Chapter 17 Ivy
IVY
My heart is pounding so hard, I’m certain the sound of it must be ricocheting off the walls.
Every pulse feels like it’s climbing up into my throat, threatening to give me away. I’m frozen. Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, like every nerve in my body has been hijacked by panic and arousal and humiliation in equal measure.
Maksim watches me like a predator that knows exactly how fast his prey’s heart is beating and enjoys it. That’s exactly what that smirk he wears says to me.
“Drop the blanket,” he tells me after my shame-soaked confession.
I don’t move. I can’t move. I’m not holding on out of defiance.
The real reason I’m being this stubborn? I’m fucking mortified. Not just because he caught me touching myself—that’s already horrible enough—but because I was thinking about him when it happened and actually admitted to it.
Not in some vague, hazy way, either. I was picturing him exactly as he’d been earlier today when he was ordering people around like a fucking god, barking orders at his men, commanding them to bend to his will with that intense stare, cutting through anyone foolish enough to get in his way.
In my head, I imagined that man grabbing me, spinning me around, bending me over the nearest flat surface while that brutal, commanding voice barked out orders directed at me instead.
Submit to me.
Obey me.
Say it, Ivy. Say who you belong to.
And now he’s here, in my room, looking at me like he knows every last one of those dirty thoughts.
“Tell me to leave,” he says again, quieter this time. Not softer—Maksim Antonov doesn’t do soft—but there’s a slight gentleness to his tone that I’m not expecting.
My lips part.
But I can’t say it, despite my mind screaming at me to get away from this man. To distance myself from the man I watched beat another to within an inch of his life today. Push away this Mafia king before he wraps those strong hands around my neck and kills me too.
The worst part is I don’t want to say it, to tell him to leave.
Not when my thighs are still sticky with want.
Not when my core is aching from being left empty, and that very obvious bulge in his pants is telling me he liked what he saw.
Not when I’ve been holding on to this tension since the moment I met him and I don’t think I can carry it another second longer.
“Ivy,” he says again.
The blanket feels suddenly too hot in my hands.
That deep, assessing stare of his pins me in place, making me feel like I’ve just been laid bare in every way that matters.
I tell myself I’m not going to, that I’m not going to give him that satisfaction of giving in, because that would be the stupidest decision of my life.
Not just because it would be insane to hook up with a fucking Mafia boss but because it would be reckless to think anything good would come of it.
But when he uses that voice—deep, certain, and commanding—it hits me somewhere low in my stomach. “Tell me to leave.”
Obedience doesn’t feel like submission. It feels like inevitability.
My fingers loosen. “I don’t want to.”
The blanket slips down slowly, pooling at my waist. Cool air ghosts over my overheated skin. My thighs press together instinctively when a jolt rolls through my body, but then, just as slowly, I part them in an unspoken act of acceptance.
His gaze darkens instantly, hunger sharpening the lines of his face as he eyes move down my body. One large, cool hand comes up, fingers curling around my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. I can feel the weight of his stare more than I can feel the heat of his skin.
“Tell me,” he says. “What exactly about me you were thinking of when you were touching yourself.”
The answer burns on my tongue. I should lie, deflect. But for some reason, I don’t.
“You at that job. You commanding those men. Putting them in their place. Showing them who they belong to. Who they answer to.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it lands like I’ve screamed it.
His mouth is on mine in an instant, no slow lead-in, no hesitation. The kiss is hard, claiming, his fingers tightening on my jaw like he’s making sure I can’t pull away.
Not that I’d ever want to.
I gasp against his mouth as he pushes me back into the bed, the solid weight of him crowding out any thought of resistance. Every movement strips away barriers, literal and otherwise, from me until I’m bare beneath him in more ways than one.
“Touch me,” I breathe, and the way his eyes lock on mine tells me he’s already decided who I belong to.
He leans in, slow enough to make me ache. His gaze drags over me like a physical gesture, mapping every inch of skin he can see from what little I’m wearing, lingering just long enough to make me wonder what it would feel like if he really touched me.
Then, without breaking eye contact, his hand moves.
His knuckles ghost along my inner thigh, the heat of his palm following, sliding higher inch by inch.
His knuckle grazes against my outer lips, nuzzling between them until it rests against my swollen clit.
The pressure is barely there, maddening in its restraint, but it sends shivers rocketing through me.
I gasp before I can stop myself, my body arching instinctively toward him to grind down on his hand.
“Is this what you wanted?” His voice is low, teasing.
“More,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering shut, though it feels like an understatement for what’s happening inside me.
He holds my face with his other hand, his thumb brushing my cheek as if to remind me who’s in control here.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, and I do. I can’t not, staring into eyes that seem darker than before.
When his knuckle finally presses harder against my clit, I bite down on my lip, my breath catching. It’s still not enough, but it’s also more than I can handle. He holds me down by my throat, the mix of power and restraint in every measured movement making me dizzy.
“Good girl,” he says, his breath warm against my ear, pinching my clit between his fingers before trailing them down exactly where I’ve been silently begging for them to go.
He spreads me wide. Two of his thick fingers hold my lips apart as another dips inside my entrance.
It thrusts in and out of me in slow, deep pulls, coating his skin in my slick.
