Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva), Nicole Fox [love letters to the dead txt] 📗

whipping off his belt. He takes off his pants, leaving only his boxer briefs on. Then he turns to me, grabbing my shoulders roughly. He spins me around and unzips the back of the dress. When he forces it down, the material struggling to get past my hips, my underwear comes off with it. He waits for me to step out of it.

He throws the dress in the fire first. Sparks fly off it as the fire eats away at it. Maksim spins me back around, moving my arms to check for wounds. He examines me twice before adding his shirt, pants, and belt to the fire.

“Come. We need to wash off,” he commands, already heading out of the room.

Cold and scared, I follow him. His mansion is chilly. I keep my arms wrapped tightly around me as I walk after his silhouette through the darkness of his library and up the stairs.

The second hallway is darker. I almost reach out toward him for guidance, but he’s staying a step and a half in front of me. I’m nearly blinded as he abruptly turns on the bathroom light.

Before I’ve even stepped inside the bathroom, he’s turned the shower on. He gestures for me to step inside.

The water streaming from the multiple showerheads is ice-cold at first. Through the glass, Maksim is stripping off his boxer briefs. He steps into the shower behind me.

I feel like I’m in a dream, or an out-of-body experience, floating above and behind everything as the real me goes through the motions. It’s like I’m watching myself as Maksim spins me around. His thumb rubs away the blood under my neck. He keeps one hand on my shoulder like I might flee and I almost feel like that’s a solid possibility—running away is apparently what I’m best at, after all—except he’s blocking the only way out.

He leans closer to me, grabbing the bottle of soap behind me. Pouring the soap into his hand, he rubs it under my neck.

“You know, I can wash myself,” I snap.

“Shush,” he murmurs, not unkindly.

His hand moves down toward my breasts and I start to change my mind.

“How many times have you done this?” he asks. “Destroyed evidence. Washed away blood, DNA, gunpowder.”

“That’s not something normal people do.”

“That’s my point.”

The water is scalding hot now. Peals of steam rise from our skin. As his hands slide down my body, I feel the trail of where his fingertips trace, like he’s leaving fire in the wake of his touch.

When his hand brings up my chin and his lips press against mine, the world becomes simple. There’s only this moment. There’s only the scent of cedar and pine, and the feeling of his arousal as he pulls me closer to him.

I still feel like I’m hovering on top of this moment and watching myself act as I drop down to my knees and take his throbbing erection into my mouth. His fingers sink into my wet hair, gripping onto the strands tightly enough to hurt, but the sting only heightens the thrill.

I roll my tongue underneath him, letting the tip of his cock brush against the back of my throat. With my one other partner, this was a chore—something he pushed me into—but now, it’s arousing and empowering. I can drive him crazy just like he drove me crazy. I can control his uncontrollable side just like he did with me and all I need is my tongue.

My hand slides between my legs, rubbing against my clit as I bob against his length, moving closer to his balls. I take each one into my mouth, feeling him groan as I rock my body against my hand. My tongue tries to write my name on his skin, but I only get to the second “s” when his hand grabs onto my shoulder, his thumb digging into the spot right under my throat. When I lean away from him, he grabs me under my arms, yanking me to my feet so quickly that blood rushes to my head.

He shoves me against the shower wall, keeping one hand under my left thigh. I grip onto the soap niche as he thrusts into me. There’s a pinch, a burning, and a fullness as he fucks me like he intends to break the shower wall.

I dig my nails into his shoulder blades. This is his retaliation for me trying to control him. I don’t even mind as his body collides right against my clit and his cock rams into something even more sensitive inside me.

My right foot is barely touching the shower floor. When he picks up my right thigh, there’s an added unsteadiness to his thrusting as he balances both of us, but he remains merciless, driving into me so hard that my hips would be aching if the high wasn’t consuming me.

He looks at me, his rhythm remaining brutal, but his eyes aren’t cruel or callous. There’s something inside his irises that seems impossibly soft in a man like Maksim and in a body that’s intent on severity. I touch his cheek, his stubble raspy against my hand.

He growls as if the intimacy is an affront. His hands gripping my hips and my hands on his shoulders, he grinds up against me, his body slowly rotating to rub against my clit in a way that causes my heart to beat twice as fast and heat to flood my body.

The orgasm detonates without warning, erupting in wave after wave of spastic euphoria. I cry out, my body going stiff as I give into it. As my orgasm squeezes Maksim’s cock, he lets out a slow groan as his hot seed surges into me. I feel him beginning to slip, but he lowers me enough that it barely hurts as we slide to the bottom of the shower.

I keep my eyes closed, trying to catch my breath. After several minutes have passed, I open my eyes. Maksim reaches up, turning the water off. My body stays warm, though