue sweeping in—demanding, devouring.
Fleeting images of Jake and their last kisses flash through her mind but quickly dissolve, along with any trace of guilt.
Max’s kisses are entirely different—deeper, intoxicating. They send waves of pleasure rippling through her like a warm current. Their tongues weave together in a slow, hypnotic dance, drawing her further from the noise and the world around them.
Without realizing when, the music fades into a gentle hum, and all she can feel, taste, and smell is him.
A strong arm wraps around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He lifts her just enough that she teeters on the tips of her toes. Her soft breasts press into his chest, a low heat flaring in her belly, the throb between her thighs impossible to ignore.
Her fists clutch his shirt, then rise to brace against his shoulders, holding on as if she might fall apart without him.
Her lips are crashing against his with a hunger that startles even her.
Every brush of his tongue, every shift of his grip, makes her feel like she could unravel right there, in the middle of the party.
He moves with her, guiding her without breaking the kiss toward a corner swallowed by shadows. After a moment, he pulls back just enough to murmur, minty breath hot against her lips, “Do you want to go back to my place?”
“And do what?”
Still caught in the haze of their kiss, she stares at his lips.
They’re swollen, glistening as his tongue slides slowly across the bottom one.
Her pulse flutters. She leans in for another kiss, unable to stop herself, but he halts her with a firm grip on her hair, holding her just enough to make her catch her breath.
“We can watch a movie,” he says, voice low and rough.
“Yeah… sure. A movie.” She drags out the words with exaggerated air quotes, rolling her eyes. “Only a total idiot would fall for that.”
She wants her words to cut, to make him feel embarrassed, transparent, and stupid for trying something so obvious. But her words come out slower than expected, slurred around the edges. Her mind feels oddly foggy, her limbs heavier than they should be.
Though she knows he’s the last person she should be near, the instinct to run has long since vanished. What she feels now is a different kind of urge: the overwhelming need to sit down.
Her hands drop, steadying herself against his chest. She doesn’t remember when she started leaning into him. His grip loosens on her hair, letting her long, silky strands slip through his fingers.
“Do I look like one to you? Hmm?” she murmurs, pressing her face into the smooth fabric of his shirt.
She breathes him in. The familiar blend of spice and musk fills her lungs, wrapping around her like a memory she shouldn’t want to revisit. Her eyelids grow heavy, and she lets them drift closed.
“No, we’ll watch a movie. Just you and me,” he whispers, low and meant only for her.
His arms settle around her, taking most of her weight, and she responds by slipping her own around his waist, clinging to him without thinking.
She feels light and relaxed, as if she could float away at any moment, if not for his strong arms holding her firmly in place.
Minutes pass, though it feels like an eternity, before she finally musters the energy to speak.
“What movie?” she asks, voice faint.
“Pretty Woman?”
“Watch it, mister,” she snaps, frowning as she jabs a finger into his hard chest. “Are you implying something, Mr. Money Bags? I’m not a prostitute, just so you know. So, like, stop offering me money.”
“I believe the correct term nowadays is sex worker,” he says playfully. “But no, it’s just one of my favorite movies. What about you?”
“I haven’t seen it. But I know the premise…” she murmurs, eyeing him. “You like chick flicks?”
“Some of them,” he replies earnestly. “The older ones.”
She peers up at him through tired, half-lidded eyes, trying to tell if he’s being serious. It’s hard to picture him watching romcoms… His whole energy screams thriller.
Maybe even horror, she thinks, stifling a giggle.
As if reading her mind, he smiles down at her—a cute, charming, boyish smile that sends her heart racing.
“Let’s go watch it,” he whispers in her ear. She bites her lip.
“I don’t really feel like watching anything,” she mumbles, the wave of exhaustion returning all at once.
“What do you feel like doing then?”
“Sleeping… I’m sleepy.”
“Okay, Sleepy.”