My whole body is trembling by the time his lips brush mine with the barest hint of a kiss, and I realize he’s still teasing me.
“Maksim…” My voice breaks on his name. I can’t stand another second of this game he’s playing with my body.
His hand between my legs moves with no urgency, finger sliding in and out in deep, languid thrusts that I can’t help imagining as his cock. I’m so wet, I’m practically dripping all over his hand. My body sucks and pulls him, greedy to keep him locked inside me.
He growls low in his chest, the sound vibrating against my lips.
“You’ve been thinking about me like this, touching yourself, wishing it were me. For how long?”
“Long.” The word slips out without hesitation, my mind too hazy to care about pride.
That’s all it takes.
My body clenches around nothing when he pulls his finger out of me. I groan in annoyance, grabbing for his wrist to pull it back down to where I need it. He twists it out of my grip, his weight suddenly coming over me in one fluid, predatory movement.
He doesn’t even stop to undress himself fully before spreading my legs wide, holding me there like I belong to him.
His hands roam with complete ownership, grabbing a fist full of my camisole and shoving it down to pop my breast out into the open.
The intensity in his eyes when he looks up at me makes my breath hitch, reminding me that I’ve crossed into territory I can’t come back from.
And then he’s inside me, teeth on my throat as he thrusts in.
I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders, because there’s nothing slow about how he takes me. He moves with a force that has me arching up to meet him, each thrust sending sparks racing down my spine.
He kisses me hard, swallowing every sound I make, his grip on my hips unrelenting as if daring me to try and pull away.
“Say it,” he demands between kisses.
“Maksim…” I pant.
“Say I own you, Ivy. That you’re mine to take when I want. That your body belongs to me.”
Oh, fuck.
My walls clench around him at the command. “Maksim—”
I start, but his hand slides down to my throat, tilting my head back just enough to make my next breath come out as a gasp when he squeezes.
“Say it, Ivy. Now.”
And I do. It’s the truth, after all. “I’m yours. All yours.”
He rewards me with a deep, punishing thrust that has my back arching and my vision blurring. From there, his pace grows wild, his control finally shattered. I’m clinging to him, falling apart in his arms, his name spilling from my lips like it’s the only word I know.
I come so hard that my vision whites out and my eyes roll to the back of my head. My entire body seizes, nails digging so hard into his skin that I’m sure I’ve drawn blood. When my orgasm finally releases me, I flop back down onto the mattress like a rag doll.
Maksim lifts away from me, fingers digging into my hips to pull me farther into his lap. His hips slam into mine over and over again, his cock carving out a place that I know will be molded perfectly to him by the time this is over.
He lets out a shattered groan as he throws his head back, his eyes squeezing shut as he spills into me, wet and hot. My walls clench again, another orgasm squeezing out of me as my body ripples around his cock, trying to milk him dry.
When it’s over, he practically collapses on top of me, his forehead pressed against my shoulder.
I don’t know how long we stay there afterward, but my body is too limp to care.
Maksim doesn’t move right away, either. One hand still cups around my neck, thumb stroking along my pulse point absentmindedly. His heart is still racing against mine, and it’s a strange comfort, like proof that I wasn’t the only one affected by this.
When he finally does pull back, his gaze locks on mine with that same unreadable intensity that he always has since the day we met. There’s something else there I can’t name, a dangerous mix of possession and satisfaction, maybe.
“I’ll send someone to bring you food,” he says, lifting away from me and pulling out. His cum spills out of me, wetting the sheets between my legs. “Rest.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is deafening.
It’s only then that I realize I’m shaking. Not just from the physical aftermath, but from the way my mind can’t stop replaying every second of what just happened. The way he looked at me, the way his voice sounded when he told me to say I was his.
God. What the hell did I just do?
I bury my face in my hands, groaning against my palms. Because here’s the thing. I don’t know what’s worse, that I let him touch me, or that I wanted it so badly, I nearly begged. I wanted him enough that I’d been touching myself before that while thinking about him in the first place.
He’s a Mafia leader—a fucking Pakhan—a man I should be avoiding at all costs. And yet, when he looked at me like he wanted to devour every inch of me, I didn’t think about who he was or what he could be capable of.
I just thought about how badly I wanted him to keep going.
Sitting up, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and cup my hand between my legs to keep from dripping all over the carpet. I head to the bathroom to clean myself up, grabbing a towel from the linen closest inside to wipe myself down.
When I finally look in the mirror, I find my own face practically unrecognizable. My lips are still swollen from his kisses, my neck marked from his teeth.
I look like a damn mess. I look fucked out of my mind.
This isn’t good.
Actually, this is the exact opposite of good.
I can’t let myself forget where I am or that I’m still essentially being held captive here, no matter how gently he wraps the chains around me. If I start softening toward him, if I start thinking he’s anything other than dangerous, I’m done.
And yet…
God, fuck me.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel his commanding tone that made me obey without question.
Heading back into my room, I sink back onto the bed, pulling the covers up to cover myself and hating that my body still hums for him even now.
I need to keep my distance from now on. I need to be smart. And I need to remember exactly what kind of man Maksim Antonov is.
But deep down, I already know I’m lying to myself.
I know if he comes around again, I’ll let him right back into my bed, no questions asked.