Page 71 of Bound in Possession

Camilla moans louder, gripping the cold steel bar tighter, her knuckles turning white. "Maksim...get to it. Please."

A low groan tears from my throat. As much as I want to drive into her hard and claim her right this second, I force a fraction of restraint. I slide my fingers down between her thighs, slicking them through her folds to make sure she’s ready.

She’s soaking wet, dripping for me, hot and completely prepared for what’s coming.

That absolute surrender snaps the very last thread of my control. I wrap both hands around her hips, pull her back tight against me, and with one brutal, fluid drive, I pound all the way into her.

She cries out, the high-pitched sound echoing sharply off the cold concrete, and a guttural roar tears from my chest. We are both wired tight, desperate and burning hot for each other, moving together with a frantic, unhinged rhythm.

I pound into her hard and fast, my hands digging into her hips to keep her pinned against the cold steel frame. The slap of our skin and the sharp rhythm of her breath fill the silent gym. She grips the bar, her head thrown back against my shoulder, and within moments, her inner walls clamp tightly around me, pulsing in a violent, shivering climax.

The feel of her coming around my cock sends me completely over the edge. I drive into her a few more hard, relentless times, burying myself deep as my own release rips through me, pouring into her while she hangs in my arms.

We breathe heavily together in the dim light, our skin slick with sweat. But before she even has a chance to recover or gather her breath, I pull back, hitching her gown down just enough. I grab her by the wrist and yank her along with me out of the gym, burning with the promise I made her.

We hurry down the quiet, dimly lit corridors of the mansion, our eager, breathless footsteps echoing on the hardwood. Mid-stride, as we rush toward our wing, Camilla suddenly slows down, her eyes catching a heavy, ornate double door tucked away in a quiet corner of the hallway—a room that remains perpetually closed even though it isn’t locked.

"What's in there?" she asks, panting slightly, her hand still locked tightly in mine. “I’ve noticed no one goes in there.”

I hesitate, the dark heat in my blood momentarily cooling into a strange, heavy quiet. I stare at the dark wood for a beat, then quietly reach down, turning the brass handle and pushing the heavy doors open.

The scent of polished wood, old paper, and lingering dust fills the air. Sitting right in the center of the dark, moonlit room is a magnificent, black grand piano.

"It was my mother's," I say softly, my voice gravelly. "She used to play."

Camilla looks at me, her eyes softening completely. She steps past me into the shadow-filled room, moving straight toward the instrument. She lifts the key lid, runs her delicate fingers over the ivory keys, and slowly sits down on the bench.

She presses a key. Then another. At first, the notes ring out clumsy and hesitant, her fingers rusty as she tries to recall the placement. But slowly, her posture settles. Her touch turns lighter, more confident, as she remembers the notes, weaving together a simple, gentle melody that floats softly into the dark corners of the room.

I stand in the doorway, folding my arms against my chest. I don't stop her. I don't rush her back to the bedroom. I just stand there in the dark, watching her bring life back into a room that has been dead for years.

When she finishes, the last lingering note fades into the quiet room.

I step forward, closing the distance between us, and sit down beside her on the narrow wooden bench. My large frame easily fills the space, our shoulders brushing in the dim moonlight. I reach out, my wrapped hand hovering over the ivory, and begin to play the next part of the piece entirely from memory.

The melody rolls out smooth and slow under my touch, a song I haven't played since I was a boy. Our hands dance across the keys, hovering so close our fingers almost touch with every pass. Neither of us speaks a word. The air in the room turns thick with an intimate, quiet reverence, laying bare a raw, vulnerable piece of my soul I haven't exposed to another living person in decades.

Slowly, as the music flows between us, Camilla shifts slightly and gently leans her head against my shoulder. My throat immediately constricts, a sudden, heavy ache settling deep in my chest.

Despite how frantically we had been rushing back toward the bedroom, despite the fire still humming in my veins, I am suddenly in no hurry at all. The urgency evaporates, replaced by a profound, consuming peace.

I don't want to leave this room. I just want to stay right here, enveloped in the quiet dark, holding her close for as long as humanly possible.

Because right now, in this fleeting, perfect moment... nothing in the world is better than this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CAMILLA

Maksim and I spent over an hour in the piano room.

We played the keys together, the simple melody echoing softly through the dark, and he shared quiet, surprisingly funny stories about his mother—glimpses of a life he had lost long before the Bratva completely consumed him.

When we finally returned to the bedroom at almost two in the morning, he still kept his promise to me. We made love over and over, slow and deep, until I quite literally fell asleep in his arms. He promised I’d pass out on him, and I guess completely losing consciousness from sheer exhaustion definitely counts.

The only problem I have right now is that I feel like I’ve only been asleep for about five minutes. A firm hand is persistently shaking my shoulder, dragging me kicking and screaming back to reality.

"Leave me alone," I groan, blindly shoving at the hand and trying to bury my face deeper into the mountain of pillows.