Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva)

If one of Maksim’s men snatched me off the street right now, it might almost be a relief.
I run out of words and lower my phone. Walking down to the subway, I pocket my phone and wait for all those feelings to vanish. I know regret is useless and life moves on without my permission.
But the regret lingers like a stain.
Living on the first floor of an apartment building is like dosing yourself with a constant suspicion that someone is peeking through the window. At least it’s cheap, and it’d be fairly obvious if someone tried to break in. Any neighbor would be able to see it and call the cops.
Or at least, that’s what I thought.
I keep staring down at the doorknob. It was definitely locked when I left. Nobody leaves their door unlocked in New York City. I would have locked it even if I only stepped outside for half a second.
But it’s not locked now.
I should call the police. I take out my phone.
I flinch as I hear a loud burst of laughter. A group of young teenagers runs up the stairs. I look back down at my phone.
Don’t be an idiot, Cassandra. Call the police.
I turn the doorknob, letting the door swing open. It can’t be a coincidence that Maksim contacted me, that he knows where I live, and now my apartment has been broken into. I keep the door open as I quickly check my apartment. It’s a small studio, so there are really only two rooms—the bathroom and the main room, which includes the living room, the kitchen, and my bedroom. I check each one, then the closet.
Nobody.
I close the door behind me, locking it, and latching the chain and deadbolt for good measure.
As I step back in, I notice a single rose on the kitchen counter. In my tunnel vision, I hadn’t noticed it before. It’s small, the bud still closed.
It has to be Maksim.
I pace through the apartment. It’s a threat, absolutely. He wants me to know that he can reach me. If he’d been here when I came home, I don’t know how I’d have reacted.
I keep my eye on the door for the rest of the night. Every creak I hear sends a chill of fear through me. By the time it’s dark and midnight is rolling around, I’m equal parts exhausted and ready to jump out of my skin. I turn on the TV to convince any intruders that I’m fully awake. A documentary on mountain lions starts playing, which isn’t reassuring when they’re talking about them being ambush predators.
I settle into my bed, pulling only one of my covers over me in case I need to jump out quickly. I stare up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of cars driving by, punctuated by honking, people yelling, and sirens.
“The mountain lion isn’t picky with its diet. It will devour anything from insects to its prime prey, mammals in the deer family. Its natural enemy, the gray wolf, competes against the mountain lion for prey, especially in the colder months.”
Maksim’s wolf-like behavior prowls around in my mind. I’ve encountered dozens of men—muscular, intelligent, dominant men—but they never had much of an effect on me. Maksim, however, is the savage side of the wilderness. I’m vulnerable to him. His to take, whenever he pleases. He knows it, too. I could see the knowledge in his eyes. It scares the hell out of me. And it does something else to me, too.
In my bed, I slip my hand under the waistband of my pajamas. The tip of my finger finds my clit, circling around it with an easy familiarity. But my body reacts far faster than normal.
He snaps the button off my pants in order to get them off. I start coming to my senses, trying to pull away, but it only helps him get my pants off. As he starts to kiss me again, I fall back under his desire. It’s dominant, irresistible. Contagious.
Our bodies grind against each other. His hand grips my jaw, holding me in place as he kisses me. His other hand finds my breast.
My fingers move faster around my clit. They slip inside me before bringing the wetness back up.
He tugs me to the edge of the bench, opening my thighs wide. When he thrusts inside me, there’s a sharp pain at first—a decade of abstinence catching up to me—but my body yields to his. His hands grip my ass, keeping the edge of the bench cutting into my flesh, but I barely notice as his strokes edge out every other sensation.
My hand is moving so hard against my clit, I’m certain the whole area is going to be bruised in the morning. I don’t care. Nothing else matters except getting to that peak.
And that’s what he’s thinking, too, as he’s thrusting into me with a punishing pace. The bench’s wood starts to splinter beneath us. He picks me up, his fingertips digging into my ass as he’s using me like a fuck doll.
I love it.
So, many times in the past, I’ve started masturbating but stopped near the end because the fear of losing control overrode my desire, but he’s not going to stop. He’s going to get what he wants and I’m going to help him do it. The fact that I am about to burst like a firecracker is irrelevant to him.
But, God, it’s so close, it’s so, so close, and for once, the idea of losing a grip on my body isn’t a sin.
It’s nirvana. My body goes stiff, my thighs go rigid as my feet arch and pleasure overrides everything else in my bloodstream. I’m reborn and free. I’m returned back to the beginning of the world, where there’s just myself, Maksim, and fireworks exploding underneath my skin.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it go. As I fall asleep, Maksim’s voice ripples in my thoughts.
I’m going to take you, whether you like it or not.