by Kresley Cole
"Ah, Cat, you've just sealed your fate." His tone reminded me of our first night, when he'd told me I was about to get fucked hard.
Soon, I'd fulfill a fantasy! Sizzling thrills coursed through my veins, from my head to my toes, clearing some of the tequila's fog. I wanted to experience every second fully.
He snagged the oil, then pulled me through the steam over to the shower's wooden bench. "I want you to straddle me." He sat, patting his thighs for me to join him.
When I stepped over one of his knees, he grabbed my ass, lifting me above his lap. "Hold on to my shoulders and lean into me. Wrap your arms around me."
I did.
"Put your feet flat on the bench. Trust me. I've got you."
When I did, my pussy pressed against his shaft. I rocked, just as he bucked. In sync.
Then I shook my head. "Eyes on the prize, Maxim."
He looped his arms around me, holding me upright. Behind me, I heard him squeeze oil and felt my first tendril of nervousness. I was so exposed like this. Vulnerable.
But when he said, "Now would be the time to tell me to quit," I didn't want to.
I trusted him to make this incredible. No matter what happened with Maxim, I'd have this memory forever. "I want this. From you. Only you."
He shuddered and his cock pulsed against my pussy. He poured oil at the small of my back.
I quivered as it ran down between my cheeks. "Oh, that feels amazing."
He pressed a flattened palm over my back, easily keeping me in place, and leaving one oiled hand free. I felt a whisper of sensation as he circled the pad of his forefinger around my opening, teasing me.
A little more pressure. The oil began to feel hotter, more slippery.
"Take my finger, baby." He pressed, pressed; it inched inside me.
"Oh!" I bucked again, digging my nails into his shoulders.
"My God, woman. So tight." He nipped and licked my neck. "And it's all mine." With that word, his chest heaved against my breasts, my stiffened nipples.
Despite how good his finger felt, my empty pussy yearned to be filled, so much that I almost told him to stop. To let me sit on his length and ease the ache. When he thrust his finger in my ass, I couldn't help grinding my clit against his shaft.
"You can't do that, Katya. If you use my cock to get off, it'll be over. It was bad enough our first night."
"I'll be good. Somehow." With our bodies pressed together, I could perceive all the latent power in his muscles, could feel the toll his restraint was taking. "Don't stop. Give me more."
He used his free hand to drizzle oil around his finger. Then I felt more pressure. He was wedging a second finger inside. "There you go. That's it. . . ."
When both penetrated, I moaned low, arching my back.
"Ah, you like that." With this cue from me, he delved deeper. "I'll make tonight pleasurable for you." He withdrew his fingers almost all the way, pouring more oil. Then he sank both inside. For what felt like hours, he pumped them. Twisted them. Spread them.
"More." I felt the invasion all over my trembling body. How much longer could I take this? My pussy was dripping against his cock. "I'm dying, Maxim!"
He eased his fingers from me. "Then you're ready." He coated his shaft with oil, stroking it with a shaking hand. "I could spill right now. I promise you, this will hurt me, not you."
He needed to come that badly?
"Rise up." Holding his glistening rod upright, he maneuvered me until I was poised over it. He tucked the head between my cheeks, against my entrance. Then, with a groan, he lowered me, the tip nudging.
I whimpered as the broad crown demanded entry.
When the head popped past my ring, he lowered his chin to his chest, shuddering. "Fuck."
"Ah! This is . . . don't stop." I felt him stretching me, but no pain.
He shook his head hard, his determined look surfacing. "Relax now." He cupped my cheeks with both hands, holding me in place. "I've got you."
I shifted my weight to his hands. He lifted me, sensuously lowering me farther. "You're taking me so good, dushen'ka." His praise was like its own caress.
I was bombarded by pressure, fullness, even by that sense of closeness he made me feel. Steam shrouded us, misting our skin and slicking our bodies.
"Am I hurting you?"
I didn't know if I was light-headed from drinking or from these new sensations, but . . . "No, need more."
Maximo shockeado. I leaned in to lick his parted lips.
He raised me up on his dick, then lowered me more. Up . . . down . . .
"Finger yourself for me." His accent was so thick.
