An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (20 page)

Swallowing a groan, she practically ran inside and excused herself immediately to use the restroom.

“Listen, you,” she snarled at her reflection in the mirror. She paid no attention to the mark on her cheek. “That man out there plows through women like a whale through krill. Do you really want to be another insignificant, worthless victory? Do you want him to turn his back on you after he has you, the same way Colin did?” As long as she lived, Sydney would never forget the amused, condescending look that had been on Andrew’s father’s face when she’d showed up at his door to tell him she was pregnant.

Losing her steam, she drew back and sat on the closed toilet seat. How
would
Maksim look at her when she told him about her son? Would the respect she’d worked so hard to gain over the years dwindle in his eyes and disappear because of what some people labeled an irresponsible mistake? Would he think she’d been a slutty teenager? Would he believe her story? That she’d lost her virginity the night Andrew was conceived?

Dropping her face to her hands, she sighed and wished this day would just end. What if—?

Oh, shut up, head. Just shut up.

Getting to her feet, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders before leaving the bathroom. If he wanted to look down on her, let him. She shouldn’t care.

Yet she did.

Entering the main room of the apartment, her stomach rolled as if she’d just peered over the edge of the balcony to the street fifty-one stories down. “Where’s Micha?” she asked in a strangled voice.

Maksim turned from staring at the hallway that led to the exit. “He had to leave.”

Her thoughts drained, save one.

They were alone.

CHAPTER 11

If there’d been anyone else Maks could have trusted to get Juan up and out of the basement of Rapture, he’d have sent him. He didn’t. Micha was it. And now Maks was left to draw on his reserves until another chaperone could arrive to take the pressure off.

He studied Sydney’s stricken expression. She looked . . . scared. Did she not trust herself to be alone with him? Or . . . ?

He moved toward her, something pulling in his chest. “Tell me you’re not frightened of me. Of being alone with me.”

She brushed by him and went to pick up the remote for the TV. “I’m not frightened of you?”

His lip quirked. “That should have been a statement, lover.”

The flat screen came to life, and she started burning through the channels. “It was.”

“Why do you appear nervous then?”

“I don’t.” Flipping faster, she dropped to the sofa, placing her phone next to her. She crossed her legs and shook her foot in a jittery movement, as if trying to dislodge a rat from the tip of her toe.

“Can you take in what you’re passing by? Because nothing is registering before you move on to the next.” He saw another football game whiz by—or thought it might be football.

“I thought you’d be used to that.”

He turned slowly to face her, his patience stretching thin. So that’s how it was. For some reason, maybe because he was already strung as tightly as he’d ever been, her defensiveness rubbed him raw with that one barb. “The edgier you get, the higher that horse, hmm? Or do I have that wrong?” he added, realizing suddenly that she reverted to her prickly princess routine only when they were alone. “Maybe it’s the more turned on you get, the harder you try to hide it by jamming that nose in the air. Which is it, princess?”

Her mouth fell open. And then closed with a snap. Still she didn’t look at him. “Why do you insist on doing that? Seriously. Stop bringing up the sex that isn’t going to happen.”

“Yes, it is. You won’t be able to help yourself when the time comes. And that burns your beautiful ass, doesn’t it?” That got her attention. She glared holy hell at him. “Ah-ah.” He interrupted, holding up a hand before she could tell him off. “Yes, it would give me a rush to hear you admit how much you want me, but I don’t actually need it. I can read it in every move you make, and that’s enough.”

“You—you’re serious!”

Her disbelief verged on hysteria, and Maksim knew this moment was about more than this specific conversation. It was a culmination of all that was happening. She was going to blow.

“How can you even say stuff like that? With such surety. Has it ever entered your egotistical mind that you’re wrong? Aren’t you afraid, even a little bit, that you might be misreading my signals? Do you ever second-guess yourself about
anything
? What if I really, truly don’t want to have meaningless sex with a man whose necessary body part is about to fall off from overuse?”

He held back a bark of laughter. “But you do.”

“That’s not the point! Aren’t you liste—? Oh!” She sprung to her feet, her small hand slapping over her mouth. She stamped her foot in the most adorable display of anger Maks had ever seen, and he couldn’t help but grin like a motherfucker.

Confirmation.
Finally.
Directly from her own lush mouth. He’d said he didn’t need it, but he’d lied.

“Screw you!” she burst out. “Screw you to the moon and back for your arrogance, you . . . you . . .”

“I think the word you’re looking for is
darling
,” he snuck in with some air quotes. God, her eyes were spectacular when she was riled.

