6. Maxim
MAXIM
The boat rocks beneath us, and I freeze halfway through reaching for the button on my jeans.
"Problem?" Wren's still sprawled on the bench, thighs open, her chest heaving, green eyes hazy with satisfaction and something hungrier.
"You realize this thing's about eight feet long and I'm six-four, right?" I gesture at the cramped space between the seats. "I'm not exactly working with ideal conditions here."
"Are you seriously complaining right now?"
"Solnyshko, I will fuck you anywhere, anytime, but if I flip this boat and drown us both, Lev's gonna resurrect me just to kill me again.
" I unbutton my jeans anyway because let's be honest, there's no version of this where I don't fuck her.
My cock's been granite-hard since I put my mouth on her, and the wet heat of her is burned into my tongue.
She sits up, color flooding her cheeks, hair a mess of tangles and sunlight. "So what do we do?"
"We get creative." I drop onto the bench and pull her onto my lap, her back to my chest. She gasps when my cock presses against her ass through the denim. "Less rocking. More control for you."
"For me?"
"You're gonna ride me, baby. Set the pace. Take what you need." I kiss the side of her neck, scrape my teeth along the tendon, and she melts into me with a soft, breathy sound that makes my cock twitch. "But first, tell me what you want."
"Maxim—"
"Say it." I slide my hands up her thighs, thumbs brushing the tender skin at the crease. "I need to hear you say it."
"I want you inside me."
Good girl. The words rumble out of me like gravel under tires, low and rough, as I hook my hands under her thighs and lift her just high enough to shove my jeans and briefs down my hips.
My cock springs free, thick, veined, and so painfully hard the cool lake air feels like a slap against the flushed, leaking head.
She glances back over her shoulder, green eyes flaring wide at the sight, and that little spike of nerves mixed with hunger hits me square in the chest. I flash her a crooked grin, the one that usually gets me out of trouble.
"Don't worry, solnyshko. We'll make it fit. Even if it wrecks us both."
I line myself up, the blunt, swollen head of my cock nudging against her slick folds, her pussy so drenched I can feel her arousal coating me instantly, dripping down to slick my balls where they rest heavy against the wooden bench.
The scent of her—sweet, musky, mixed with pine off the water and the faint brine of the lake—floods my lungs and makes my head spin. She's soaked, practically pulsing, but I force myself to hold still, letting her control the descent.
Inch by torturous inch she sinks down, her tight walls stretching around my girth, fluttering and gripping like wet velvet fire.
When she's fully seated, her back arches hard, pressing those perfect tits forward, head falling back against my shoulder so I feel the damp strands of her blonde hair stick to my stubble.
Bozhe moy. My God. The molten, vise-tight grip of her cunt squeezes every vein along my shaft, and I have to lock my jaw so I don't come right then like some fucking teenager.
It's too much—too hot, too perfect, too hers. My heart slams against my ribs, loud in my own ears over the soft lap of water against the hull and the distant call of a loon across the lake.
"You feel fucking incredible," I breathe against her ear, voice wrecked. "Like you were made to strangle my cock, solnyshko."
She whimpers, the sound vibrating through her spine into my chest, and something raw and possessive claws up my throat. I band one thick arm around her waist, anchoring her to me, while my other hand splays wide across her soft stomach, feeling the way her muscles tremble under my palm.
The sun beats down on us, warming her bare skin where her dress is rucked up around her hips, but all I can focus on is the fever heat between her legs and the way her thighs quiver against mine.
"Move when you're ready," I tell her, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"I've got you. Take what you need from me. "
For a breath, she hesitates, and I feel the flicker of doubt in the tension of her shoulders. Then she lifts up—just barely—and sinks back down with a broken gasp that shoots straight to my balls.
The boat rocks gently beneath us, wood creaking softly, water slapping rhythmic against the fiberglass in time with her movements. I grit my teeth until they ache, every muscle in my body screaming to thrust up and split her open, to chase the blinding pleasure building at the base of my spine.
But this is her show. She sets the pace, slow and experimental at first, her slick pussy dragging along every inch of me like she's memorizing the stretch. Then she grows bolder, hips rolling faster, confidence blooming in the way she grinds down harder, taking me deeper.
"That's it, baby. Just like that—fuck." I press open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her shoulder, tasting salt and sun on her skin, then scrape my teeth up the side of her neck until she shudders.
