Chapter 29 #9
She bites down on the soft flesh of her bottom lip. Despite her attempts to keep him at arm’s length over the past week, he is clearly emerging victorious in their ongoing battle of wills. She shoves at his chest, hating the smug expression on his face.
“No,” she breathes—then gasps sharply as he slides into her private space a little too deeply. Her body feels hot and sticky, sweat pooling along her hairline, baby hairs clinging to her damp skin.
“What a shame,” he murmurs. “It feels incredible to me.” He goads her further. “Kiss me like your boyfriend’s life depends on it.”
Her eyes drift to his lips. After a moment’s hesitation, she leans in, pressing her lips lightly against his. He deepens the kiss, his tongue parting to meet hers. One hand rises to cradle her face, holding her head in place as he presses her into a smothering kiss.
“Good girl,” he coos once he’s satisfied, rapping her cheek a few times—just hard enough to leave a faint sting. His smile is cold and unreadable as he removes his hands from her face.
Straightening, he begins to quicken the pace of his long, deep strokes.
Now that he has her under his thumb, a darker, sadistic side of him emerges.
His true self is ruthless and tireless, fueled by stamina that never quits and a taste for cruelty that was hidden beneath charm and a carefully maintained exterior.
She has faced this monster before on the third floor of that wretched club.
The unmasked side now sneers at her, mocking and insulting her willpower as he fucks her roughly into submission. This is his way of punishing her for her perceived betrayal.
There is no longer any trace of sweetness or patience in him.
The man she was dating for a ludicrous paycheck is gone.
His demeanor shows no regard for her exhaustion, as though her mounting fatigue means nothing at all.
This darker side of him seems to revel in every moment leading to her eventual surrender, taking twisted pleasure in watching her beg him to hurry, to finish.
But she promised herself at the start of this battle that she would never give him that satisfaction again.
“Feeling good yet?” he taunts, his voice low and thick with amusement.
“No.” She turns her head, lips clamped shut in stubborn silence. He can tell how much effort she’s putting into appearing disinterested.
“Really?” he rasps. “Your body is telling me otherwise. You’re squeezing me so hard.”
He savors the way she reluctantly mewls and writhes beneath him. The bed creaks as her soft gasps and sighs swell into a crescendo of lustful grunts and deep moans, echoing through the room and filling their ears.
Their rhythm is suddenly broken by his phone, the persistent tone cutting sharply through their intimate symphony.
He freezes, every movement stilled as he considers his next move, then leans over to snatch the ringing device from the nightstand.
His eyes flick to the screen, his face hardening with irritation.
Looking back at her, he places a finger over his lips, his stern gaze making it clear she is to remain silent.
“What is it?” he snaps into the phone.
Aside from her chest rising and falling as she struggles to steady her breathing, Lila remains motionless beneath him. She watches him quietly, feeling a brief pang of sympathy for whoever is on the receiving end of his clipped tone.
Though she can’t make out the caller’s words, it’s clear the constant interruptions over the past few days are wearing down his patience. Max has grown increasingly on edge, and she has learned she must tread even more carefully around him.
As he listens, his gaze drifts down her body to where they remain connected, the intensity making her want to squirm. Her breath hitches as he begins to shift his hips.
Wait… What—
She watches as he inches out of her tight space, only to surge forward without warning, catching her completely off guard. She cries out in surprise as a forceful mix of pleasure and pain floods her when he buries himself to the hilt.
Mortified, she clamps a hand over her mouth. When he retreats again, she shakes her head in a silent plea, then removes her hand to push weakly against his abdomen.
“Stop,” she mouths.
“I said I’ll be there, Sydney,” he murmurs into the phone, his voice husky.
The conversation continues, each deliberate movement and measured word pushing her closer to the brink.
Lila bites down on her lip, fighting the sounds threatening to spill free as the sensations overwhelm her.
His cold, clinical stare as he burrows into her tells her exactly what he wants.
Beg.
Her walls clamp and pulse around him as her hands push against his hard chest, teetering on the edge of losing herself completely. Just as her jaw slackens, Max lets go of one of her legs and cups a hand over her mouth, muffling the moans rising from her throat, the sounds caught against his palm.