“No. The word I’m looking for is
spoiled egomaniacal brat who doesn’t have a humble bone in his big body
.”

“That’s not
a
word.”

She bared her teeth at him and stormed by but only made it a few steps before he caught her with a tight grip on her upper arm. Spinning her around, he slammed his mouth down on hers. She wanted him. He now knew it. And he wanted to sample her desire. Right. Fucking. Now.

He held fast when she tried to jerk away, once more attempting to deny him. He didn’t let her. He was fed up with waiting, so finished with it. He needed something to tide him over, needed it so badly he was freaking out. Even a small part of her for now.

And she was going to goddamn well give it.

In a distant part of his mind, he knew he’d deliberately stirred her up so she’d lose her composure. What he didn’t know was why. So that he wasn’t the only one agonizing over whatever the fuck this was between them?

Because she was so tiny compared with him, he once again bent his knees and hefted her against him before straightening. Just as he’d done at the restaurant. He pressed her tight along the front of his aching body and ground his erection into her navel. She gasped. Around a growled apology in case the sound was caused by pain, he went for broke, plundering the moist depths of her mouth with his eager tongue. Satisfaction screamed through him when she moaned and slapped his shoulder twice before wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him as good as she was getting.

“You’re terrible,” she accused him against his lips as she fed on him, grasping at his shoulders and pulling at him as though she couldn’t get him close enough.

“I know, lover.”

Her legs came up to circle around his hips, and she squeezed him between them. “I don’t want to want this.”

That small truth from her almost distracted him. But he was too far gone. “I know,” he whispered soothingly as he turned with her and brought her over to lower her to the sofa, making her back sink deep into the cushions when he followed her down. She moaned a little but held tight, allowing no space between them, and she tipped her head back when he left her mouth to ravish her slender neck. He lapped at her skin and groaned at her essence. “I want to do this to your nipples”—he flattened his tongue and licked—“and between your legs.” He sucked, and she trembled. “I want you so worked up, so out of control, that the evidence of it flows down my throat.”

She made a desperate little sound and arched into him, rolling her hips against his erection, rubbing on him, upper and lower body, her hands roaming. Knowing what she needed, and unable to curb the impulse, he lifted himself just enough to fit his hand between them so he could cup her breast. His thumb found the tight peak of her nipple, but he couldn’t enjoy it because too many layers separated them. Releasing her, pleasure spearing him when she protested with a whimper, he breached the hem of her shirt and savored her silky skin and body heat as he tunneled under, pushing her bra up so he could get . . .
Fuck. Perfect.
He molded her soft mound to his palm and squeezed just enough to let her know he had her before taking that rigid little point between his forefinger and middle finger and rolling it quickly.

“Oh! Shit, Maksim,” she panted, straining to meet him. She grabbed his head with both her hands and brought him to her mouth again.

“I want inside you, Sydney,” he growled as he devoured her.

“You can’t.”

He
couldn’t? Not
they
couldn’t? She was . . . concerned? . . . about him and his reasons for abstaining? “I know.” His agreement came out sounding almost tender because her apparent worry touched him somewhere not normally accessible.

Her fingers plunged into his hair as they kissed, and then traveled down over his shoulders and under his arms to reach his back. He felt her pause when she hit the harness that held Angelina, but then she bypassed it.

“I . . .” One hand stayed, pressing to the back of his lower ribs; the other came around and she slipped it between their bodies. “. . . want to feel you.” Palm up, she found his cock and ran the length of him from base to tip, driving him insane. “Mmm.” Her sound of approval was high-pitched, eyes wild as she stared up at him.

She was like a teenager, he couldn’t help but think. These weren’t the moves of a woman who did this often. She wasn’t practiced and ticking her best off in her mind as she went through her repertoire. She was all natural, turned on, and her enthusiastic, random actions were making him see fucking stars.

He ducked back to her neck, knowing she wouldn’t answer shit if they were face-to-face. “How many men have you been with, Sydney?” He gnashed his teeth, grinding into that palm, and bit back a string of curses when she tried to grip him through his pants.

Keeping one leg wrapped around him, she dug her other foot into the cushions and used the leverage to push her hips up harder. “Three. I can’t . . . think around this. You feel . . . crazy good.”

A shock wave blew through him.
Three?
He felt her yank his shirt from the waist of his pants. Her fingers played on his skin, singeing him, leaving her mark.
Three?
He grabbed her wrist just as she was about to steal inside. He was stopping her from touching him. From wrapping her fingers around his throbbing length and exploring him, possibly getting him off with a few firm jerks.

He was stopping her.

