The man stammers out a weak apology. I don’t even acknowledge it. I push my chair back and stand.
“Excuse me,” I say coldly. “I need to use the powder room.”
I walk away with my head high, heart pounding, feeling every eye at the table on me.
The moment I step into the ladies’ restroom, I let out a shaky breath and grip the edge of the marble counter, staring at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes bright with anger.
I know I shouldn’t have spoken up like that. In our world, women are expected to smile politely and stay silent while men talk about things like that.
But I couldn’t. Men like that, the ones who reduce women to bodies and breeding stock, are exactly why things never change. Why so many of us are still treated like objects instead of people.
The door opens behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. The air shifts the second he enters.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, still facing the mirror. “In case you can’t read, it says ‘Ladies’ Room.’”
“I can read just fine,” Maxim replies, voice low and calm. He steps closer until I can feel the heat of him at my back. “What are you doing?”
I finally turn to face him, arms crossed tightly over my chest. “Are you here to punish me? Because I spoke when I was supposed to stay quiet like a good little wife?”
His dark eyes search mine. Instead of anger, there’s something hotter. Hungrier.
“Do you want to be punished?” he murmurs, stepping even closer until my back presses against the counter.
My breath catches. The air between us crackles, heat pooling low in my belly, my pulse racing under my skin.
“I shouldn’t have to stay quiet while those pigs talk about women like we’re cattle. If you’re going to drag me to these events, you should know I won’t sit there and smile while they degrade us. Maybe it’s better if I just stay home next time so I don’t disgrace you.”
He reaches out, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up to his. His touch is surprisingly gentle, but his eyes burn.
“You didn’t disgrace me,” he says quietly. “That fat idiot deserved every word. He’s a fool.”
The validation hits me harder than I expect. A small, warm spark lights in my chest. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that from him.
He steps fully into my space now, one hand sliding to my waist, the other cupping the back of my neck. His body presses lightly against mine, trapping me against the counter. The heat of him is overwhelming.
“I want you there,” he says, voice dropping to a rough whisper.
His thumb strokes slowly along my jaw. My lips part. I can feel his breath on my lips. My body leans into him, craving contact.
He leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you on that table and show every man in that room exactly how proud I am of you for putting that bastard in his place.”
A shiver runs through me. My thighs press together instinctively.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark with desire. “Tell me to stop, Calina.”
I don’t.
Instead, I rise onto my toes and crash my mouth against his.
The kiss is rough, desperate, all the built-up tension exploding between us. He groans into my mouth, one hand fisting in my hair as he takes control, devouring me. His other hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him so I can feel how hard he is.
He lifts me, setting me on the marble countertop. My legs part instinctively as he steps between them, never breaking the kiss. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing the fabric of my dress higher.
I moan against his lips, lost in the heat, the taste, the sheer intensity of him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Calina
