“You are my wife. Do you understand? You are head of this house when I am not home. You were her boss. Never should she speak to anybody in this house that way, especially a Lasovska, and you are just that. Mrs. Lasovska. Nobody, and I mean nobody, talks to you in that manner and gets away with it. Yulia will not be returning. It is up to you if you would like to have another cook and housekeeper,” he announces.
The breath has been sucked out of my lungs. I feel as though I have been dismissed, but Maxim is looking at me, trying to gauge my mood, or my feelings—or something.
“I would like to try to do the cooking, Maxim. I don’t think I would clean that well. I have never done it before,” I admit. With a smirk on his lips, he nods.
“I hire a housekeeper to come a few times a week, yeah? My beautiful wife will cook my meals for me?” he asks, almost playfully. I find myself smiling back at him, feeling a little lighter.
“Yes, Maxim. Though I must warn you, I might not be any good at it,” I say. His big hand slides up my bare arm, wrapping around the back of my neck while his lips kiss the front of my throat, making their way up to my ear.
“My beautiful wife will cook for me, and it will be fantastic because it will be from her lovely hands,” he murmurs, pulling my body down to lie flat on the bed before he rolls on top of me. I am now underneath him, and as much as I want to hate it, I can’t.
“Don’t you have to go into work today?” I gasp as his lips begin to descend to the tops of my breasts, gently tugging the sheet out of my clenched fingers.
“I work from home. I spend the day apologizing to my wife, for my mistreatment of such an exquisite creature,” he whispers as he continues kissing down my body.
I can’t help it, and I surely can’t stop it—I cry. Magnificent, happy tears—but tears nonetheless.
“No tears, my little dove. Only pleasure,” he mutters. With that, his head disappears between my legs.
I feel my thighs part by his wide shoulders as his warm, wet tongue slides over my core, sending shocks of pleasure surging through my entire body. I spread my legs even wider for him, draping them over his massive shoulders, feeling him hum his agreement to my wanton move.
With my back bowed and my body so close to release already, I am pressing my center into Maxim’s face when, all of a sudden, he stops. I whimper in protest and open my eyes to see him on his knees between my legs, naked and smiling.
“Maxim.”
My breath hitches as the beauty of him, my husband. His broad shoulders, packed with muscle, and his tattoos, spattered all over his body. His hair is wild and his eyes, dark blue, focus completely on me. If only he could always focus on me this way.
“I want you, golubushka. Will you let me have you, my wife?” he asks.
I nod my answer, unable to speak. Maxim guides his hard length into me and stills once he is completely seated in my body. Our eyes completely focus on each other; our bodies are completely stock-still. We are feeling our connection and enjoying it.
This is close to what I imagine making love feels like. I push everything out of my mind; the hurt, the fear, and the betrayal. What I have right here and now is too beautiful to muddy with mistakes and regrets.
Maxim gently pulls out and slides back inside me. His movements are achingly slow, but his eyes focus on mine and it is the most breathtaking moment of my life. Cupping my cheeks in his hands, he slowly continues to make love to me.
It isn’t rough, and it isn’t needy; it is slow and it is gorgeous. This is making love—this is what it feels like for your lover to cherish you. When his nose slides against mine, I almost cry again. Almost.
“You are my wife. I am your husband. I am sorry,” he groans.
For him to truly apologize and mean it is everything to me. He doesn’t have to, and yet, he still does it. It gives me hope that we could have more; that maybe one day he will fall in love with me the way I am already falling in love with him.
“Maxim,” I sigh, unable to say anything else.
He kisses my face, my neck, all the while slowly sliding in and out of my body, building a burn that promises to smolder until he is ready for it to ignite. He is in complete control. I love being beneath him at this moment. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Are you ready to come, angel moy?” he moans, pushing himself deep inside, causing me to whimper with need.
I need to come.
I need to feel him everywhere, and I try, without words, to convey that to him.
Maxim grabs the insides of my thighs and spreads my legs farther apart, almost painfully so, as he pulls himself out and then surges deep inside of me. His eyes are downcast and focus on where our bodies join.