He let that sink in for a few heartbeats and then found himself righting her bra and coming out from under her shirt. He broke the cinch she had him in, forcibly, because she wasn’t cooperating. Her revelation rattled his bones. It made his head spin.

“What are . . . ? What are you doing?” she asked, staring up at him in confusion. Her eyes were glittering brightly, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling as quickly as his was. He brought her hand above her head and took her other one from his back to do the same, holding her like that so he could look down at her.

She squirmed and rubbed on him, and he was helpless to stop from responding by shifting down and pressing into the heat between her thighs. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and stretched it out as she hissed and met his stroke. He could finish like this; he knew. And so could she.

But they wouldn’t.

“Three?” he questioned, belatedly denying himself the pleasure by shifting his hips away.

“What?” She was distracted as she tried to follow his movements. Her leg lowered to wrap around his thigh and she smiled a little when she was successful. “That’s it.” She tried to tug her wrist free, and goddammit he was such a selfish fuck because he let her.

She brought her arm down and immediately tunneled her hand into his pants to do exactly what he’d known she wanted to do. Take him beyond the point of no return. Her warm fingers clasped around his shaft, and he moaned loudly, falling to his elbow, his head landing on her shoulder.

“Oh . . . so hard,” she whispered.

Nothing but instinct driving him now, he copied her move by swiftly burrowing into her yoga pants and cupping her over her panties, grinding his teeth at their dampness. A distant thought told him he shouldn’t, but he did.

“I’m going in,” he warned, meeting her dazed eyes.

“I know,” she whispered, her legs spreading for him as she stroked him with her palm.

Done.

Her fingertips, those pointed nails, brushed over his balls just as he breached a lacy edge, and then he felt nothing but hot skin. “Jesus Christ, Sydney,” he groaned as he gently parted her damp lips and oh so slowly slid two fingers through her wetness. Fuck, she was so ready.
What a waste. What a beautiful, tragic waste
, he thought as he searched out that opening and entered her body. “So wet for me. So fucking ready.”

“Oh, my God, Maksim!” she whispered hoarsely, gripping him tighter, stroking him in that perfect way as she began rolling her hips in an attempt to ride his fingers.

He helped her along by withdrawing them and sinking deeper, over and over, savoring the feel of her, so responsive and innocently wanton. Her thumb passed over the head of his cock, spreading what was already leaking, and it was all he could do not to tear his pants open and impale her. How he didn’t, he’d never know. Instead he continued to pleasure her as he was, moving his fingers in and out of her soaked body faster, praising her in Russian when she did the same to him, quickening her stroke in the confined space she had to work.

With a quick, sharp move that had her yelping, he shoved the barrier of her shirt up and out of his way with his teeth and closed his mouth over the hard peak of her left breast. He was dying to bring the other one into play but didn’t have enough hands. Goddammit, she tasted sweet. He nibbled and twirled his tongue around her nipple, lapping at her. If he replaced his fingers with his cock, he could free up his other hand and make her really happy.

“Maksim . . . ?”

Sydney’s surprised cry ripped him from his plans and made him aware of her straining. Instinctively, he found her clit with his thumb and added a thrumming that had the silky walls of her sex instantly bearing down. Her orgasm swallowed her, causing her head to kick back, her mouth to open on a soundless moan. He pulled back far enough to watch and savor. Her sex tightened and released around his fingers as her hand squeezed him, jerking faster. Her eyes opened and clashed with his, and before he knew what happened he was joining her, climaxing with such force he lost his breath. He broke in a blinding rush, coating her hand and wrist, making her stroke slippery as she worked him through it. He could have come forever. Felt as if he did, his orgasm stretching out to match her endless release.

Harsh breathing and slamming heartbeats filled the silence for long moments.
Holy hell.
What the fuck was that?
He wondered at the power behind what had just taken place.

Vasily.

The sound of Maksim’s honor shattering reverberated in his head, and shame slithered to life. He’d broken his word. He’d just failed the one man he revered above all others by doing what he could have easily done in the shower all on his own.

Lifting his head, his gaze was met with a sleepy look when Sydney’s lids came up. “Shit,” she whispered. She was still holding him but no longer moving.

Yeah. Shit.
He withdrew his fingers from her body but could not stop himself from taking the time to spread her wetness around, relishing the silky-hot feel of the most private part of her. Weakness of the flesh. Poster boy. Him. But he’d created the arousal, after all, so it was his to do with as he pleased. She let out a puff of air, and her eyes rolled a little. He brought his hand out and up to inhale the light scent before treating his digits as if they were spoons dipped in honey. He licked each one clean.