21. Maksim

21

MAKSIM

M y 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.

But I wonder what she's thinking. I wonder what that was back there, what it meant to her, if anything at all. I wonder if another man has ever made her come.

My eyes drop to her lips while I consider that, welcoming the oncoming sensations massaging my balls. Lust feels so much more natural than the things those caramel swirls have me questioning. It feels right . Like I should've been fucking her all along. Like we have so much to make up for.

Pretty, long lashes flutter as she must feel my cock harden beneath her, but she doesn't move. Interest sparks on her face, making me regret texting Hugh to pick us up. Suddenly, he feels in the way.

My eyes drift up to Hugh, but when Elira shifts, grinding her ass against my cock, my eyes snap back to her.

I must look intimidating because her cheeks redden, and she shrinks back like she's embarrassed. She reacted this way earlier too, when she wanted me to keep kissing her. Touching her.

What I wouldn't give right now to taste her…

But no. She's been selfish plenty tonight.

Taking her knee, I rock her body gently to rub her against my dick like before, just enough that she gets the message. Her uncertain eyes relax with interest, and she perks up as she wraps one arm around my neck and subtly grinds her ass against me.

It's nice, but it only has my eyes locking onto her lips, even fuller than I remember.

"Stop," I say, my tone low and sharp, before I lose myself and start fucking her mouth in the back of this SUV.

She freezes, her sweet body tensing in my arms, and her shoulders hunch like she's a dog I've just reprimanded. Yesterday, she would've glared, probably shoved herself off of me, and stared out the window with her arms crossed. Now she cares what I think. She wants my approval, needs it, and fuck if that doesn't turn me on.

Hugh pulls into my drive less than a minute later, and I throw open the door before urging Elira out more eagerly than I intend, causing her to stumble.

I nod at Hugh through the open window. " Spasibo ." Thank you .

He nods in return, his eyes finding Elira before he drives away.

" Go ," I command, giving her back a small shove. My cock strains when she obeys, hurrying toward the house like the good girl I know she isn't.

It isn't her fault, I know, but out of nowhere, I feel deprived. Hungry. Starving . I want her, just like this, obeying my commands, eager to give my cock attention.

Jesus fucking Christ, I want her.

Pushing her aside, I rip my keys from my pocket and jab the lock before flinging open the door. Elira flinches when it slams into the wall, but still, she doesn't say anything. She arches her shoulders and hurries past me when I angle my body to the side.

"Get in the shower, lislchka . I want all the filth of tonight off of you."

Without looking back, she turns the corner to my bedroom, the smooth curve of her hips tempting me each second. Without her in my sight, I can remind myself a hundred times over why I haven't already fucked her, why I should breathe, relax, have a drink, let my desire settle.

She's young.

Inexperienced.

Timid.

She may be mine, but she's no whore.

Still…

She wants me. I could see it all over her face, feel her excitement in the air. She wants more than the pleasure my hands can give her. She wants my cock.

Who am I to deny her?

Elira

Water splashes onto my face, tiny droplets clinging to my lashes to make me blink every few seconds while I listen carefully for any noise outside of the shower.

It's been minutes, and I haven't touched the soap. Haven't even moved to fully wet my hair. I just listen, waiting, wondering what comes next, unsure of what I want.

My nipples are erect and throb under the spray of the shower, and my sex, satisfied less than an hour ago, feels painfully neglected yet again. My body knows what it wants.

But my mind… My mind is struggling.

We're home. We're safe.

He protected me.

I can trust him.

But…

But what, Elira? What is the problem?

The door to the bathroom opens, making every muscle in my body tense like I'm afraid of the man I seem to be craving so intensely. And all at once, I get what I'm afraid of.

What if I'm wrong ?

What if he is like those other men? Just like those other men?

What if I'm a fool?

I swallow as the shower curtain is pulled open and a blur of skin and muscle steps inside behind me. My eyes close as I shift forward and tilt my head up to let the water sprinkle my face.

Maksim's hands, large and rough like they've known hard labor, circle my hips and run up to my breasts.

The ache in my nipples intensifies as he cups both breasts and squeezes, his palms pressing against the sensitive buds, while nuzzling his chin into my shoulder.

"Do you want me?" he asks, more like growls, in my ear, causing my spine to shudder.

I don't answer. Don't know how to.

He removes one of his hands to thread it through my hair and yanks my head back from the spray, pulling a gasp from my lungs.

" Do you want me ?"

His words, so demanding, so forceful, remind me of Nikita's.

Do you want my cock?

There was only one correct answer then. Is there only one correct answer now?

Maksim keeps a tight grip on my hair while shoving his other hand between my legs, relaxing when he finds the heat and liquid he left me with.

"You are so sexy, lislchka ." He runs his fingers up my slit to a spot only he has claimed. My tensed body begins to relax as he uses a finger to rub a circle over the tender nerves, lighting up my pleasure sensors while dampening the pain in my scalp. "I know you want me. Just say it. Say it and maybe I'll be nice."

