It hits me like a fucking freight train. My whole body locks up, legs shaking, nails digging into his shoulders as I scream his name, but he doesn’t slow. He fucks me through it, holding my face in one hand, staring at me like he wants to memorize every twitch and sound.
“Fuck…Valentina—” he growls, losing rhythm. “Where do you want it?”
“Inside,” I pant. “I want it inside. Please.”
That’s all it takes.
His hips jerk and he curses low in Russian, then slams deep and stays there, coming hard, his breath ragged against my throat.
And when he finally stops, when the room's quiet except for our heavy breathing, he doesn’t pull away.
He stays buried inside me, hands still on my skin, and his forehead pressed to mine.
Because neither of us is done. Not even close.
This is just the beginning.
Twenty-Seven
VALENTINA
“What happens now?” I ask, still seated on the desk.
Only now I’m fully dressed. Well, mostly. My bra’s stuffed somewhere behind the printer, and I’d say my pride is under the desk, but she’s clapping. Even thirty minutes after he quite literally rearranged my fucking soul, my body still feels wired. Like if he touched me again, I’d short-circuit.
Maksim doesn’t answer right away.
He’s leaning against the opposite wall, shirt half-buttoned. And for a second, my stomach sinks.
He said he had no regrets, but now he looks like a man rethinking everything. I just don’t know if that includes me, or the part where he nearly broke the desk fucking me into it.
Say something. Anything.
The silence is eating through my confidence.
Then his gaze lifts and locks on mine.
“This wasn’t just a fuck,” he says, voice like gravel. “You know that.”
I swallow. “I know.”
“I already told you,” he adds, pushing off the wall. “There’s no going back.”
He steps toward me. His knees brush mine, and his hand cups my jaw with a gentleness that makes my chest squeeze.
“So what happens now?” he repeats. “Now I make damn sure no one touches what’s mine. Starting with that fuck downstairs. If he values his life, he’s already gone.”
“And if he’s not?” I challenge, needing to hear him confirm that I’m his. Because deep down, I’ve been waiting for Maksim to claim me like this.
“He’ll have the worst day of his life, baby.”
Baby.
That one word does it. I’m a puddle. I should probably be concerned that he just threatened my ex-boyfriend’s life at my range, but all I hear is ‘baby’, and my post-orgasm brain is apparently a sucker for pet names from Russian psychopaths.
I shake my head, smiling like an idiot. “I don’t want you committing felonies on my behalf, Maxy. Besides, I can take care of him myself.”
“You’re not always going to have the dogs.”
