24. Maksim
Maksim
Cinder is at the house when I come downstairs. I know she’s pissed before she says a word. It doesn’t take much to piss her off, and she’s been in a pissy mood for weeks.
I know why. Lila.
“Before you say anything…” I start.
“She handled herself well,” Cinder says, “until the champagne.”
I pour myself a cup of coffee and say nothing. I know there’s a lecture coming. I need caffeine to hear it.
“For someone who’s never really drank before, good champagne at a party full of strangers while her husband lets women crawl all over him is actually pretty restrained,” Cinder says.
“She made a scene.”
“Maksim, I’ve watched you work. I know what it looks like. I also know what it looked like to a nineteen-year-old girl from nowhere who doesn’t know the rules yet.”
“She needs to learn them.”
I have no idea why Cinder is defending her. I sense more is coming.
“She’s smarter than you’re giving her credit for. She was uncomfortable but still made small talk with people she has nothing in common with.” She picks up her cup. “Honestly? I’d have done worse at her age.”
“You’d have stabbed someone.”
“I did stab someone.” She says it without blinking. “My point stands.”
I stare at the backyard through the window. The crew left it immaculate. You’d never know there was a party with more than a hundred people back there last night.
“She’s going to be the thing that either makes you or costs you everything,” Cinder says. “Maybe both.”
I turn to look at her. This is the lecture I’ve been waiting for.
“I’m not saying to get rid of her,” she says.
“I’m saying figure out what you want her to be in this world.
Right now, she’s trying to figure it out by herself, and she doesn’t have enough information to do it right.
You brought her in, but you haven’t actually brought her in.
You’re sleeping with her. You crossed that line, and now you need to figure out what you’re going to do with her. ”
“She doesn’t need to know everything.”
“She needs to know enough.” Cinder takes her cup to the sink. “She’s either in or out. This grey-area bullshit won’t work. No one will trust her or accept her if you don’t.”
She leaves without saying goodbye.
I hate when she’s right. I don’t know how to be a husband. I have a way of doing things that works. If I’m not flirting and charming, how do I get what I want? Obviously, there are other ways, but they aren’t my way.
I don’t want to hurt Lila. She needs to know I’m not fucking those women. But how would she know? And that’s what Cinder tried to say.
Relationships are drama, which is why I’ve always avoided them. It’s too easy to trip over other people’s feelings.
Lila doesn't feel like drama, though.
That's the problem.
She should feel like a complication. A liability. A girl I pulled out of a bad situation and turned into a war because I couldn't leave well enough alone.
But I keep thinking about her in the med room, with an oxygen mask on her face and soot in her hair.
Telling me the guards would have been too late, like that was a fact, and I was an idiot for not seeing it.
She ran into a burning building, and her only regret was that it took her too long to get to them.
She put those horses before herself without a second thought.
I don't know what the fuck to do with that.
But I don't have time for whatever this is right now. Last night, during my many conversations, I learned that there was too much hesitation. The problems in the underworld are bleeding into my legitimate business, and I need to fix that.
I text Damien and let him know we’ve got shit to handle.
An hour later, we’re in one of the rougher areas of Miami. A brick building with zero curb appeal is my target. It’s the kind of place that exists because certain people need certain things and don’t want to be seen obtaining them.
It belongs to a man named Bosko. He’s Serbian, but he’s been allowing Arlind’s people to operate out of his building while pretending to stay neutral. I’ve never cared before. His shitty, grungy club is not taking my clientele. The women they traffic are not taking my customers.
But if we’re in the game of sending messages, mine will be the loudest.
It’s the middle of the afternoon. The place is closed. I don’t bother trying the lock. I step back and kick in the fucking door.
It swings open and slams against the wall.
We walk inside, and the soles of my shoes stick to God-knows-what on the floor. The place is a step above a dump. I feel dirty just being here.
“Shit.” Damien looks around. “People pay to be here?”
“People pay to get high and fuck here,” I retort.
I take out my phone, pull up the camera app, and pull out a lighter. I flick it, and the flame shoots high and bright.
I take a picture in front of the bar to make it very clear where I’m standing.
Then, I send it to Bosko and nod to Damien.
He walks behind the bar and grabs a few bottles, handing one to me. We move around, dumping the alcohol on the couches that I’m afraid to get too close to. We soak the space.
Then, Damien moves to the door to wait for me. I pull out the lighter, light it, and drop it in the puddle of cheap vodka.
The heat from the explosion of flames washes over me. Then, I casually walk out with Damien leading the way back to the SUV.
“A little dramatic,” Damien says as Sampson navigates the narrow streets.
“Good.”
The compound is quiet when we pull back in. I get out of the SUV, and Sampson pulls away to park. I go inside, not knowing what to expect from my wife. When she’s pissed, she can be a little violent. Maybe that’s what I need right now.
I need a drink. I don’t care that it’s barely past noon. I walk into the den and pour myself a drink.
“You smell like a bonfire.”
I spin around to see Lila stretched out on the couch with a magazine in her hand. I hadn’t even seen her. I’m always aware of my surroundings, but I’d been lost in thought.
She’s in shorts and a T-shirt, barefoot, with her hair pulled back. I sometimes forget how gorgeous she is when she’s natural. She’d been beautiful last night, but like this, raw and with no effort, she’s her best. Fucking beautiful.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
"That wasn’t a compliment."
“Better than flowery perfume.”
I down the drink in one gulp and feel her moving toward me. Her hand rests on my shoulder, and I feel it everywhere. “Are you okay?” she asks softly.
I turn to look at her, and she's reading my face like my answer matters.
