Page 73 of Maksim

And the worst part is, I’m not hating it.

My body lifts, my chest rising as Maksim brings me to a precipice, the tension in my core wound so tightly, there’s no room for more.

I dig my nails into his shoulders and open my mouth in a strangled cry. I do my best to keep quiet but fail miserably as my body pulses and squeezes around Maksim’s finger.

When my hands slip off Maksim’s shoulders, I feel the sweat on my neck and notice it beading on my forehead, sticking to my back, moistening the backs of my knees. I’m covered in it.

I’m panting as I come down from my high and terrified that I won’t be able to stand, but Maksim must sense this because he doesn’t put me down.

My eyelids flutter, finally looking at Maksim again as he picks up my dress and panties then shifts me in his arms. He carries me out of this hell without a word to the demons in it.

He doesn’t speak, so neither do I. I wouldn’t know what to say.

Thank you?

Does this change things?

Where do we go from here?

I doubt he has the answers, so I let him carry me to safety, snuggling in his arms.

Arms that for the very first time, I feel I can trust.

21

MAKSIM

My eyes close as I listen to Elira’s soft, relaxed breathing, a stark contrast to how it was on the way up. She had clung to me then out of desperation, but now, cradled in my arms in the back of Hugh’s SUV, she’s relaxed to the point I think she may be sleeping.

Hugh drives us to my home in silence, never uttering a question about what took place at Nikita’s. He won’t ask. We won’t speak a word of it unless I bring it up.

But he’ll be curious. Tonight, when we arrived at his house, he asked a question I wasn’t sure how to answer.

Have you fallen for the whore, brother?

He asked it playfully, as a reference to my arm around Elira, as an acknowledgment of her presence there at all. Now I wonder what he must think.

Elira shifts in my arms, hinting at her wakefulness, but I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes closed while I try to answer Hugh’s question for myself.

Have you fallen for your whore, brother?

No.

Elira is … useful. She’s useful. Necessary even. Anya likes her, she likes the version Elira paints of me. Elira keeps my house a level of clean I had no idea I enjoyed. She cooks food I didn’t realize I’d missed. She makes my home feel more alive, less like a suburban box I force myself to crawl into every night and more an actual home.

So she matters. Apparently, enough that I’m willing to go home a hundred thousand dollars poorer, the agreed upon cost of Elira’s vengeance. But have I fallen for her? Am I even capable of that?

No. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

I open my eyes and roll my neck, suddenly feeling better at the revelation, but when I find her staring at me, my arms wrapped around her stiffen.

Her irises are caramel swirls that are lighter than I’ve ever seen on her. She blinks slowly, never looking away, like she’s allowing me to gaze at those swirls she’s been hiding from me. I’m so used to seeing her guarded or angry or defensive, occasionally afraid, but never, ever like this. Never so open, so vulnerable, so … trusting.

My skin crawls, but I don’t look away. I can’t. The urge to shove her away from me twitches my muscles, like my body is rejecting the closeness I enjoyed only a moment ago.

She doesn’t speak.

Neither do I.