I notice he likes to watch our bodies meet, and it turns me on to see him so enjoying himself. His hair hangs down over his forehead, sticky and slicked with sweat, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip. He looks so sexy watching us, watching himself, and watching my body take his.
I wrap my hands around his forearms and hold on as he begins to thrust harder inside my wet center. The smoldering feeling of my release is now gone, and I am on fire as I come around him. My body pulses and my back arches. My voice calls out for God and Maxim all at once incoherently.
Maxim doesn’t stop; he keeps up his grueling pace as sweat drips from his face onto my chest. Then his whole body goes still and I feel him release inside of me with a loud groan before his arms give out and he falls on top of me. He's smashing me into the mattress, but I cannot care. I love the feel of his heavy body against mine, and I love knowing that I am the one who made him this exhausted and spent.
“Such a good girl, such a sweet girl. Lyubimaya moya—my sweetheart.” He exhales, completely out of breath.
We lie together, my arms and legs wrapped around him for at least thirty minutes until we are breathing normally and clammy with damp skin.
Maxim lifts his head and gently removes the strands of hair from my face that are stuck with damp sweat behind my ear as his eyes completely focus on me. I have no doubt he is here with me at this moment. He frowns slightly as he runs his fingers through my hair, and I know it is because he hates the color and probably the cut.
I wonder if Sonia will take me back to get it fixed?
The house phone ringing interrupts us, and Maxim rolls off me to answer it. I mourn the loss of his weight on top of me and his softening length inside me.
“Nyet, not today, Sonia,” he growls. I watch as he looks at me, holding the phone out, a pout on his lips—it is comical.
“Sonia,” he grumbles. I take the phone from his hands gently pressing it to my ear.
“Dear girl, what on earth is that man doing home at this hour?” she asks; I can hear a smile in her voice.
“He is working from home today,” I say softly. My eyes lock with Maxim’s, and he is scowling.
“So no lunch today?”
I ask her to hold on and cover the phone with my hand.
“Sonia and I had made lunch plans, yesterday. She said she wanted to introduce me to the other wives, would you like me to cancel?”
Maxim’s scowl deepens and I almost laugh at him. He usually looks impassive; sometimes happy, but never has he looked like an angry child.
“I tell you to cancel, and I look like bastard. I tell you to go, and I am pissed off. No winner here,” he scoffs, and I almost giggle.
“Maxim, if you want me to stay, I will just reschedule,” I offer, and he crosses his arms over his tattooed chest, his eyes narrowing on me.
“You make me pay, though? Stay angry with me for being selfish bastard?”
I love when his English gets all broken. Right now, it is all I can do to hold back my laughter. I don’t answer him. I just tell Sonia to reschedule for tomorrow. I also ask her if she can make a spa appointment to change my hair color back—Maxim smiles when he hears that. Sonia is laughing the entire time. She can hear Maxim act like a petulant child, as she puts it.
“You shou
ld go to lunch. I do not want you mad with me,” he says.
I shake my head and crawl over to his side of the bed and into his lap. I am enjoying this easiness, without the drama of Catia and Yulia. Maxim and I are good together, learning things about each other, and I am fully enjoying myself with him.
“I will stay home with my husband,” I breathe, kissing his neck before I lick the blade of the dagger tattoo on his shoulder.
“Again,” he murmurs. My eyes focus on his as I lick his dagger again. His hand grabs onto my thigh tightly, his fingers surely leaving five perfectly round bruises on my flesh.
“I want to fuck you from behind. Will you let me?” he asks, making me shiver at the words. Doesn’t he know that whatever he wants to do to me, he can? He owns my body, and he makes me come alive with just his touch.
“Maxim, what happened to the man who informed me that anything we do together is nothing to be ashamed of? You do not need to ask me. Take what you want,” I offer, my belly quivering with anticipation.
I know I am goading him with my words. But when he looks at me as if he is ready to devour me, I don’t want him to question himself. He is all man. Big, strong, scary, and so very handsome. He should never question the way he wants me.