One of my hands dipped down to my pussy. As he lowered me again, I slid a finger inside. "Ay, Dios mio . . ." My head fell back.
He leaned down to my breasts, his mouth seeking. He took a taut nipple between his lips and suckled. Against the peak, he grated, "Two fingers, baby." He turned to my other breast, tugging my nipple between his teeth.
When I wedged in a second finger, I could feel the pressure of his cock, pushing against my sheath. I was nearing the brink, but fought off my orgasm, wanting this to continue forever.
"You like being filled this way?" He went even deeper, making me accept more of the stretch.
And the stretch was increible. "Mas!"
"You're torturing me! I will outlast you if it fucking kills me."
"I'm getting so close!"
He raised his head. "Keep your fingers moving and look at me." We met gazes. "I've claimed every inch of your body. You're mine, Katya. You're with me now."
My lids slid shut as pleasure pooled deep in my belly.
"Eyes open. Look at me." His words were a harsh rasp. "You're with me now. Say it."
"I-I'm with you." The double fullness below my waist made it impossible to focus.
"There's no one else but me for you. Do you understand me?" Lifted up . . .
"I-I think so."
Lowered down . . . "You know what you are now. Say it." Lifted up . . .
Lowered--as far as I could take him. "I'm yours! Yours!" For how long?
His jaw muscles bulged, the tendons in his neck straining more than I'd ever seen them. "That's right. You belong to me. Keep working your pussy, Katya."
"Oh, yes!"
As I finger-fucked myself, he glanced down and made that growling sound. "Just when I think you can't possibly be sexier . . . You're going to make me lose my mind before it's all through, aren't you?"
Up . . .
Down . . .
"About to explode, woman." He gave shallow bucks of his hips in time with my busy hand.
"Maxim, I'm close!" With each thrust of my fingers, my pussy contracted more. "Make me come . . . make me . . . make me."
"Fuck, FUCK!" Fingertips biting into my curves, he wrenched me up to the tip of his cock.
Heartbeats passed as I hovered, as he hovered . . .
I descended, seated; his seed erupted. Grinding up into me, his head fell back and a bellow burst from his chest.
When I felt his first shot of heat, I whimpered, almost fearing the strength of my own orgasm as the pleasure quickened and quickened and blazed--
Rapture.
Scalding me.
My core clenched my fingers. I threw back my head and screamed, "Oh, my God!" I shuddered and quaked, ecstasy ruling me.
"I can feel you coming!" His thick cock jerked inside me, pumping his essence.
I met his lips, crying out against them. Our tongues tangled as he emptied himself, and my mind turned over from the searing bliss. . . .
I collapsed against him.
"My God, Katya." He brushed kisses all over my face, murmuring in Russian.
I adored his affection, shivering against him. "Gracias, mi amor," I sighed.
"You thank me?"
I nipped his neck. "You like me when we get freaky?"
He gave a strained laugh. "You could say that," he muttered, squeezing his arms around me so hard, I thought I would brea
k.
CHAPTER 31
Early the next morning, I sat bundled in the window seat. Outside, snow fell like crazy.
Maxim slept on. I would get to spend the whole day lazing by the fire, snuggling in bed with him. With my wicked man. I shifted my position, feeling a twinge in my bottom, but it'd been so worth it.
He'd told me I was with him, that I was his--as in, we'd stay together! Maybe he'd gotten excited and said more than he should. Maybe he'd gotten as drunk as I'd been. Though now that I thought about it, I'd never seen him drunk. I shrugged. I'd know soon enough.
Before I crawled back in bed with him, I gazed out through the frosted panes, wanting to memorize every detail of this place. Two ice-covered twigs sparred--ping ping ping--outside the window. Winds began to blow, low moans that wrapped around the lodge and made it creak. Inside, the fire popped.
Such foreign sounds to me. This place was magical.
Being here with Maxim made me feel things so deeply. Apparently he did as well. I recalled his jealousy from last night with a dark thrill. . . .
Over the last few days, I'd realized that the reason I hadn't yearned for another relationship wasn't just because of my circumstances.
I hadn't yearned because I hadn't met Maksimilian Sevastyan. He was the yearning. I was in love with the Russian.
