32. MADDY

32

MADDY

What happened yesterday with the attackers kept me unnerved the entire evening and night.

Of course, Archer called to check in with his usual, "This is a complication," "I'm sorry," "We all need to get together, you, me, and Raven, and talk about it."

But I can't. I won't. It's too early. I'm dreading this meeting that he keeps insisting on, because I know what that means for Raven and me.

I stayed awake almost the entire night, reliving the attack. Archer sent an update that the attackers were transported to Port Mrei hospital.

It's not the sudden violence that sent me into a quiet shock but the realization that they weren't after Raven. It had something to do with me being who I am. It's only a matter of time until my false identity crumbles and everything comes crashing down onto Ayana. Including my father.

Tonight is not about yesterday, though.

Tonight is not even about me showing Raven my real self, though hell, I haven't seen the real Milena in a while either.

I love the way Raven's gaze roams my body. The surprise on his face he couldn't hide when I started dancing. The way his body tensed up. How hard he got watching me strip for him, so distracted that he forgot that he is the one who always tells me what I want, what I need to do, and how he makes me feel.

No, tonight isn't about showing him the real Milena but making him lose control.

After all, I want to see the real Raven, too, and up until tonight, he's only given me little pieces of himself.

I tease him as I sit between his legs, his cock in my hand, his toned torso naked, his arms bound. It's a powerful sight, and I love how he swallows every naked bit of me.

I love my body. I used to love being naked in front of men. And I never shied away from telling them and showing them what I wanted.

With Raven, it required several drinks just to calm my nerves. But I can handle him. And I want to see him submit to whatever I want to do to him.

I enjoy seeing the little twitches in Raven's body. The tension in his thighs when I stroke his cock. The unmistakable grunts when I lean in and lick his tip. The shivers across his body when I apply the feather-like touch to the sensitive slit. I can do this for hours if he lets me.

I run a hand along the center of his torso again. He flicks his eyes at me. When I touch him so gently, his body tenses up.

He tenses again when I slowly brush my hands between his legs, barely touching his privates. His jaw clenches.

I knew that he wouldn't let me take my time. As much as he boasts of self-control, he prefers to be in charge.

I watch his hands easily disengage my lace binds. He sits up and leans over to cup my face.

"That's not how it's going to play out, beautiful girl," he says.

For a moment, I wish he kissed me despite the rules we've established.

He doesn't. In seconds, he flips me onto my back and gets on his knees between my legs.

Slowly, he lifts my right leg, takes my shoe off, and tosses it aside. Then does the same to the other one.

His cock bounces in the air, hard and perfect, leaking too, because I brought him too close to the edge.

But I know my game is over. He seems to have different plans.

He lowers himself onto me. "This deal is about pleasing you , Maddy."

He starts rubbing his cock on my pussy, but in a hot second, he pulls away and comes all over the sheets. Just a little grunt and a satisfied smirk accompany his orgasm.

See? Impatient.

"Your little naked body is doing wicked things to me," he murmurs. "Where were we…?"

He pushes my legs open and brings his face between my them, his tongue licking along my center.

He opens me up and licks me slowly, tasting me, running the flat of his tongue along my center, exploring the texture.

And his eyes are on me when he finishes every lick with a kiss. Then repeats it.

My surprise at his words mixes with the soft flames leaking against my center. I thought he'd try to take everything possible from me, do something degrading. Hence my rule, no violence.

Turns out he is not a violent man. In fact, he is the complete opposite in bed, the strokes of his tongue soft and expert when it slithers around my clit. He sucks on my pussy lips, making me buck my hips at him as the pleasure grows inside me with the speed of a brushfire.

I've learned that some quiet, harmless-looking men can be rough and even somewhat sadistic in bed. Some brutal guys can be softies and most gentle.

I didn't know what to expect from Raven, but he is good with his tongue and wicked with his fingers. He uses them to spread my pussy open for his gentle invasion, and in a moment, my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I moan in an orgasm that lasts for some time as his tongue calms the flames of pleasure.

He seems unfazed by the fact that he just jerked off all over my bed and made me come on his tongue. When I open my eyes, his face is above me. He studies my lips for a second, then meets my eyes as I feel him pressing against my entrance, and he inches inside me.

His gaze keeps me hostage as he thrusts into me inch by hot inch, stretching me, and then he pulls out almost all the way, only his tip pressed to my entrance. He pushes in again, and while he is inside me, he slowly tugs his jeans lower, shifting just slightly, enough for me to feel him move inside me.

And he's watching me.

"You feel so good, Mayflower," he murmurs.

The first orgasm has barely faded, but another one is already starting, and he watches me and fucks me and watches me and fucks me.

I want to kiss him, but I can't. I made the rules. I'm trying to have the upper hand here, at least in this way.

But he rolls his hips, deepening his thrusts and whispers, "So sweet, Mayflower," and tips me over the edge. I come and come all over his cock that feels so good. I don't hold back the moans—too late for that. I'm finally free to be myself for the first time in two years, and I can, with him, of all people. That's what he came here for, that's his goal, he told me so, or at least made it clear. So I give him what he wants, myself, and my orgasm, and the roll of my hips as I clench around him, and the strokes of my fingers against his nipples. He answers right away with his own orgasm, breaking the eye contact and grunting into my neck, because, yeah, chemistry, and bodily response, and you just can't control this sometimes. No matter the hate or the grudge or the blackmail, some bodies are just that compatible and they don't give a fuck about your mind and the games it tries to play.

