Chapter 18 #2
A hoarse, deep grunt vibrates through our kiss. I pull his body closer, then closer still, wanting to melt into him. I bite his lower lip, tugging it with my teeth as I pause for air.
Maksim is bent almost completely over me, and I’m on my tiptoes to reach him. The hands that were flat against the door seconds ago now slide down my body.
Shoulders. Back. Ass.
I thought he’d stop there, but his touch keeps going until I no longer feel the floor beneath my feet.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and everything becomes even more intense when I find myself pressed between him and the door.
Him and that enormous bulge between his legs that left me breathless on the first night. The babydoll is silk, and combined with the lace panties, it drives me wild with each dry thrust of his hardness against me.
“Maks…”
I can’t even finish his name before a moan escapes me. He trails kisses down my neck, scraping his teeth and the rough stubble already coming in. Exactly like that night when everything almost happened.
I writhe in his lap again, chasing any friction that might ease my need and secretly praying no phone interrupts us this time.
This man bought me, and I should feel trapped by that. But the truth is I’ve never felt so free.
With him, I feel like I can be myself and do whatever I want—whether that’s dancing again or fucking my husband.
“Mine.”
His voice is so low I can barely hear it. Maksim is reminding himself that I’m his as he slides the babydoll strap down my shoulder and exposes my breast.
Large breasts get in the way for ballerinas, and I’ve always been lucky enough to have the perfect body for dancing, but now I wonder if it’s attractive enough for a man as experienced as Maksim.
He lowers himself, letting his mouth hover over my nipple, the hot air from his breath hardening it even more.
Anticipation takes over until I see him extend his tongue and lick the tip before taking the whole thing in his mouth and sucking hard.
“Aaah!!”
I arch my back, offering him everything. The sucking and licking send electric shocks racing through my body, straight to my swollen clit, throbbing and desperate for attention.
“You’re as delicious as you are impertinent, Solnyshko.”
He moves from one breast to the other and stays there, worshipping them and torturing me for what feels like hours but can’t be more than minutes.
I need more. I need all of Maksim.
I release the shoulders and back I was gripping and scratching shamelessly and lower my hand to the space between our bodies, desperate to get rid of the only piece of clothing in our way. His pants.
Clumsy and cramped for space, I take longer than I’d like to undo the button and zipper, but I finally manage.
His cock is huge, hard, and hot. I feel the length of him through his boxers and refuse to let myself think about whether it’ll fit.
I slide my fingers up toward the waistband, and when I reach it, I almost let out a little victory cry—until he stops.
He
Stops?
I don’t understand why his body went rigid and his mouth pulled away from me, but it doesn’t matter. I go back to what I was doing, only for him to stop my hand. His fingers wrap around my thin wrist and pull me away from my goal.
Maksim takes a deep breath, panting, eyes closed. The picture of a man fighting for self-control.
“Maksim?”
I call out, but instead of an answer, all I get is more distance. He sets me down and takes a step back.
I’m silently grateful to be propped against the door because my legs are completely useless.
“Not today,” he finally says, his voice hoarse, full of desire but also pained. “Not like this.”
It takes me a second to understand what he’s telling me. When it finally clicks, all the heat in my body intensifies, but now it’s not desire—it’s fury.
“If not like this, then how?” I hiss.
“You know how.”
Of course I do. He said he wouldn’t touch me without permission. Said we’d be a real couple and that I’d have him when I asked. There’s a lot I’d give him. My pride isn’t on the list.
I stare at his face—just as wrecked, panting, and uncomfortable as mine must be. I want to throw myself at him and punch that perfect jaw of his. He just kissed me like he was going to die the next minute. Just rubbed against me, grunting and moaning, calling me his.
There’s nothing “not like this” about his body. This is pure idiotic stubbornness from a man who needs to hear me beg for him.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
“You just kissed me, Maksim!”
“Svetlana, don’t make this harder.” He runs his still-injured right hand through his hair. It’s trembling slightly. Good. I hope he’s as out of control as I am. “I won’t go all the way. Not until you…”
“If you finish that fucking sentence, I swear I’m sleeping in another room.”
I snap at him furiously. And even though the threat is minimal, it works. He shuts up.
Well, well. The Masked Man has some common sense after all.
I think sarcastically.
We stand there staring at each other, still breathless. Two furious married adults who want the same thing but are too proud to give in. This battle of egos is ridiculous and pointless, but I’m not willing to back down. And judging by his furious expression, neither is he.
Good. If he wants me to ask, he can wait till hell freezes over.
I don’t beg. I’ve never begged for anything in my life, not even when I should have. And my husband—who’s clearly as crazy for me as I am for him—isn’t going to be the one to change that.
Two can play this game, Maksim Nikiforov.
“Good night, Pakhan.”
I can almost hear his teeth grinding when he hears me use his title with the calmest, most mocking tone I can muster. When I turn my back and head to bed, I have to fight not to laugh because I swear I hear him mutter “infernal woman.”
In bed, I lie on my side and pull the comforter up to my shoulder without looking at him. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep—as if that’s even possible with my panties soaked, my pussy throbbing, and every nerve ending screaming for him.
The bathroom door closes. I expected to hear the bang of wood slamming against the frame—that would’ve told me he was as out of control as I am. But no, Maksim closes it slowly, as if none of this had happened.
I want to kill him.
Even wrecked and burning with desire, he still manages to stay in control. This absurd mastery he has over every muscle, every thought, every action makes me envious. Maybe I could use some of that. That cold detachment.
I huff and roll over in bed, staring at the dark ceiling with my body still hot and the silk babydoll clinging to my skin. The man can control himself to this extent, and here I am, falling apart just because he kissed me.
Unacceptable.
Maksim gives in first.
Whatever it takes.