Done. Finished. Terminado.
And now that I loved Maxim, I recognized that what I'd felt for Edward had been pale and puny, informed by everything except my heart.
But Maxim was still a player. His longest relationship had lasted for fourteen days--and counting. If a man like him actually settled down with one woman, he'd want her completely in return. He'd expect her to be his. Legally, I still belonged to another.
Oh, me jodi. I was so screwed.
What I wouldn't give for a do-over. For Edward never even to have counted.
The winds picked up even more, buckets of snow coming down. A real live snowstorm. A gust rattled the windows, the lodge creaking as if we were in a hurricane.
Maxim woke moments later, blinking at me, then slowly smiling--so handsome my heart twisted. In a rumble, he said, "Hey, baby." He patted his chest for me to return to bed. I rose, dropping my blanket on the way and crawled in naked beside him.
When I laid my head over his heart, he grazed his fingers up and down my spine. "How long have you been up?"
"A bit. I've been watching the snowstorm."
He reached down to lightly cup a cheek. "How are you?"
"I definitely feel what we did. And I regret nothing."
He resumed stroking my back. "You never do."
"That's not true," I said. "I just don't with you."
"Maybe you don't remember everything."
"My takeaway from the shower: Is there anything Maxim can't do? It was wonderful. You were."
"You, solnyshko, boggled my mind."
"Me? I just held on for the ride."
"You're passionate, and when you do something you leap with both feet." He curled a finger under my chin, tugging till I faced him. "You're brave."
I could make no claim on that. If I was brave, I'd fight for my birthright. I'd put a murderer behind bars. I cast my gaze down. Maxim deserved a brave woman. Wouldn't a man like him expect one?
"Are you miserable from drink?"
"Not at all. Natalie made me and Jess take her hangover preventative before she sent us off to paint the limo." We'd guzzled a bottle of Gatorade each, then took a few over-the-counter pills. It'd totally worked, but . . . "I have a sinking suspicion our shoe polish art wasn't as brilliant as I thought."
"I got up at dawn and checked it out, in case you two had written 'eat a dick' over and over."
I laughed.
"Luckily, the poem is in place, and it's passable. Definitely gives the wedding flavor. Did you forget you wrote 'yo' at the end?"
"You lie."
"No, it's there."
Nota personal: no tequila with Jess ever again. I made circles with my forefinger over his chest. "Did you enjoy spending time with your brother?"
"He still holds himself back. But I think I do too. I suppose it will take time."
"As long as it's happening. Will you please tell me why you two were separated?"
"You didn't learn anything from Natalie?"
"She was very closemouthed. I had to glean a lot. Will you tell me more?" I leaned up to lay my hands on his face. "I want to know you."
He gave me a brows-drawn look. "You ask me today, showing the interest I've craved--just when Aleksandr advised me last night to tell you my sordid secrets. I can't understand what this would accomplish. And I can't believe you would view me the same way."
"I will."
"How can you be so certain?" He sat up against the headboard, and I did too.
I drew the cover closer over us. "Because the only way I'd view you differently is if you were pitiless to another, hurting someone who wasn't as strong as you are." Edward, Edward, Edward. "And I know you would never do that."
"It's an ugly story. My father was . . . abusive. He was part coldblooded schemer, part drunken thug. He used to beat me and my brothers, break bones."
I just kept my eyes from going wide. "Go on, please."
"He was always worse in the winter. When I was nine, he killed my mother in a rage."
Oh, my God. "I'm so sorry, Maxim. Were you there? Did you see?" Witnessing Julia's death had done a number on me--all that blood everywhere--and I'd hated the woman.
"Dmitri found her body at the foot of the stairs."
"That's what's been haunting him?"
"I wish that were all. It gets worse. Are you sure you want to hear?"
"I'm sure. Please."
His chest rose and fell on a breath. "Two winters later, my father would've killed Aleksandr as well, but my brother defended himself, accidentally ending the old bastard. Certain he'd be sent to prison in Siberia, Aleksandr ran off into the night, leaving Dmitri and myself behind. We were eleven and seven, and believed he'd abandoned us. Only recently I learned that he thought we would be taken in by distant relatives, a thousand times better off."