“Please,” she breathes, sliding his hand away. “Stop.”
He ends the call with a sharp click, and she groans in relief, the sound unraveling into a cascade of soft moans.
“You’re insane,” she moans as she watches him toss his phone aside.
“You seemed to have liked it,” he says, slowing his thrusts as he positions her legs around his hips. Leaning down, he whispers into her ear, “I didn’t think you could get any wetter. We should have housekeeping come air the place out today—it reeks of sex in here.”
Her cheeks, already flushed, deepen to a brighter shade of pink at his vulgar remark. He doubles his efforts, driving her toward an earth-shattering climax. A familiar tingling pulses in her lower abdomen, building rapidly. She squeezes her eyes shut, surrendering to the inevitable.
Then it finally hits.
Her release crashes over her like a freight train. Her body convulses beneath him as waves of electrifying pleasure ripple through her. Her legs lock around his hips, pulling him deeper as she clings to the sensation of his pulsating member finishing inside her.
He seizes the moment to kiss her deeply, and she responds with matching intensity, their mouths moving in sync until the heat of her toe-curling climax fades and reality crashes back in.
She shoves his chest, eyes blazing with defiance as she glares at him.
A flicker of shame weaves through the torrent of anger burning inside her.
He pulls back and slides off the bed, grabbing a pillow and tucking it beneath her hips to keep anything from spilling onto the sheets.
Then he reaches for a pair of sweatpants and slips them on.
Turning back, he studies her spent form.
Her naked body, marked by him in every way, is breathtaking.
As if sensing his gaze, she drags the duvet up over her bare breasts.
“Get up and shower. We need to get ready,” he says dryly.
She scowls, refusing to move.
Gripping her ankles, he drags her off the bed. Despite her protests, he remains unyielding, his hand closing firmly around her wrist as he pulls her across the room.
The once-chaotic space, littered with overturned and broken furniture, has been meticulously restored. Every damaged or displaced piece has been replaced, some with identical items, others with even finer ones.
He had offered her the chance to pick out new furniture, suggesting she choose replacements to make his home feel more welcoming.
She had pointedly declined, refusing to indulge his delusional desire to play house.
Now the room gleams in the sleek, minimalist style Max prefers, every surface pristine, and her irritation grows with every step.
“Do you want me to wash you?” he asks, his voice calm but suggestive. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“No!” she snaps, wrenching her arm free. “Where are you taking me?” Her eyes search his face, desperate for answers.
He cups her cheek, his thumb dragging slowly across her skin before his hand falls away. “My father’s funeral,” he says flatly, his tone and expression utterly devoid of feeling.
“Oh!” she gasps, caught completely off guard. Never in a million years would she have guessed. “Oh, um… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. When did—”
“This past weekend. At his apartment. In his sleep, beside his caretaker,” he says, leaning closer, his expression chillingly detached. “She was pretty young. Younger than you, in fact.”
His gaze drifts down her body before snapping back to her eyes. The darkness there makes her swallow hard.
“I was told he died very satisfied.”
Gross, Lila thinks, her lips pressing into a tight line.
As if reading her thoughts, he adds, “I know! Who knew he could still get it up despite the cancer? It was his heart giving out that killed him, though. Anyway, your little boyfriend Jake’s livelihood depends on your cooperation today.”
Her eyes brighten instantly at the mention of Jake. “How is he?” she asks, urgency threading her voice.
Max says nothing and turns away.
Without thinking, she reaches out and grabs the waistband of his sweatpants. “Max. How is he?”
His expression hardens, his gaze turning icy and menacing with a fury she has never seen directed at her before. Startled, she releases him and steps back, unable to withstand the weight of his piercing stare.
“Get ready, Lila,” he says coldly. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
With one final, chilling look, he turns and leaves the room, the door closing behind him and sealing her into a heavy, suffocating silence.
After filling the slipper tub with warm water, Lila eases herself in, letting the soothing heat envelop her exhausted body.
She stares straight ahead, refusing to look down between her legs, her mind fracturing at the thought of what she might see.
No matter how much she scrubs, she knows she will never fully erase the traces of him.
Even when the bruises fade and her body heals, Max has left an indelible mark, one invisible to everyone else but will forever be present to her.