Not long after the party barely hits its peak, Max is already in the backseat of the Maybach, heading home with the stunning brunette dozing softly in his arms.
With the privacy partition raised, he pulls her closer, settling her gently on his lap. She shifts slightly, resting her head against the cool window as she melts into him.
Max has never forced himself on an unwilling woman before, having only experimented in roleplaying non-consensual sex with a handful of daring women.
Yet he can’t say he regrets it, vividly recalling how much he had enjoyed the adrenaline rush that pumped through his veins as he took her.
The thrill of the experience was so exhilarating that it surpassed anything he had ever done.
The intensity of her angry hazel eyes, rimmed with tears as they locked onto his, stirred an unfamiliar sensation within him that he’d never felt before.
He had never seen a woman look at him with such pure hate and disgust. The memory of her struggling against him, fighting him with every ounce of strength, makes him rock hard every time he thinks about it. The experience had felt so good that it almost seemed unreal.
Yet, the fading scratches and bruises on his chest, neck, and arms are a testament that it really did happen.
He had promised himself that the last time would be the final time he ever tried to see her again. But as hours bled into days, controlling himself became increasingly impossible. She ran circles around his mind, making him crave the experience all over again.
When his friend Will contacted him out of the blue about hosting another party at a newly acquired property in Soho, Max couldn’t resist suggesting that Will invite a slew of girls from that club he liked.
He knew full well that Will would love nothing more than to surround himself with beautiful women while getting completely wasted after a long week.
There had been no guarantee she would show—she didn’t seem like the partying type. But after waiting what felt like an eternity in that sea of decadence, she finally appeared in his view. In the dimly lit space, she stood out like a beacon of light… a vision in white, radiant, almost celestial.
And in that instant, he felt the universe itself conspiring to pull them back together.
There is no doubt. Their meeting tonight is destiny.
Fate is telling him to proceed.
He peers down at her, sedated and slowly coming down from the high of the drug-laced party treat she’d unknowingly consumed. She drifts in and out of sleep, too drowsy to fight him as his hand slides along the smooth skin of her bare thigh.
It’s odd, the lengths he’s willing to go to satisfy his curiosity about someone who has every right to despise him.
Lila has a beautiful face and, despite her petite frame, a seductive figure…
but so did the others before her. Men like him always have their pick of remarkable women.
Gorgeous, statuesque women who glide through boardrooms, sound stages, and runways.
Women who look as though they belong beside him.
At first, he saw her as nothing more than a quick fix, a way to ease the ache of his own neglected desires.
But she has become something else entirely, akin to an addictive substance he can’t stop craving.
The craving to consume her, to satiate this twisted hunger, devours his every thought.
His fascination with her intensifies by the second, teetering on the edge of obsession, echoing the destructive patterns of his past—the old Max, spiraling after the next high, cycling in and out of rehab as if it were routine.
But now, after indulging, the self-loathing barely registers. There’s no regret. No shame. That surprises him more than anything.
The hem of her short dress has ridden up, revealing the lacy black thong beneath.
The sheer mesh exposes silky-smooth skin.
She’s shaved herself. He groans, noticing the fading bruises along the insides of her thighs.
More hide beneath the sleeves of her dress.
Faint ochre marks circle her wrists, reminders of the grip he used to hold her still—a moment she can never forget.
The hickeys he left along her delicate neck are still faintly visible. Though she had tried to cover them with makeup, all the dancing must have worn it off just enough for the light purplish spots to peek through.
It riles him up inside to see that he had left his mark on her long after she had left him.
She mumbles something under her breath, too low for him to catch. Her lips are swollen and red from when their mouths met at Will’s new place. He can still taste the sweet gloss mingled with the candy she sucked on.
It’s intoxicating to see how sweet and sensual she can be when she’s not held back by inhibition.
Her kisses and the graze of her fingers against his skin pull him in like a tide he can’t resist. Every touch, every caress carries a magnetic force, drawing him deeper, like a siren luring a sailor into dangerous waters.