"What happened instead?"
"Orloff, a middle-aged 'guardian' from the nearest town, was appointed. The way he looked at Dmitri gave me chills, but I didn't know why. I had no idea there were adults who preyed on children like that."
Oh, no, no.
"I didn't like how much time they spent alone. Dmitri never complained, told me Orloff was a good man. And Orloff was different from my father. The man didn't drink, never struck us, never even raised his voice. He never spoke inappropriately."
Just like Edward. Sometimes monsters pretended to be gentlemen.
"There was no reason to doubt his decency, but I couldn't shake the feeling. So I went to Orloff and asked him why he was so focused on Dmitri." Maxim hesitated. . . .
"What did the man say? Please."
"He told me that he only wanted to be a father to the boy, that Dmitri needed to lean on him to recover from the recent loss of both his father and his eldest brother. He wondered aloud, 'Why would you not want Dmitri to be happy? Are you that jealous?' The man lied so believably. I can't express how skillful he was. He made me doubt myself. I walked away, convinced I was petty and selfish."
Gaslighting. No wonder Maxim didn't trust.
"Over the years, Orloff slowly replaced all the servants, those who might help us, those who'd also raised their brows. By the time I was thirteen, we were without friends, trapped in our secluded home."
Sometimes, friendless was another way of saying defenseless. "Go on, please."
"Orloff continued to spin his tales. And again, Dmitri was his staunchest advocate. I later learned that he'd told Dmitri he'd kill me--the last of his family still with him--if anyone found out."
"How did you discover Orloff's lies?"
"On Christmas Eve, I sneaked into Dmitri's room to assemble a train set I'd ordered for him. He wasn't there. I found him in
Orloff's bed, with this chillingly blank look on his face. The man had made my brother spend the night with him, because even a sick fiend believed he should be close to his victim--over the fucking holidays."
That was why Dmitri had been blowing up the phone that particular day. And why Maxim hated the holiday.
"I attacked Orloff, but he was so much bigger than I was. When I regained consciousness, I was locked in the basement, my back flayed."
His back. His scars. He'd carried them since he was a boy.
Maxim gazed past me. "Orloff wanted to break me, to silence me. The position was heaven for him--living in a mansion with so many luxuries--and Dmitri there for his . . . use. The man would've done anything to remain. So he kept me down there. I didn't see the sun for . . . some time."
"Wh-what? How long?"
"Half a year."
My lips moved wordlessly. This nightmare only grew more twisted.
Eyes gone distant, Maxim said, "He provided me little food or water, keeping me without light of any kind. When I wouldn't break, he revealed his buried rage, whipping me till his arm tired, reopening all my wounds. In that dark place, filth and blood caked my skin." He shuddered. "It burned, itched, tormenting me. I was starved for sunlight. The longer I went without it, the worse the affliction grew, spreading over my body. It got so severe, I would dream about not having skin at all."
My eyes watered as I imagined his pain. So many things made sense now. His words: Thirty-one years of misery is lifted. Abused by his father first, then by Orloff. For decades later, Maxim had been haunted by those memories.
"I sickened in that dank, freezing basement, and knew I'd die down there. So I attempted to behave as if he'd broken me, but I couldn't deceive as well as Orloff. I'd been sentenced to death at thirteen. As each day passed, my execution neared."
I barely kept my tears in check. "That's why you asked me those questions about my memories."
He nodded. He'd wondered what I'd been doing--while he'd been dying.
That was why he hated winter. That was why he always wanted the windows and doors opened.
And this man called me . . . his sun?
"Worse than anything was knowing that Orloff still abused my little brother. Everyone was gone. Protecting Dmitri was my responsibility. And I'd failed."
"There was nothing you could do. You were a boy."
"Aleksandr said the same, though I believe he could've come up with some way to escape and save his brother. In fact, it was Dmitri who saved me. The night of a bitter freeze, he woke from his haze long enough to comprehend I was about to die. He knocked the man out with a shovel. My brother knelt beside me, crying . . . as I strangled Orloff. I killed him before he could ever wake."