I set down the glass and pull her into me. Her hands come up against my chest, and her fingers curl into my shirt. She’s not apologizing. And she’s not asking for an apology.
I kiss her like she kissed me last night. She makes a sound of surprise against my mouth, and then her fingers tighten in my shirt, and she kisses me back just as hard.
"Still mad?" she murmurs.
“Yep. You?”
“Furious.”
I lift her and drop her on the console table. She looks up at me with dark eyes. Last night’s fight is still in them. I don’t mind. I need that fire.
She jerks open my shirt, sending buttons flying. I feel my nostrils flare. This is what I need. I need hot, hard, and fast. She doesn’t apologize. She pulls my lip between her teeth and rakes her nails down my chest.
I grimace and suck in a breath as she inflicts the best kind of pain. I rip off her shirt and get her shorts and panties down. Then, I push open her legs and step between them.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I hiss.
“And I’m so pissed at you.” She clamps her teeth down on my neck.
My body jerks, and my cock jumps, straining against my pants.
Her hands flick open the button and jerk down the zipper. And then, she wraps her hand around my cock.
“Fuck,” I growl.
She squeezes. I’m going to explode before I get into her tight pussy.
I jerk her ass forward to the edge of the table. “You like pain, Lila?”
“No, but I think you do.”
I slip my fingers between her legs, smiling as I slide them over her wet core. “I’d say so.”
“You talk too much.”
She’s not fragile right now. She’s not uncertain or tentative. Not with me.
I let her take what she wants because watching her take it is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Her hand is back on my cock, pulling and stroking.
“You’re going to be the end of me, voinitsa.”
“Good.”
I gently wrap one hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp and arch into me. “You want this cock, don’t you?” I growl, my hips grinding into her hand. “Say it. Tell me how bad you need me to fuck you.”
She nods.
“Words, Lila.”
Her eyes darken, and her lips part. “Yes. I need your cock. Fuck me hard.”
I slap her hand away from my cock and push inside her. Her back arches, and her head drops back. I squeeze my eyes closed and force myself not to move. This is new to her. I probably should have been a little more careful.
I count to six in my head, giving her time to adjust.
“This what you want?” I ask.
She looks at me. “No.”
“No?”
I’m always up for a challenge.
Her eyes are dark, and her chest is heaving. She braces her hands on the table behind her and tilts her hips to take more of me. She’s trying to take what I’m not giving.
I pull out. “Not until you tell me.”
“I don’t want slow,” she says. “I don’t want careful.”
I glance down. Her wet, bare pussy is begging for my cock. I wrap my hand around my weeping cock and slide it up and down her slit.
She rolls her hips again, grinding herself against me. “I want you to fuck me like you hate me.”
Every muscle in my body goes tight. “I don’t hate you.”
“Fuck. Me.” She holds my stare. “Stop treating me like I’ll break.”
Goddamn. She’s so innocent. She has no fucking clue what I want to do to her. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, but I can scratch her feral little itch.
I push just the tip back inside her.
My lips brush against hers. “Be careful what you wish for.”
I drive in hard, and a cry erupts from her throat. She’s not hurting. Her pussy is throbbing around my cock. She loves it. She feels alive. I know that feeling. The pain and pleasure blur and blend, and everything feels a thousand times sharper.
“That what you meant?” I growl against her ear.
“Yes! God, yes! Don’t stop!”
I put my hand back on her throat, pushing her head back against the wall as I thrust inside her tight little body.
I do it again and again. Each thrust drives her back across the table. She shoves herself forward to meet me.
“Greedy,” I rasp.
She’s taking everything I give her and demanding more. Her nails find my shoulders and dig in. I feel the blood, and I fucking love it.
“You want to make me bleed?” I ask her.
“Yes.”
My balls tighten. I’m so fucking close. She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
“Harder,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”
I grab her thigh and hitch her leg higher around my hip, changing the angle. She cries out and arches her body off the table.
I can’t get deep enough. I pull out, jerk her off the table, and spin her around. I slap her ass once before I give one brutal thrust and bury myself into her, balls deep. She cries out.
“Hard enough, princess?” I bite her earlobe.
“No.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. You think you can take more.”
Her walls clench around me, telling me that’s what she wants. I set a punishing pace, my hips slapping against her ass. I fist one hand in her hair and yank her head back while the other stays firmly on her hip.
“Can you take it, Lila? Am I too much for you?”
“Not a chance. Stop holding back!”
Damn her. Damn her!
I pound into her, and the table creaks under the force. I feel the familiar tingle at the base of my spine, and my body tenses as the impending climax spins through me like a tornado.
I slap her ass again and again. Her cries are a combination of pain and pleasure. “Asshole!” she calls out.
I do it again, hard enough to leave a handprint on her ass. Seeing that is what pushes me over the edge.
She curses, and then she’s flooding over my cock. Her body goes stiff, and then, she collapses on the table. I nearly fall to my knees.
I stumble back, dizzy, and needing to sit. My eyes go to her bare ass, with my handprint emblazoned on it.
And I smile.
I knew she’d be wild. My little wildcat.
I’m already thinking about the next way to piss her off.
She pushes herself to her feet and turns to face me, her chin raised, eyes flashing. Oh, she’s pissed, but she’s also turned on. I just discovered my new favorite way to get her wet.
I stand there, my cock still jumping with the aftershocks. The evidence of how much she enjoyed our encounter coats my thighs.
“What’d you burn down?” she asks.
I laugh. “A club.”
“Good.”
She pulls on her shorts, slips into her shirt, opens the door, and walks out calmly like she’s not just leaving me half-dead in my own den.
Only then do I remember that I’d left the door open when I walked in.
Someone came by and shut it for us.
I stare at it for a second.
Christ.