42. Veronica
42
VERONICA
One week later…
I ’m perched behind the counter, flipping through one of the Russian novels I’m using to learn the language. The bell over the door jingles. I glance up, expecting another customer, and my heart does an involuntary flip.
Maxim strides in, his dark coat trailing behind him, commanding the kind of attention that stops the world.
His eyes lock on mine immediately, and the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly, like he knows exactly what effect he has on me.
“You know,” I say, pretending to be unaffected as I set the book down, “this is a bookstore, not a Bratva strategy meeting. No guns or brooding bosses allowed.”
He raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he approaches the counter. “Relax, Veronica. I left my gun in the car. For now.”
“Reassuring,” I deadpan, but my smile betrays me.
He leans on the counter, his gaze softening as he takes me in. “How’s business?”
“Busy, thankfully. Not everyone waits for the movie to come out. Who knew? Want to hear something I’ve been practicing?”
I grab the book, flipping to a marked page. His eyes narrow slightly, intrigued but suspicious.
“What are you up to, Veronica?”
“Just sit back and enjoy,” I say, clearing my throat dramatically.
I start reading aloud in Russian, stumbling over some of the longer words but doing my best. It takes him about ten seconds to realize I’m reading an erotic passage.
His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening as I continue, doing my best to keep my tone playful and innocent.
“Am I saying it right?” I ask, pausing mid-sentence, batting my lashes at him.
His voice drops an octave as he steps closer, his hands bracing on the counter. “Close enough to drive me insane.”
He reaches across the counter, pulling the book from my hands and tossing it aside.
“Maxim!” I protest, but it’s half-hearted, the fire in his gaze already consuming me.
“You think you can tease me like that and get away with it?” he murmurs, his voice rough as he comes around the counter, his presence overwhelming. “The place is empty. No one can see.”
“I was just practicing Russian,” I manage, though my voice falters as he pulls me against him, his hands firm on my waist.
“Then let me give you something real to practice,” he says, his lips brushing against mine before claiming them fully.
The rest of the world disappears as his kiss deepens, his hands exploring the curve of my back.
He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the cozy corner of the store, the one we designed together with its plush chairs and soft lighting.
“Maxim, the store?—”
“Is closed for lunch,” he growls against my neck, his voice sending shivers down my spine. He flips the sign before prowling back toward me.
I can’t argue, not when he’s looking at me like this, not when every touch makes me forget my own name.
“And miss the chance to sell more books?” I counter, leaning back against the counter, letting my silk blouse slip just enough to reveal the delicate lace of my bra. “Never.”
He chuckles, a deep rumble that sends shivers down my spine. “You know better than to challenge me, wife.”
“Do I, husband?” I step out from behind the counter, my heels clicking softly. The hem of my skirt brushes against my thighs as I move, and I catch the way his jaw tightens. Good. Let him want. Let him ache.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my arm as I pass him, heading toward the row of shelves where the erotica section hides.
I can feel his eyes on me, hot and heavy, tracking my every movement. I stop in front of a shelf, my hand hovering over a book with a scandalous cover.
“Have you read this one yet?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up a worn copy of Crime and Punishment from a nearby table and flips it open, his expression unreadable. But I know better. I know that under that calm exterior, he’s already plotting his next move.
I bite my lip, watching him for a moment before I set the book back on the shelf. Slowly, I let my hands wander to the buttons of my blouse.
One by one, I undo them, letting the fabric slide off my shoulders and pool at my feet. The cool air kisses my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze when he finally looks up.
“Veronica,” he growls, his voice rough. The book slips from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
I laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Careful. That’s a very expensive first edition. I doubt you can afford it.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he strides toward me, his eyes locked on mine. I step back, my hips swaying with each step, until I reach the edge of the reading nook.
Without breaking eye contact, I lower myself onto the cushioned seat, crossing my legs slowly, letting my skirt ride up just enough to tease.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
“What does it look like?” I purr, standing again and moving toward him. I place one hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I’m giving you a show.”
His hand catches my wrist, and for a moment, I think he’ll stop me. But then his grip loosens, and he lets me continue.
I sink to my knees in front of him, my hands sliding up his thighs as I look up at him through my lashes. “Relax. Just enjoy the view.”
He growls something in Russian, a curse or a promise, I’m not sure. But the sound only fuels me. I rise slowly, my body brushing against his as I stand, my hands trailing up his chest to his shoulders.
I lean in, my lips grazing his ear. “You always said I had a way with words, maybe it’s time I showed you how well I can use my body too.”