My hand slides lower, fingers finding her swollen clit, and I circle it with my thumb in tight, slick strokes that match her rhythm.
She clenches violently around me, inner walls rippling like she's trying to pull me even further inside, and a raw groan tears from deep in my chest. The sound echoes across the water before the trees swallow it. "You drive me out of my fucking mind. You know that?"
"Good." Her voice is breathy, teasing even now, and she slams down harder, ass grinding against my pelvis with a wet smack that makes my vision spark white at the edges.
Stars explode behind my eyes. My free hand grips her hip, helping her ride me—lifting, lowering, the sound of her soaked cunt swallowing my cock filling the air between us.
"Tell me what you need," I growl against her ear, barely holding on. My pulse is thunder in my temples, sweat slicking the place where our bodies meet.
"Faster."
The word barely leaves her lips before I'm moving with her, one hand locked on her hip to guide the frantic pace while the other keeps tormenting her clit.
The boat sways more now, rocking with real purpose, but I keep us balanced, thighs braced wide on the bench.
Her breathing fractures into ragged little gasps and desperate moans that spill from her open mouth like music—high, needy sounds that mix with the creak of wood and the distant slap of waves against the distant dock.
I can feel her tightening, coiling, her pussy fluttering wildly around my throbbing length as she hurtles toward the edge.
"Ty takaya krasivaya," I murmur hot against her ear, the Russian thick and guttural because English isn't enough right now. You're so beautiful. My thumb presses firmer on her clit. "Ty moya." You're mine.
She shatters with a sharp, keening cry that slices through the quiet afternoon, her whole body locking down around me—inner muscles spasming, milking my cock in powerful, rhythmic pulses that drag me helplessly over the edge with her.
The orgasm slams into me, white-hot and devastating, ripping a choked groan from my throat as I bury my face in the sweat-damp curve of her neck.
I fuck up into her through the aftershocks, short, deep thrusts that chase every last twitch of her cunt, my release flooding her in thick, pulsing jets until I can't tell where I end and she begins.
For a second I forget how to breathe, how to think—there's only her scent, her heat, the frantic thud of her heart against my forearm, and the overwhelming certainty that this girl is going to ruin me in the best possible way.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Just the sound of water and our breathing, the sun warm on our skin, the boat bobbing gently beneath us.
She shifts, turning her head to look at me, and her lips curve into a lazy, satisfied smile. "That was?—"
"Yeah." I kiss her temple, then ease her off me and tuck myself back into my jeans. "You're gonna be the death of me."
"Pretty sure you'll survive."
"Don't count on it, solnyshko."
By the time we make it back to the dock, Wren's laughing at something I said about Kostya's knife collection, and I'm carrying her because she claims her legs don't work anymore.
"That's the best compliment a man can get, by the way," I tell her as I hoist her higher in my arms.
"Your ego doesn't need the boost."
"My ego is perfectly calibrated, thank you."
She loops her arms around my neck, grinning up at me, and something warm and unfamiliar settles in my chest. I haven't felt this light in—fuck, I don't know how long.
Years, maybe, after my parents' deaths for sure.
Since before the weight of the family business started pressing down on all of us, before every day became a calculation of risk and survival.
I carry her up the lawn toward the house, gravel crunching under my boots, and she buries her face in my neck, still giggling. The sound does something to me. Makes me want to keep her laughing like this forever, safe and happy and mine.
Ours.
The door swings open before I reach it, and Lev stands in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised. His gaze flicks from me to Wren, taking in her flushed cheeks, messy hair, the oversized shirt that's ridden up to show the curve of her ass.
"The guards must have heard you fucking her on the boat," he says, flat and unimpressed.
I grin. "The same way every creature heard you both last night."
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close enough that I know he's not actually pissed. Wren makes a strangled sound against my neck, and I set her down gently, steadying her when she wobbles.
"Kitchen," she mutters, and bolts toward it like the hounds of hell are on her heels.
Lev watches her go, then turns that steady, calculating gaze on me. For a second, neither of us speaks. We don't need to. He knows what happened on the boat, same way I knew what happened on the porch last night, same way Kostya knew when he fucked her on the couch.
We're not fighting over her. We're not drawing lines or claiming territory. We're doing what we've always done—adapting, adjusting, finding the way forward together.
And if that way forward involves all three of us sharing her?
Lev's eyes meet mine, steady and certain, and I see the answer there before he says a word.
Yeah. We're doing this.