17. MADDY

17

MADDY

Nine o'clock, Raven's massage says on my phone.

It was sent four hours ago, though I didn't need a reminder. Raven is coming tonight. We agreed. It's our first time together, though I'm not sure what that "together" implies.

I've been sitting on my balcony for over an hour, watching the darkness fall, winding myself down, trying to stay calm but failing. After work, I thought of changing my clothes into something sexier, then decided that Raven will get what he asked for—the daily version of me.

So, I'm still in my work clothes—my summer cotton dress and white socks. My hair is pinned at the back of my head. I didn't even bother changing my cotton panties and bra. Raven will just have to appreciate the simplicity of it, considering the simplicity of our deal.

It's a ridiculous scenario, and I try not to get angry at the fact that he is taking over my life. I know he activated the camera on my porch—the other night, I noticed the red light. He is hanging out with Little, and there is no reason for that unless he is trying to use him to get close to me.

Tonight, I will have to do anything Raven wants.

What, exactly?

The thought keeps spinning in my head, and it creates a strange concoction—curiosity, excitement, and arousal. No anger at all.

My thoughts drift to what this could be like. I think about Raven naked. I wonder what sort of man he is in bed. Will I be able to stop him if he gets too rough? Despite my setting clear rules?

I'm so lost in my fantasies that when there's a knock at the door, my heartbeat spikes two-fold.

And here he is, standing tall on my porch, hands in his pockets, his unblinking gaze on me when I open my door.

His eyes probe me in the strangest way I can't explain—warning, prying, and… arousing. They are gray-blue but shiny like steel, piercing and unsettling. I can't look away.

When I let him in, he walks to the middle of the room and does a quick evaluation of my studio and open-concept kitchen. There is nothing to see here. My nightstand light is on, making the room sink into comfortable dimness. As much as this scenario can be, that is. Soft music trickles from the speaker.

I stand just a little behind him, studying him. He is a little taler than me, not too muscular but toned. He is wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and Converses. His dark hair is, as always, slightly disheveled, strands falling onto the right side of his forehead.

He turns around slowly to face me and takes slow steps toward me until he is only inches away.

He cocks his head, those icy eyes of his studying my face. He's trying to detect how I feel. He knows that the longer he stares at people, the more self-aware they become.

But I'm the wrong girl. I hope he knows that. I've faced dangerous men all my life, been in bed with them, played them. His gaze doesn't unnerve me, but his intentions do. And though I don't react, my heart is sending an SOS signal, and my legs go weak.

A cold smile hitches the corner of his lips. "We have a deal, Maddy. Rules are established." He talks slowly, like a businessman, or maybe trying to unnerve me. "I take what I want. You give it without acting like a princess."

His eyes roam my face, and I'm waiting for his first move.

He lifts his hand to my shoulder and traces the length of my dress strap with his finger. I know he can see the goosebumps on my skin.

"Strip, Maddy," he says softly. "I want to see what I got."

Here we go.

He steps back and walks to the chair by the dresser. He turns it the other way and straddles it, arms folded on its back. He gives a backward nod toward the spot in front of him, in the center of my small studio, and there's that slight tilt of his head—he's letting me know he's waiting.

I stay calm.

Deep breaths, Milena.

I take slow steps to stand in front of him.

"Right there," he stops me. "Perfect."

I wonder if I can do this gracefully—take my white socks off.

"Leave the socks on," he says, the corner of his mouth curving in a smile.

I swear, he can read my mind. Maybe that's why he is good at his job. Maybe that's why my body is in an emergency mode, though my mind calmly instructs me on what to do next.

I pick up the hem of my dress and pull it up, over my head and arms, and drop it on the floor.

He nods in approval.

I've done this so many times, hiding my emotions, acting cool. Pretending . Back in the day, I could watch without flinching as a man was pummeled into a pulp, despite my insides turning. Later, it was all about lies. Lying to my father, to his dogs that guarded me day and night. Smiling when I wanted to scream. Feigning innocence when I laughed inwardly at some stunt I pulled off.

I remember one of my last visits to Russia, when I was seventeen. It was a function in Vladivostok, and many of the guests were in the top 100 of the world's who is who, many whom I knew growing up. Private jets, tuxedos and evening dresses, a two-million-dollar raffle, same old conversations about new deals and investments and one man whom I never knew being introduced by my father.

"I hope for this to be a great alliance," said the handsome guy in his mid-twenties who turned out to be some Kazakhstani businessman.

I didn't realize right away what his kissing my hand had to do with any alliance, considering I heard him earlier out on the terrace joking about a party with models in Courchevel, France. Until my father told me in private only ten minutes later, "Get to know him. He is a great asset to our business."