He groans, his hands gripping my hips as I begin to move, grinding against him to the rhythm of the jazz playing overhead. I smirk, knowing I’ve got him right where I want him.
But he isn’t one to stay passive for long. In one swift motion, he spins me around, pressing me against the bookshelf.
His body pins me in place, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and raw need. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“You think you’re in control?” he rasps, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs. “Let me remind you who really runs this marriage.”
“You’re going to sit there,” I say, my voice smooth as I point at our chair. “And you’re not going to touch. Not until I say so.”
He doesn’t argue, sitting down and staring at me.
I move closer, letting my fingers trail across the spines of books as I walk, the cool air brushing against my skin.
When I reach him, I stop, straddling his lap without sitting down, my knees pressed into the sides of the chair. His hands twitch, and I lean in, my lips brushing his ear.
“I said don’t touch,” I whisper, and I feel the shudder that runs through him.
I start to move, my hips swaying in slow, deliberate circles, my body just close enough to tease but not close enough to satisfy. I can feel the heat of his gaze as it burns into me.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters, his voice rough with desire.
I smirk, my nails lightly scraping down his chest. “And you love it.”
He doesn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes drop to my breasts, and I watch as his tongue swipes across his lower lip.
I lean back, arching my spine, letting him take in every inch of me. My hands slide up my torso, cupping my breasts, my fingers teasing my nipples until they’re hard and sensitive.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.
I smile, leaning forward again, my lips brushing against his. “Flattery won’t get you what you want.”
“Then what will?” he asks, his voice dripping with frustration.
I don’t answer. Instead, I reach down, unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness.
His cock springs free, hard and throbbing, and I can’t help but smirk as I wrap my fingers around him, squeezing lightly.
“Beg,” I say, my voice commanding.
He groans, his head falling back against the chair. “Please.”
“Please what?” I ask, my fingers still moving, teasing him with light strokes.
“Please let me fuck my wife’s pussy,” he growls, his eyes snapping open to meet mine.
I laugh, a soft, sultry sound that only seems to frustrate him more. “Not yet.”
I release him, standing up, and he lets out a frustrated groan. I turn around, swaying my hips as I walk away, but I don’t go far.
I stop in front of a nearby bookshelf, pretending to browse the titles, knowing full well he’s watching me.
“Veronica,” he says again, his voice a low warning.
I glance over my shoulder, catching his gaze. “Yes, husband?”
“Don’t play with me,” he says, and there’s a sharpness to his tone that sends a thrill through me.
I turn around, walking back to him, my hips swaying with every step. When I reach him, I stop, my hands on his shoulders as I lower myself onto his lap, his cock brushing against my pussy.
“I’m not playing,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “I’m in control. And you’re going to do exactly as I say.”
He doesn’t argue. His hands grip the armrests so tightly his knuckles turn white. I sink down onto him slowly, the stretch of him filling me, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes closing for a moment before they snap open again, locking onto mine.
I start to move, rocking my hips in slow, deliberate motions, my hands resting on his shoulders for balance.
His breath comes in short, sharp bursts, and I can feel the way his body tenses beneath me, the way he’s trying to hold back.
“You feel so good,” I whisper, my nails digging into his shoulders just enough to leave a mark.
He groans, his hands finally moving to grip my hips, but I stop him with a sharp look.
“I said don’t touch,” I remind him, my voice firm.
He growls in frustration but pulls his hands away, his fingers curling into fists.
I pick up the pace, my hips moving faster, his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
My fingers move between us, finding my clit, and I circle it with just the right amount of pressure.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, his voice rough with desire.
“And you’re so fucking hard,” I reply, my breath hitching as the pleasure builds.
I can feel my orgasm approaching, the coil in my stomach tightening with every thrust.
His hands grip the armrests again, and I can see the way he’s struggling to hold back, the way his body trembles beneath me.
“I’m close,” I whisper, my voice trembling with need.
“Come for me,” he growls, his eyes locked on mine.
I do, my body shuddering as the waves of pleasure crash over me. My hips stutter, my fingers still working my clit as I ride out the orgasm, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He doesn’t last much longer. With a guttural groan, he comes inside me, his body tensing as he spills himself.
I collapse against him, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts, my body still trembling with the after effects of my orgasm.
“Fuck, Veronica,” he mutters, his hands finally moving to my hips, holding me close. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re a dangerous woman.”
I glance toward the window. The blinds are wide open, and the street outside is alive with people going about their evening.
“Maxim,” I say, nudging him with my foot. “We forgot to close the blinds.”
He looks over, his lips curving into a wicked grin as he whispers in my ear. “I don’t care. Do you?”