My body is thrown onto the bed, stomach first, and I hear a crack before I feel my ass sting from the palm of his hand. It hurts, but when he rubs the area gently, I push my ass into him. I moan at the feeling that is taking over my body.
I am wanton, I am needy, and I feel greedy—for him.
“Angel moy – my angel,” he whispers, interpreting his words as he slides into my wet core.
I am sore, but it feels so good to have him there, inside me, where I feel happiest. Nothing else matters when he is deep inside my body, when his eyes are focused on any part me, and when it is just the two of us—together. Maxim slides his hand up my spine and into my hair while the other has a firm grasp on my hip.
“Maxim.” I gasp as he wrenches my head back, his thrusts becoming stronger, my body accepting everything he is giving me and loving it.
Maxim doesn’t slow down. He plunges deep inside of me, roughly. My scalp is screaming in pain, and I know my hip will bruise where his fingers are digging into my skin, but I don’t care. The more bruises that litter my body, the more I feel as though he cannot control himself. It gives me confidence to know I affect him this way.
My voice is unrecognizable as I moan with each hard thrust. I can feel my body climbing toward my release, and my eyes roll in the back of my head when, all of a sudden, he slaps my ass with his palm again.
“Keep your eyes open, Haleigh. You will be aware when I come inside of you,” he orders, rough and so commanding.
I shiver at his words, his voice deep and husky. I feel his thumb press against my anus, and my whole body tightens in response.
“Relax,” he coos, bending down slightly to whisper into my ear, slowing his hard thrusts, before he continues. “I won’t take this ass today, angel moy, but I will take it because you are mine.”
My whole body breaks out in a sheen of sweat. He laughs behind me as he picks up the punishing pace again. He reaches around so his fingers press and rub against my clit, sending bursts of pleasure through my whole body. I scream with my release and, seconds later, I feel him twitching inside of me with his climax right before collapsing on top of me, pushing me into the mattress, again.
“What a good girl, I have,” he murmurs as his nose slides along the back of my neck. I shiver one last time before I pass out from complete exhaustion.
I wake hours later, alone, and I roll out of bed only to wince at the pain between my legs. Maxim was very rough the last time. While I loved it, I wonder how often it will be that way between us. I don’t know how regularly my body can handle the punishing of his hips and cock diving inside of it the way he did.
I shower and dress in one of the outfits Catia picked out for me. It is a pair of dark navy blue satin-cuffed shorts. On top, I pull on an off the shoulder, loose white and navy stripped shirt. On my feet, simple gold flat sandals. For a dancer, I am extremely clumsy in real life and stick to flats as much as possible. I decide to leave my hair down. Although I know Maxim isn’t fond of the color, I want to wear it down the way he likes.
I slowly make my way downstairs in search of Maxim, and I hear his voice, deep and low, talking on the phone through his office door. The door is closed, so from past experience with my father, I know not to disturb him. A glance at the clock tells me it is well past lunchtime, and I am sure he did not make anything for himself. I decide to thoroughly acquaint myself with the kitchen and make us both lunch.
Thankfully, the fridge and pantry are stocked with plenty of food. I decide on sub sandwiches for lunch; then for dinner, I am going to try to cook an entire meal. Maxim isn’t a small man, so I make a giant Dagwood-style sandwich for him, piling the meat, cheese, and tomatoes high on top of the bread.
I set everything on the table and go in search of him, hoping that his office door will be open or that he will not get angry with me for interrupting his work. Luckily, the office door is now open. I stand in the doorway, afraid to walk inside.
“Come, angel moy.” His voice is soft, and he hasn’t even looked up from his paperwork.
I slowly walk around his desk and perch myself on the edge next to him. His eyes travel my legs and up to my face with hunger and a smirk on his lips.
“I made lunch, Maxim, if you are hungry,” I say. His smirk turns into a full-blown smile.
“You make lunch for me, Haleigh?” He asks, his smile is so wide, his teeth are showing.