Nice .

Maksim is many things. I don't think he's a bad man, but it's hard for me to see him as nice .

My eyes roll as he works me, my body feeling heavier than before. I could lie to him, but what would be the point? "I want you."

"Good girl," he whispers, massaging the sting from my scalp. Those two words send warmth through me that leaks out onto his hand when he slips a finger inside.

My lips part with a moan as I lean into him, letting his body and his strength hold me up.

"Tell me you're my whore." His words are almost snarled, his breath hot, even as his finger fucks me lovingly.

I'm no one's whore.

I almost sneer it. Almost.

But he feels too good. Too right. It isn't even my choice at this point. My body has made up my mind for me.

Tomorrow, I will be his equal.

Tonight, I am whatever he wants me to be.

Arching my hips when he fucks me deeper, I close my eyes and moan. "I'm your whore."

He groans, swiping the hair off my shoulder before his lips hungrily make a trail to my neck.

The sensations he brings me curl my toes, shake my knees, sink my eyelids, but abruptly, his hand leaves me.

"On your knees, shlyukha ," he growls, whipping me around and pressing on my shoulders so I'll lower to the tub.

I don't know what lislchka means, but on Maksim's lips, it sounds endearing. I feel safe, special, in a way. I don't mind it, certainly don't hate it.

Shlyukha, however , is not a term of endearment. From my time with the Russians, I can confidently say it means something along the lines of ‘whore.'

Water trails down my face, gathering in my eyes so I close them, but it's gone when Maksim takes my chin and yanks me out of the stream.

I open my eyes to take in his length, large and intimidating in his grasp. I can feel his arousal making the tub feel smaller, my nipples tighter. My core grips at what isn't there.

Maksim squeezes my jaw so I'll open my mouth, and I look up at him, searching for… I don't know what I'm looking for, but all I see is lust. Pure, powerful lust as he presses himself to my mouth, urging me to open wider.

His eyes close as he fills my mouth, and mine would do the same, but panic sweeps me. It's silly, but I get the sudden fear that I'm not going to do this right. That I won't bring him the same pleasure he brought me. That I'm a letdown, the lust in his eyes nothing but buildup that will lead to disappointment.

I shouldn't care. There are so many things I shouldn't care about that I keep finding myself worrying over.

" Fuck ," he groans, opening his eyes as he pulls out and pushes into my mouth again. He looks down at me and says something in Russian that doesn't sound like a command, nor is his voice filled with anger. Just lust.

He shoves in hard, hitting the back of my throat and making me gag around his length. I try to pull away, but he fists my hair and holds me in place without a word.

I look up at him, feeling tiny compared to his six foot plus frame, and even smaller in this position. He appears so much more controlling than normal, more … I don't know, scary. It makes me want to hide while at the same time makes my nerves feel tight, ready, wanting .

He's … sexy.

Powerful .

Mine?

Or am I only his?

"Hold still, Elira," he says, his commanding tone making me tense. My name sounds strange on his tongue now. Like a naughty word that gives me chills.

Holding my chin, he thrusts into my mouth while I fight my gag reflex, but the more I fight, the farther he pushes until I realize he wants to make me gag.

His length bounces in my mouth each time I choke, and his hips pick up their pace, his hands taking my head while he pumps into me.

I stop worrying about him grading my performance when I finally realize that he doesn't give a shit. He has no intention of giving me any amount of control. He wants to use me. Fuck me. Treat me like a shlyukha, like a whore.

Is that all I am?

Will he discard me after?

Maksim rocks into me hard, stilling with one hand holding my chin up while the other grips my hair. An explosion of warm, salty goo fills my mouth, and I close my eyes as I swallow it down.

"Mmm," Maksim groans before muttering a string of Russian he must not intend for me to understand.

Fear, the real kind, not for my life but for my pride, worse my heart , comes barreling in. It turns my cum-filled stomach when Maksim pulls out of my mouth and shuts the shower off.

I'm a soaked mess on the tub floor, my hands wrapped around myself, unsure if I should be ashamed or content.

What happens now?

Will he just leave me here? Will he keep calling me shlyukha ? Is that my new name?

My eyes clench shut when I remember the men from tonight, the ones he must have had to pay off in order to keep me alive. I don't know how much it was, but it must've been years' worth of work that I'm doing in the bakery. It'll take my life to pay Maksim back.

I won't be able to send money back home.

Everything will be different.

My bargaining power, my freedom, it's… It's gone, isn't it?

I am shlyukha.

Shame washes over me at not only what I just did, what I enjoyed, but at how long it took for me to realize my incredibly obvious reality.

I am shlyukha.

I am shlyukha.

I am shlyukha.

"Elira?" Maksim towers over me like a king, a master I may as well call him.

Sobs erupt from my mouth, shaking my shoulders. I hug myself to control it.

" Elira ." Maksim crouches beside me and goes to put his hand on my shoulder but hovers it inches away. After a moment, he sighs and mutters under his breath. " Topoy grebanny idiot ."