It wasn't "our" business, but my father's. And everything was an asset.

"I don't have any interest in him," I said.

Dad didn't even flinch. "You should. Considering you will marry him as soon as you graduate from whatever university I let you enroll in."

Shock doesn't describe my feelings at his blunt, unfazed ultimatum.

"That was the deal, Mila. I let you go to university, and you let me handle everything after that."

My life.

Of course, I was an asset too.

I see how Raven is similar in this way. The everything-is-a-deal mentality is very common, even more so among women who marry for children, stability, carrier, protection, and a good house. Except, I refused to play that game. But I chose to go along with this, him . Raven thinks he is in charge of this deal. We will see. For the first time, I get to play my own game. And it feels good. Even more so when I am so intrigued by him.

I am unmoving as I stand in the center of the room while he is studying my body in just my underwear and socks.

"Keep going, Milena," he orders. "Show me yourself."

Milena…

Maybe that's what I needed all along, to remember who I am.

Milena was unapologetic with men. She loved her body. She loved to show it off.

I wonder if Raven intended to intimidate me. His gaze takes in every inch of my body. But it's also empowering, reminding me how I used to feel around men—confident.

"Go on," he encourages me in a soft, husky voice that is sexual and unlike him.

I bring my hands behind my back and unclasp my bra, then wiggle my shoulders and let it fall onto the floor.

Cool air grazes my skin and nipples, making them hard. His gaze drops to study them, then meets mine, making me shiver, though I can't figure out if it's from slight shyness or excitement.

I am turned on. I shouldn't be, considering he thinks I am "forced" into this. But the want in his gaze is unmistakable.

His eyes drop to my panties, then meet my eyes. He nods in a silent command.

With intentional slowness, I slide my panties down my hips, and before they even hit the floor, Raven's eyes are below my waist, his gaze hardening.

I step out of my panties and stand in front of him, naked, only in my ridiculous white socks.

Already, I feel my core throbbing. My mind reels in surprise—I want this a lot more than I thought. But something else excites me. Confidence surges through me as I watch Raven forget himself as he studies me, and his body language hints just how much he reacts to the view.

Raven's thighs straddling the chair shift just a little.

Are you hard, Raven?

A smile tilts my lips—I'm sure he already is.

Slowly, he rises from the chair, pushes it away, and approaches, his gaze never leaving my nakedness.

He is so close, inches from me when he stops. Just like back at the hospital. I'm trying to distract myself from the thought that I am naked before him. I'm already aroused, waiting for what's to come. But he shouldn't know that, though he soon will.

I'm nervous, sure. I don't know what he wants. Not just sex, because it's been a week, and he barely touched me. I've had club hookups happen faster than this one. But I'm burning with anticipation. I want to know what makes his cool dissipate. What makes him lose control with a woman. What turns this subtle hunger in his gaze into scorching lust. For that, I want him naked, too.

Milena was a party girl, careless and reckless while drunk. Maddy has too much at stake.

Except for right now. Right now, without realizing it, Raven gave me the freedom to be whoever I want.

His hand reaches behind my head, undoes the clasp holding my hair, and lets it fall to my shoulders.

"So pretty," he murmurs.

His hand slowly reaches my collarbone, brushing against it, then wraps around my neck gently. His fingertips move just slightly—he's feeling my pulse. And it's raging.

He leans over, his shirt brushing my front, his hair brushing my temple. "Nervous?" he whispers in my ear.

"Yes." I don't lie. Not this time. It's useless with him.

"You are hiding it well."

"Practice makes perfect."

"You are," he whispers, his hand gliding down and brushing against my nipple, "perfect, Maddy."

He switches back and forth from Maddy to Milena, and it makes for a bizarre reminder that though he is blackmailing me, I am the one who lied for two years and lied to so many people, jeopardizing the safety of this island.

He might not fully understand it, but our moral compasses are in sync. I let him do what he wants as a price for his silence. He is taking it despite the high price he might have to pay later.

We are the same.

Raven starts taking slow steps around me. His hand briefly brushes against my butt, making my core contract in response. I feel want seep out of me. I expected him to be fast and maybe rough. But Raven is a seducer. Who would've known?

He makes a full circle around me and stops in front of me. Our eyes lock. The air burns between us.

His hand caresses my hip. The other shifts between my legs and lightly brushes against my clit.

I hold my breath at the contact.

His fingers gently probe between my legs again, and a tiny, surprised hum escapes him.

"Who do you clean up so nicely for, Maddy?"

I had Brazilian wax done. I used to be meticulous about self-care before Zion. The Eastside got a bit complicated. Now, Ayana has every luxury you can look for.

