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The air around us cools my skin, but inside I’m burning alive. I watch Maxim’s face above me—his sharp jawline shadowed by the sun as it starts to go down, his heavy brow furrowed in intense concentration, his dark eyes volleying between my eyes and where we’re connected as he makes passionate love to me.
“You’re never running from me again,” he mutters between harsh, heavy breaths. His thrusts turn deeper, more possessive, driving me higher and higher toward my climax. “Do you hear me? We’re getting married. You’re taking my name. And when we go back to Seattle, you’ll be with me, always.”
“Yes,” I sob out. My pussy begins to tremble and clamp tightly around his thick shaft. “Yes, Maxim!” His thumb finds my clit again, pressing down and applying a steady pressure right where I need it. And that single touch causes me to snap.
A sharp explosion of pleasure rips through my entire body. My orgasm crashes over me, hard, fast, and continuous, making my vision go blurry as tears of pure happiness spill over my cheeks. Seeing me come beneath him causes him to go feral. He lets out a low, guttural roar, and his thrusts turn frantic and desperate as he chases his climax. He drives deep into my pulsing body three more times before his whole frame goes rigid and he buries himself as far as he can, pressing me into the couch as he comes deep inside me, his body shaking with tremors.
He collapses over me, catching his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush my stomach. His face is buried deep in the crook of my neck, his breathing loud, ragged, and hot against my skin. I wrap my arms around his slick back, holding him tight, burying my face in his chest and inhaling the rich scent of Maxim Romanoff.
We lie here together for a long time, held close in the quietness of the setting sun. Then, slowly, Maxim lifts his head to press a soft, lingering kiss to my lips, then to my forehead, before sliding his big warm hand down my body to rest flat over my stomach. He looks down, then lifts his eyes, his dark gaze burning me with an intense, quiet vulnerability.
“Tell me you’ll stay,” he whispers. I reach down, covering his hand with mine.
“I’ll stay,” I promise him softly. Tears of relief prick my eyes as I smile up at him. “Make us yours.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
liliana
The past couple of weeks have been nothing short of amazing. The luxury yacht Maxim is renting is either at the marina or anchored off the coast like a floating sanctuary. We’ve even settled into a surreal, domestic routine that almost seems too good to be true. On the mornings when Maxim’s phone rings endlessly and when meetings come up he can’t ignore, he escorts me down the floating dock himself, ushers me into his blacked-out SUV, and drops me off at Mamé’s villa. Then, like clockwork, the moment his final call ends, he appears at the house, talks a bit to grand-mère, and then we set back off to our floating home.
It’s been angelic. It’s been flawless. And every single morning when I wake up wrapped in his arms, I find myself holding my breath, quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop. You don’t escape a controlling family, fly across an ocean, and are found by a handsome cutthroat billionaire without expecting the storm to hit eventually.
Right now, though, the storm feels miles away.
We push through the heavy glass doors of the private medical clinic, stepping out into the coastal breeze. Maxim, of course, hired an elite, top-of-the-line, discrete, private obstetrician—a woman who signed a non-disclosure agreement as if it’s part of her everyday routine. Then she proceeded to conduct a full, exhaustive medical workup on me and the baby.
Maxim holds my hand tightly in his, his thumb tracing smooth, comforting circles over my knuckles. He hasn’t let go of me once since we stepped into the exam room.
Everything’s perfect. Bloodwork, vitals, the heart rate… all flawless,” His deep voice carries a quiet pride.
“I told you, Mamé’s fresh fruit and being near the sea have been doing wonders.” I laugh softly and look up at his handsome face. “You didn’t need to fly in a specialist from Paris.”
He stops walking along the pristine stone plaza outside of the clinic and turns to face me. His dark, intense eyes lock on mine with that possessive, protective focus that always makes my heart skip a beat. He steps in close, his hands slipping around my waist. His large, warm palm cups my lower abdomen through the soft fabric of my maxi dress.
“I’m ordering an ultrasound machine,” he states, dead serious.
“You’re… what?” I blink, letting out a breathless laugh.
“An ultrasound machine,” he repeats, as if he’s talking about the weather on any given day. “A high-definition portable scanner. I’ll have it installed in the master suite on the yacht, and another wherever we end up further down the road.”
“Maxim, you can’t just buy an ultrasound machine for a boat.”
“I can, and I already spoke to Dr. Chevalier about sending a technician out.” A smirk tugs at the corners of his full plush lips. “I want to be able to see our baby whenever I want. Every single day if I feel like it.”
“You are completely out of your mind.” I shake my head at his antics, and an affectionate laugh escapes me.
“About you? Absolutely,” he growls softly. Before I can utter another playful retort, he cups the back of my neck, tilts my head up, and pulls me into a kiss that steals every drop of air from my lungs. His lips take mine with a hungry, commanding sweetness that makes my knees weak right here in the square with people milling around. He kisses me until my nipples pebble, until the noise of the area fades into a soft hum, until I’m clinging to his shoulders in order to stay upright.
“Now,” he says when he pulls back, his eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied. His thumb wipes a trace of moisture from my swollen bottom lip. “It’s time to get back to Mamé’s. We’ve got work to do.”
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An hour later, we’re sitting around the massive stone table on another one of Mamé’s shaded terraces overlooking the coastline. The warm breeze and the panoramic view should calm me. But that’s the not the case—gathered around the table are the men who form Maxim’s inner circle, a formidable assembly of influence, wealth, and razor-sharp intellect. Ghost, the man who helped Maxim find me, sits near the end, his laptop open, typing away at a speed that seems inhuman. Beside him is Nolan, Maxim’s future brother-in-law, looking relaxed yet polished at the same time in a crips linen suit, holding a tablet. Dante is across from them, swirling his drink. Then there are Dom, Vik, and Gavin, deep in conversion.
Maxim’s sister, Mischa, along with the rest of the guy’s women, minus Ghost’s, are touring the grounds of Mamé’s estate. My grandmother refused to show them around, leaving that to Laurent. She looks every bit the royal matriarch in a soft mint suit, sipping her Earl Grey tea and eyeing the men surrounding us.
“All right,” Maxim begins, standing at the head of the table. “We have twenty-four hours. Maybe less depending on if Ghost can get a ping on your dad’s location at this moment.” I knew all good things come to an end, but I didn’t expect that just a few days before Nolan and Mischa’s wedding, everything would collide in a staged car accident.
