Page 38 of Maksim

Her eyes never leave mine as she unbuttons her slacks and lets them fall off her hips into a puddle on the floor. I try to hold her stare, but my gaze betrays me and wanders to her long, slender legs. Her white, cotton panties are simple, as I guessed they would be. On another woman, I might like a thong, but it wouldn’t look right on her. She’s… I don’t know. Different.

She lifts the blouse over her head next and tosses it to the floor before standing straight and peering into what I’m sure to her must look like weak, hungry eyes.

I am not this man. I abhor men who could let something as abundant as pussy bring them to their knees, but I’m ashamed to say my knees are shaking.

Fucking. Bitch.

“Is this what you want?” she asks, her voice silk. She’s proud of herself. She’ll lock herself in a box for six hours to avoid being fucked by a man she’s never seen, but for me, she’ll strip to only her panties as a way to tell me to go to hell. Strange, isn’t it?

I don’t answer. My voice would be even weaker than my eyes, so instead, I just take her in, looking over her perky tits outlined with a bikini top tan. She must’ve swam hours and hours in the Adriatic Sea to get that hourglass figure.

She’s looked confident up to this point, but as she walks to me she’s cautious, and the triumphant gleam in her eyes fades. She pauses in front of me, inches away, and says nothing, just stares at me, waiting. Waiting for me to make my move.

I do.

My hand, having a mind of its own, reaches out to caress a lock of her soft, dark hair. When I drop it, I move the back of my fingertips to her ear, down her neck, over her collarbone, her shoulder, then dip it part way down her arm.

I breathe in her scent, leaning in without thinking about it, and let my hand brush across her chest.

My cock strains against my pants, begging, demanding to take what’s mine. What appears Elira is offering.

When I look at her face, my eyelids drooping, I see her eyes closed and her lips shut tightly. I can’t tell if she’s afraid, but I’d guess she’s more expectant than anything. Then again, I’m not sure what she expects. I’m not sure what I expect.

I’ve never had a whore, never wanted one. The type of man who desires to own another human being is the type of man too weak to stand on his own. How pathetic it is to need to have full control over someone in order to have influence.

How pathetic it is to have to own a woman in order to get her to fuck you.

Surely, I can do better.

I look away, a breath stuttering past my lips as I let my hand skate down her side before I pull it away.

“That’s better,” I say, taking a small step back and clearing my throat. “You could stand to eat more. You’re a little far on the thin side, but getting rid of the frumpy clothes is a good first step.”

She opens her eyes, and I grin in anticipation of seeing her anger, but it isn’t there. Her brown eyes go wide before they drop to the floor, and she covers herself in what looks like shame.

Fuck, too far.

She turns and scurries toward the hall.

“Elira, wait.”

I stride after her, and when I take her shoulder, she spins to face me but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m teasing. I’m sorry, I… I don’t know why I said that.”

She shakes her head, still not looking at me. Her cheeks are bright red. “I’m your whore, Maksim. You’re allowed your preferences.”

“No, you…” I look up, searching for words, not quite sure why I’m explaining myself. Maybe it’s because of my night with Anya. Maybe I just can’t take being this big of an asshole in interactions too close together. “I was trying to get a rise out of you, Elira. I like it sometimes when you’re fiery, that’s it. You’re not too skinny.”

“You said you…” She closes her eyes a moment as her fists ball in frustration. “You said you wanted me to be good.”

“I know.” I nod. “And I do.”

“But I…” She looks down and gestures at her naked chest. When she looks back up, she has a desperate gloss to her eyes, and her lips are parted. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

When she blinks away moisture that her lashes collect, my words catch in my chest.

What do I want from her? Honestly?

Nothing.