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After a moment, I follow Maxim into the bathroom, pleasantly surprised at the size of it. I eye the bath and notice the jets and decide, fuck it, I’m going to soak until I turn into a prune instead.
“There are spare toothbrushes and towels and whatever else you might need in these cabinets. I can get you something to sleep in for tonight, and tomorrow I’ll have things brought in for you.”
I don’t put up any kind of resistance. He’s the one keeping me here, so I’m not going to complain about him buying me clothes.
“Sounds good. I need to send a message to Calix.”
He tenses for a second before sighing. “I’ll bring my laptop when I bring you something to wear.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“Not right now.”
“Alright, I’ll leave you to yourself. I’ll be in my office at the end of the hallway if you need me.”
“Okay.”
I wait for him to leave, which he seems reluctant to do. He eventually goes and closes the door behind him. I run the bath and rummage through the cabinets for some bubble bath. He doesn’t have any, which isn’t exactly shocking. I do find some Epsom salts, so I pour a generous amount in and swirl it around as I wait for the tub to fill.
My body screams in protest as I strip out of my dress, but when I climb into the hot, soothing water, I decide the pain was worth it. I lie back and close my eyes, letting out a soft sigh as my body becomes one with the water. If I thought I could get away with staying in here forever, I would. But after I feel myself drift off for the third or fourth time, I realize I’m fighting a losing battle. After surviving everything I have, the last thing I want is to drown in a bathtub.
I wash, climb out, and wrap myself in a fluffy towel before swiping my hand across the mirror to clear away the steam. The warm water has added a nice pink tint to my face, but now that the makeup is gone, it does nothing to hide the bruising on my face.
I look away, feeling older than my years. I’m so damn tired. Tired of fighting all the time. Tired of seeing bruises on my face and on the faces of others. It’s not that I want a quiet life. I love the work that I do and would most likely die of boredom if I stopped. It’s just…I’ve been entrenched in darkness for so damn long—there has to be more than this. There has to be some kind of balance. I thought seeing my girls happy and settled would be enough to fill that gnawing emptiness inside me, but it’s not. Something is missing, and I never knew what until Rémy. When I forced myself to walk away from him, I locked my emotions up tight behind a wall I built, knowing it was the right thing to do despite the pain it caused. I thought I’d be okay, but then Calix started chipping away at that wall. And now it seems Maxim is determined to make his way inside, too. It’s getting harder and harder to fight against the onslaught of emotions I’m feeling. Emotions I don’t have time to deal with, at least, that’s what I tell myself. I know that once I allow the door to crack open, everything will spill out of me, and I’m not sure I’ll survive the fallout.
With the towel tucked around me, I make my way back into the bedroom and stop when I find a large shirt and a pair of men’s boxer shorts on the bed. A ghost of a smile plays on my lips as I walk over and put them on. They smell fresh and clean and comforting. They smell like Maxim. It’s a thought that makes me question my sanity, and not for the first time. There is nothing about this whole fucked-up situation that should be considered comforting.
With a sigh, I head out and walk silently toward the end of the hallway, looking for Maxim’s office. I hear him before I see him. At first, I think he’s on the phone, grunting at someone that way men seem to do. But as I step into the open doorway, I see him at his desk with his eyes closed and his head thrown back.
I let my eyes drift down to his now naked chest and bite my lip. I knew the man was built. It was impossible not to notice through his fitted shirts, but I had no idea the man looked likethatunderneath his clothes. I’m so caught up staring at all his muscular goodness that it takes my brain a second to realize that there is another, far more delicious muscle on display.
This time a whimper escapes before I can swallow it, making Maxim’s head drop to look at me. I freeze, waiting for him to snap at me—or tuck his cock away at least—but all he does is keep on stroking himself as his eyes move over my body. His movements pick up, and even though I know I should leave, I’m completely engrossed in watching him. The way he squeezes harder than I would, pinching the tip as if to stop himself from coming.
My nipples get hard, and my breathing picks up, but still, I don’t move. I don’t do anything to break the carnal spell he has weaved over me. I don’t realize I’ve slipped my hand inside my shorts until Maxim curses.
“Come here, Sugar,” he orders. And like the mindless sex zombie I am, I obey without question.
With as many dicks as I’ve seen in my life, you’d think I’d be immune to their powers by now. But apparently, even I can be dickmatized.
“Open the shirt.”
Sanity prevails, and I shake my head, taking a step back.
“I won’t touch you. I just want to see you.”
It’s the pleading tone in his voice that threatens to unravel me. Throwing my morals to the floor like discarded panties, I open the buttons of the shirt slowly. His eyes follow the movement until it parts for him, revealing my naked breasts beneath.
He growls, his hand moving faster as he strokes his dick. “See what you do to me, Sugar? Watch me, knowing I’m picturing your hand around my cock.”
My breathing stalls for a second, my hands fisting at my sides as I fight the urge to start touching myself again. Of course, Maxim knows. He sees entirely too much.
“Do it, Sugar. You know you want to. Slide your fingers inside your pussy. I want you to imagine it’s my cock as you come all over them.”
Helpless to resist, I slide my hand back inside my boxers and start stroking my clit, harder and faster than before. I’m already close to the edge just from watching him stroke himself.
“Fuck, what you do to me,” he mutters.