"No one," I lie. I only just got it done for the first time a week ago. With him in mind.

"No one," he echoes in a half-whisper, his fingers softly stroking my clit, making my body burn with need for more pressure. "You wear simple clothes, barely any makeup, but you are waxed down there."

His eyes are smiling, his brow ticks as his fingers gently stroke me between my legs.

"Rich girls who become poor like to keep certain habits," I answer.

He studies my face, trying to figure out if I'm lying. His fingers still play with my pussy, making it hard for me to focus on the right words. His touch down there is feather-light, grazing my clit, and I want it harder, consistent, rhythmic.

A smile flickers on his lips. "I like this habit."

He likes teasing. I can feel myself seeping, the moisture gathering between my legs, coating his fingers that easily slide around my clit in circular motions.

"You are soaked, Maddy baby," he whispers against my cheek, and his fingers between my legs start exploring, sliding farther, deeper, applying more pressure, making me shift and widen my stance.

He's not handling me like a possession, though I thought that was what he wanted when we made the deal. He is learning my body's reaction to him. This is so arousing that I'm wet down to my knees by the time he starts rubbing my clit in circles, applying even more pressure, and my body starts screaming for release.

He pulls back just a little bit. His gaze latches onto me as he watches for my reaction.

I could've pretended this doesn't affect me. But if he wants me to play, then so be it. So, I shift my hips, pushing into his fingers.

Triumph flickers in his eyes, and the pressure of his fingers increases.

He shifts an inch closer. His hand slides to the small of my back, as if supporting me. His other hand is doing sensual magic. He leans in to whisper in my ear, "I want you to enjoy this just as much as I do."

And this time, he doesn't pull back. His lips kiss my ear, then plant little kisses along my temple, and all the while his fingers rub my clit in the most delicious way.

I let myself close my eyes. I let my hands move up and gently rest on his upper arms for support. My knees grow weak from pleasure. My hips start rolling in sync with the rhythm of his fingers. And in a moment, I'm falling, the orgasm surging through my body as I try to hold back my reaction and only allowing a loud gasp to escape my mouth as I lean into him.

I open my eyes only when he gently kisses my cheek, and I sense the absence of his touch between my legs.

He pulls back, his satisfied gaze probing me.

What now?

I am so turned on, I want more, anticipate it. I never expected this from Raven—gentle consideration. He could get sex anywhere. He could screw me any way he wanted and leave. But he started pleasing me, making me enjoy it. Teasing. He knew I wanted it, sensed it.

We could really start this off with a bang—the thought makes me smile to myself as we stand gazing at each other.

But a bang of a different kind comes from the door—a loud knock and a familiar voice from behind it, "Maddy!"

In one single second, the moment is broken.

In a flash, the intensity in Raven's gaze is gone.

My heart pumps even faster. This is the wrong time for an interruption. We should ignore the knocking.

But Raven takes a step back and doesn't look down at my naked body, only says, "You should put your clothes back on."

And then he steps away toward the door, stands with his back to me, and checks his phone.

I pull my clothes on as quickly as I can and tie my hair into a messy bun.

"Maaaa-dy!" Little bellows from behind the door and keeps knocking.

Raven turns to check on me and opens the door.

I see Little's startled face as he realizes it's Raven, and then his grin is back on. "Hi!"

Raven steps to the side to let him in. "There is no need to shout all the time."

"Wha' you guys doin'?" Little asks, stepping into the room with a giant book tucked under his arm, his eyes darting between us.

"Maddy and I were talking," Raven says calmly, studying him.

"You here for the movie, too?"

"No. I'm out. Have a good night."

Without sparing me another glance, Raven closes the door behind him, and I make a goofy expression at Little that makes him giggle.

"Look!" He shows me the book. "Come, look at this!"

He races to the couch, plops down, and opens the book.

My mind is as far away from innocent activities with children as possible. But Raven is gone. And as I take a seat next to Little, I try to calm my racing heart.

"Look!" He shows me a big animal world encyclopedia. "Bu' I can't read. Will you read it to me?"

"Sure."

"Abou' a tiger!"

I smile.

"No-no! Tiger later!" He changes his mind right away. "Read about raven! Iz' a bird, innit?"

His grin is contagious, but his words pull me back to the moment Raven walked out without even looking at me.

My hands slightly shaking, I open the R-letter and find the picture of a common raven.

Little strokes it with his finger. "‘That raven?"

"Yes," I say quietly. "A raven is any of several larger-bodied bird species in the genus Corvus," I start reading, trying to keep my thoughts together.

Even around this little guy, everything is about Raven. Somehow, Raven is weaving his way into every part of my life.

And I wonder if that was his true intention from the beginning.