I squeeze myself as he stands, expecting him to leave, but he grabs a towel and wraps it around me before lifting me gently and carrying me to his bed.

I bite my lip, silencing my cries as he lays me down and pulls the covers over me. His hand feels warm covering my shoulder, but when it leaves, my body cools.

"I'm sorry, lislchka ," he says with regret straining his voice before his presence fades.

I roll over to face his retreating form, confusion and fear making me sick to my stomach. I'm terrified to ask what I think I already know, but watching him walk away feels worse.

"Maksim."

He stops and turns to me, his face twisted with concern.

I stare at his handsome features, my protector, my housemate, my owner.

I don't want to know.

But I have to know.

"How much money did you have to pay those men?"

He frowns as he comes toward me and sits on the bed. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," I say, my voice weak.

He's quiet for a moment, but then, "A hundred grand."

My breathing stops.

One hundred thousand dollars.

My life. That's what it cost, my life. Maksim puts a hand on my leg at the sight of tears filling my eyes.

"The money doesn't matter, Elira. I have a much smaller home than I can afford, remember? You can't imagine how much money I've put back."

"But it's your money," I counter. I look pointedly at the bathroom. "How many times am I going to have to be your shlyukha before you're paid back?"

When a moment goes by, I wonder if he's doing the math. How many blowjobs equal a hundred grand?

"Look at me."

No .

I keep my watery eyes on the bathroom entrance, afraid of what I'll see if I meet Maksim's gaze.

"Elira."

" No ," I grate out. "Say what you must, but I've done my duties for the night."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Maksim rub the back of his neck and feel his frustration brewing.

Letting out a gust of air, he scoots onto the bed to lay down beside me while I twist to face away from him.

Still, when his arm wraps around my chest and hugs me closer to him, I don't fight it. I close my eyes and let him hold me, kiss the top of my head, bring me comfort I desperately need.

"I'm sorry. I thought…" He sighs. "You want me. I know you want me. I was a little," he pauses briefly, " rough , and I'm sorry for that. I'm not good with women. I don't even know how to begin to be good with women. My experience is less than ideal, but that isn't the real problem here. You're in your head right now, and you need to get out of it."

"What the hell does that mean?" I snap, even as I press myself against him like I'm afraid my harshness will push him away.

"It means you're so concerned with believing I'm the enemy that you can't just accept me as your friend. Get over the idea of being owned. It's happened. It's done. Stop crying over it like it's the worst thing that could ever happen to a person."

A dry laugh bursts from my mouth. "That's easy for you to say, isn't it? You have all the control. You could kill me right now just because you felt like it, but you want me to what? To?—"

"Do you think that I couldn't kill you even if you were free? Fuck, Elira, you are free. You're not locked up here like a prisoner. You have a job, access to family overseas, and in six months, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Is that not good enough?"

I flip over to face him, my eyes shooting daggers. "I have a job you gave me with hours you set. Access to my family in the parameters you?—"

"Okay, stop." He rubs his temples.

"It's not freedom, Maksim. I don't expect you to understand, but please, don't tell me that's freedom because it isn't."

When he drops his hand, his jaw is clenched. "Fine. Then go."

The tightness in my face relaxes, but it transfers to my chest, making it hard to breathe. "What?"

He waves to the door. "You want your freedom, have it. Goodbye."

I look between him and the door, my gut churning.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks, goading me. " Go ."

"I can't," I say, my voice small.

The organization.

The Bratva.

I can't leave . I need him. He knows I need him.

That's his point.

"Get the fuck out of my house," he snaps, sitting up and flinging his hand toward the door. I flinch at the anger in his tone and slowly stand from the bed.

Where? Where would I go?

What would I do?

How long before they found me?

"Maksim," I whine, the fear in my voice pathetically apparent.

He's quiet for several seconds, the only sound my heart beating in my ears.

"Come here," he orders, his voice calm but commanding.

My shoulders sag with relief as I climb onto the bed and crawl to him, not stopping until I'm safely wrapped in his arms, feeling like an idiot.

His hand smooths over my back, leaving a trail of warmth that melds me to him.

"You think I don't understand," he says, his voice soft and low. "But I wasn't free when I came to America. I was angry and scared, just like you. I fought it for a long time, just like you."

His words spread confusion through my mind, making my eyes squint, my head feel cloudy.

What?

"I promise you, lislchka, I am not your devil… Your fear has eyes like bowls but does not see a crumb."

I pull back to look in his eyes, not to see if he's telling the truth. I know he's telling the truth. There was a time I didn't believe the words passing Maksim's lips, but now, I know he wouldn't lie, not about this.

I stare wondrously at the vulnerability I knew would be on his face and reach out, cupping his handsome cheek and smoothing my thumb over bone. I spot curious lines for the first time. "What happened to you?"

His eyes don't hesitate on me longer than it takes for him to register my question. He turns away, his firm cheek pulling from my hand.

I don't ask again. His face, his reaction, is enough to show me he'll never tell.