Page 44 of Bound in Possession

The threat sends a jolt of sheer panic and desire straight to my core. I nod frantically against the pillow, my legs locking tightly around his waist as he drives into me with ruthless force.

"One," Maksim counts, his voice low and raspy, his hips slamming hard against mine. The friction strikes like lightning, and the tension inside me instantly coils tight again.

"Two," he growls, his thrusts going deeper, hitting the exact spot that makes my eyes roll back. I can feel the wave building, massive and unstoppable, towering over me.

"Three."

On the final count, he drives into me with everything he has, bottoming out completely.

The dam breaks. A loud, shattered scream rips from my throat as my body convulses violently, a blinding, white-hot orgasm crashing over me with an intensity that shakes me to my very soul. Every muscle inside me clamps down on him, riding the waves of the release.

As if my climax is the final blow to his iron restraint, Maksim lets out a deep, guttural roar. His head falls into the crook of my neck, his muscles locking tight as he follows me over the edge, pumping his heavy, hot release deep inside me.

The sheer magnitude of the dual release is overwhelming. I cry out loud into the empty room, the sound raw and breathless, sobbing against his shoulder as the violent tremors of our release hold us both captive in the dark.

The violent tremors finally begin to fade, leaving the room silent save for the sound of our ragged, echoing breaths. The moment the release clears from his mind, the heavy, dominant posture Maksim held just seconds ago completely vanishes.

He quickly pulls out of me, his movements sudden but careful. Before the cool air can even settle over my skin, he shifts his weight, propping himself up on his forearms to look down into my face.

"Camilla," he pants, his voice rough and laced with an uncharacteristic edge of panic. "Are you okay? Look at me, princess. Did I hurt you?"

I blink through the haze of my tears, my vision clearing enough to see his face. The cold, impenetrable Pakhan is entirely gone. His brow is furrowed, his jaw tight, and there is a raw, unmistakable worry burning in his eyes as he scans my face, searching for any sign that he went too far. Seeing that fierce protectiveness pierce through his brutal exterior sends a strange, deep ache through my chest.

"I'm okay," I whisper, my voice breathless and scratched. "I'm not broken, Maksim."

A heavy, visible wave of relief washes over his features, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. "Good," he grunts softly.

He doesn't just roll over and leave me in the dark. Instead, he immediately takes care of me. He slides off the bed and disappears into the en-suite bathroom for a brief moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he gently parts my legs, his large hands incredibly tender as he carefully checks to ensure there is no tearing or injury from my first time. Satisfied, he cleans the slick heat and blood from my thighs with slow, soothing strokes, treating my body like something fragile and precious.

Once he finishes, he tosses the cloth aside and slides back into the bed beside me. He reaches out, his massive arm wrapping around my waist to pull my back securely against his chest. He tucks the heavy duvet over both of our shoulders, anchoring me against him so tightly that I can feel the steady, reassuring thud of his heartbeat against my spine.

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of my head. "Sleep, Camilla," he murmurs into my hair, his voice dropping into a low, possessive rumble. "I've got you."

As the exhaustion of the wedding and the adrenaline of the night finally take over, my eyes grow heavy. But as I begin falling asleep, wrapped securely in the warmth of his embrace, a terrifying thought shakes me to my core. I am a Caruso, born and bred to be wary of the Bratva.

Yet, lying here in his bed, I realize with absolute certainty that I don't just belong to him by contract anymore. I want him. Desperately. And that realization is far more dangerous than any war Viktor could ever start.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MAKSIM

The first pale light of dawn is just beginning to bleed through the heavy velvet curtains when my eyes snap open. I am awake instantly, my mind automatically shifting into the cold, strategic awareness required of a Pakhan. But as I move to sit up, the soft, warm sound of breathing beside me pulls my attention back to the mattress.

I look down at Camilla.

She is buried deep beneath the duvet, her silky hair splayed across the white silk pillows like spilled ink. Her face is soft in sleep, completely stripped of the fierce defiance she wears like armor during the day. On her collarbone, a faint, purple mark from my mouth stands out against her pale skin—a visual reminder of exactly what happened in this bed hours ago.

I stare at her, and a strange, heavy sensation tightens in my chest. I don't understand my own heart right now. Why the hell am I feeling this way?

I think about last night, tracking the memory of her body writhing beneath mine, and a hard truth settles in my gut: I have never been so deeply satisfied after sex in my entire life. More than that, I have never felt such a desperate, consuming need to worship another human being.

In the past, sex was a transactional release. I’ve always been a little selfish in bed—focused on my own climax, my own control, my own timing. If my partners found their pleasure, it was usually a byproduct of that selfishness, a secondary result of me taking what I wanted. I never managed their reactions, and I certainly never cared enough to pace myself for their comfort.

But with Camilla, everything was entirely different. Her safety and her pleasure were paramount to me. The thought of genuinely tearing her or causing her lasting pain had sent a spike of unfamiliar panic straight through my veins.

I had deliberately restrained my own burning hunger, torturing myself just to make sure she was ready for me, ensuring she felt every single wave of pleasure before I took my own. I wanted to possess her, yes, but I needed to protect her while doing it.

The depth of that realization makes me uneasy. Vulnerability is a death sentence in our world, and looking at her right now feels a lot like weakness.