He is so handsome in this exact moment, I wish I could take a photo and cherish it for always. Gone is the scary hardened man, and here, in front of me, he looks almost boyish.
“Just sandwiches, Maxim. It is not the first time I have made you a sandwich,” I say, thinking back to our mini honeymoon weekend and how I made a few small sandwiches for us.
I kick my foot out in shyness, letting it swing a bit, still perched on the edge of his desk. He shakes his head, standing, and I follow his lead. I feel his arm wrap around my waist as he pulls me into his side. He is wearing light wash jeans and a black cotton t-shirt today. His feet are bare and he looks so young this way. I have never seen him so comfortable looking.
“You make them with your hands. It is more than just a sandwich you feed me. Your man you nourish,” He grins.
I shake my head smiling; sometimes, the man is too much. His words make me feel mushy and gooey on the inside. I love it.
We eat quietly, but Maxim makes moaning sounds every so often as he shoves the food into his mouth. I was right on the amount of meat to put inside. Maxim is thoroughly enjoying every bite of his meal. I only eat about a quarter of mine, the bread filling me up so fast that I can’t eat anymore. Maxim’s eyes narrow at me as I sit back and just watch him eat.
“You eat more,” he barks, and the harshness of his voice makes me jump.
“I can’t. The bread was too much,” I almost whine.
“You sit here until you eat more. You are too skinny. It is unhealthy,” he orders.
I bite my bottom lip, feeling like a child, like his child, and that isn’t right. I am his wife.
“I am not doing it on purpose, Maxim. I physically cannot eat more,” I try to explain. I watch as he shakes his head. His eyes focus on me, dark and menacing.
“I don’t care. You could have my baby inside of you. You eat properly. You are too skinny. A baby could not survive inside of you,” he states before he stands up and leaves me at the table.
I feel the color drain from my face and my body starts to shake nervously. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about getting pregnant, but with everything else happening to me and around me, I hadn’t truly thought about it.
I could very well be pregnant. Maxim knows it as well and hasn’t tried to prevent it at all.
Does that mean he wants me to be pregnant? I pa
nic … I am too young to have children. I am not ready. I certainly wouldn’t know what to do with a baby once I had it. I try to take another bite of food, but now, I feel so sick. My head is swirling with too many thoughts.
I need to do something to get my mind off everything—babies, marriages, affairs, and mean housekeepers.
I leave the breakfast room and go outside. Walking, I make my way to the little lake. I slip off my shoes and feel the grass between my toes. It is the first time I have been barefoot outside in my life. My mother would have a conniption, but I can’t care.
I take a few cleansing breaths before I bend at the waist and stretch.
Slowly, I begin to dance.
Stretching my underused limbs, my legs, my torso, and my arms. My body feels so stiff at this moment, and I realize I have not danced for over an entire week. I have never gone this long without dancing.
I dance my favorite part—Sleeping Beauty, Act II: The Vision; Tchaikovsky’s music playing in my mind. He is my favorite composer for dancing. His music is so hauntingly beautiful and so fun to dance to. I am lost in the moment and don’t hear anybody approach me.
“You take my breath away every time, angel moy.” Maxim’s voice is soft, but I don’t mistake his soft voice for kind words or a kind heart.
“Maxim,” I murmur, catching my breath and refusing to look at him. Instead, I train my eyes on the lake before me.
“I worry, golubushka. It makes me unreasonable. I know this,” he offers. It isn’t an apology but an excuse.
I nod once. At least he knows when he is being an ass; that is the first step, right? I am sure that he knows, but he truly does not care. He isn’t offering me an apology of any kind, just ensuring me that he is aware he is a jerk. How comforting.
“You ignore me, now? I upset you so much you ignore me?” His voice is harsh, and I know he is becoming angry again.
I don’t want today to be a bad day, not when it has started so wonderfully. I turn around to look at him and don’t see anger written all over his face but worry.
“I am not angry, Maxim. I wish I could please you better. I wish I looked like other women. I wish for so many things,” I finally agree. I gasp when he sweeps me into his arms.
Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 1) Page 7