I breathe heavily as we lie beside each other and stare at the ceiling. Has sex ever felt so liberating? Maybe I'm getting older. Maybe we are just that compatible. Maybe I've just wanted him too much in the last week. I did. Thoughts create tension, which needs release.

So, here we are, Raven and me, him staring at me, me staring at the ceiling which dances with interchanging neon colors to the soft sounds of lounge music.

He didn't know what to expect coming here. My goal was to throw him off with drinks and food and this achingly familiar dress up that used to be my daily life. I just wanted to feel fucking normal, like back then, not afraid to be myself.

He is still watching me, and I turn my head to meet his eyes.

"Hungry?" I ask.

I've always had a thing for food. I can never eat before sex, or an important event, or in a stressful situation. But when it's over, it's like I have to replenish the lost energy.

Raven studies me like I just offered him cyanide.

"I made a pot roast," I explain. "Home recipe."

A smile peeks from his lips. "Home? Did your father teach you that?"

We both chuckle, and it's probably the closest I've felt to Raven. I think he feels it, too. We look away from each other, awkwardly forcing the smiles to go away.

I could've never imagined a week ago both of us naked on the bed, laughing about the almighty Aleksei "Tsar." Maybe it's alcohol. Maybe this will only last for tonight. But I suddenly feel a giant wave of relief washing over me. A relief to finally be able to talk to someone about my past so easily and even joke about it, knowing that in the near future, it might ruin our lives.

"I could eat," he says with hesitation, probably wondering if I intend on poisoning him after all.

I get off the bed and walk to the center of the room to pick up my dress from the floor.

Raven watches me, tucking himself into his jeans. His gaze follows me as I leisurely stride across the room, letting him enjoy the view as I pull the dress over my naked body.

He is fully dressed when he steps to the kitchen island on the opposite side from me, and I make us two plates.

This is slightly awkward, but if I am to learn more about this guy, I might as well do it in a way that's not too obvious.

So, besides learning that he likes A1 sauce but doesn't like ketchup, that he prefers prime rib to steak, that he doesn't eat breakfast—note to self, he won't ever stay for breakfast—or any snacks, I also learn that his answers are always short. Getting him to talk is like pulling teeth. But the more questions I ask, the more amused he looks, glancing between his plate and me as we sit across each other at the kitchen island and eat pot roast with mashed potatoes.

"What happened to your fingers?" I ask.

He puts down his utensils and stares at me.

I shrug. "I figured since we are so bluntly fornicating as per the deal, I might as well be blunt with questions."

He smiles and takes a slow sip of his drink, then sets it down. "I should've kept my mouth shut when I was supposed to."

The smile doesn't reach his eyes, but it doesn't bother me.

Next, I ask him about the ring on his finger.

"A present," he says, and I wonder who is so important that he wears a simple wire ring at all times.

I ask more questions, most of his answers vague and short. He doesn't understand why we are eating and talking while we are supposed to—what, fuck for hours? But that's my plan, to throw Raven off any way I can.

After food, we walk out onto the balcony, and he smokes a cigarette, then muses when he sees the lone potted flower on my balcony.

"Anthurium."

"You like flowers," he says. As usual, he doesn't ask but states things. Maybe that's why he called me Mayflower while fucking me? Or maybe there's a meaning behind that word.

"I do," I say. "They are like people. They have personalities and stories. Except they don't hurt others."

He locks eyes with me as we stand by the railing. He—smoking, a drink in his hand. Me—leaning on the railing with my forearms. My dress is so short that the light breeze easily sneaks in between my legs, and that only reminds me of what happened an hour ago and that he is still here.

"Any flower stories?" he asks.

Again, he always veers all attention from him to me.

"There are these flowers I had back home. Amaryllis. Red ones, the hybrids. Legend has it that there was a beautiful maiden who fell in love with a mountain shepherd. He had no interest in women but loved flowers. So, she would sneak into his house by night and pierce her aching heart with a golden arrow. And where the droplets of blood fell on the ground, beautiful flowers bloomed. He fell in love with them and her, and her heart was healed."

"You like dark stories, Maddy."

"I like flowers, Raven. What's the story with Mayflower?"

I turn to look at him, and his blue-steel eyes acquire a hypnotic glint when they lock with mine. A strand of black hair falls onto his brow. He looks achingly handsome.

Slowly, he sets his drink down, then steps behind me and sets his hand on my hip. His other hand pulls my hair back, and his whisper in my ear sends goosebumps through my entire body. "It's pretty. It prefers shade. And has healing powers."

I wonder if he knew about my love for flowers all along.

But before I ask him that, his lips touch my skin behind my ear in a soft kiss. His hand on my hip slides lower, below the hem, then up again, under my dress.

I was curious when we made the deal. I never expected to like this arrangement so much.

I push my butt against him, feeling him hard. And he whispers between the kisses, "I want to be in your bed." His hand slides between my legs. "Every night, Mayflower." He brushes his fingers against my clit and grunts quietly. I know why—because I'm already wet again. His hand disappears, and I hear the sound of his zipper. "I'm done playing games."

That sound makes me seep with want. I think he is done being patient, and that's exactly what I needed.

"I wondered why you waited so long," I murmur and exhale in pleasure when he enters me from behind.