Page 45 of Maxim
For a moment, I think I misheard him. Surely he didn’t just say he’s not letting me leave. That would be fucking insane. And also controlling as fuck.
“What do you mean? Are you saying I can’t leave?” I roll away from him, a cold shiver trickling down my spine. God, is Max another Rick? Is he going to start ordering me around? Have I fallen for yet another narcissistic walking red flag?
I want to scream at the thought Max has fooled me. Like Rick fooled me. If Max is another Rick, then there is something very wrong with me.
Max’s hand grabs my wrist but I yank it away. I need to get the fuck out of here before he does something scary like physically lock me in his bedroom, or worse. It belatedly occurs to me I have no clue where my phone is. Fuck!
“I’m… um… gonna use the bathroom.” I need some space. When I’m breathing the same air as Max I can’t think straight. It must be his pheromones or something.
Chapter thirty-two
Max
What the fuck just happened? I’m clueless. One minute Natalya is lying in my arms, sated and happy, and the next, she reacts like I’ve just shown her my creepy doll collection. And no, I don’t have one. Just in case you’re wondering.
To my intense confusion, she dashes into the bathroom and closes the door. The lock engages and then the shower turns on.
For a long moment, I lie in the ruins of my bed, scratching my head and going over everything I said and did in the last ten minutes. Nothing makes sense.
Then my phone rings. It’s Sasha. I grab it, quickly pull some pants on, and stride into the living room. Fuck me, I need coffee. All my good vibes from last night and this morning have vanished and now I just feel exhausted.
It turns out emotions are bad news.
For me at least.
I have no fucking clue how Artem survives his pregnant wife’s tantrums. Dealing with a moody woman’s mood swings is giving me a migraine.
“What?” I bark when I finally answer Sasha’s call, more obnoxiously than usual, although Sasha should know better than to bug me this early.
He huffs. “What’s eating you? You’re not normally this grumpy after getting laid.”
“Fucking women,” I mutter without meaning to.
“Oh… I see… trouble in paradise already?” There’s a faint snigger, which makes me want to rip his head off and post it on a spike for the crows to peck at.
“Nope. Just… I really don’t get women.” This is why I prefer to keep things casual. It’s so much easier and less stressful.
Sasha shorts with amusement. “Go on, spill.”
I tell him about how Natalya ran off into the bathroom and locked the door. He sighs loudly.
“You really don’t get it?”
“No!” Jesus. If I got it, then I wouldn’t be oversharing all this with him. It’s not like he’s sympathetic.
“You told her she wasn’t allowed to leave.”
“And?” Of course she’s not allowed to leave without me. She’s been attacked once already, and there is a strong possibility the mayor is gunning for her. What kind of asshole would I be if I let her go home without an escort?
“Think about it, dickhead.” Sasha is skating on thin ice here. I don’t appreciate my second calling me a dickhead.
“You better think carefully before any more insults fall from your fucking mouth, Aleksander!”
From the vague muttering I can hear, he’s pulled the phone away from his ear and is now cursing me in fluent Russian. Well fuck him. This is why I don’t go to my men for relationship advice. They’re all assholes.
“Let me put it in words you might understand,” he grits out. “The woman was in an abusive relationship when you first met her. Men like that are controlling. You telling her she can’t leave, even though I’m sure you meant it in a caring way, will have triggered her.”
His words sink in. Fuck. He’s right. I feel like punching myself in the face right now. No wonder she’s hiding from me. She probably thinks I’m a monster.