Maksim: A Dark Mafia Romance (Akimov Bratva) by Nicole Fox (good books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

My wrists are slick with sweat. The silk is drenched. I feel it give me a quarter of an inch. On the left side, the knot around my wrist has almost come undone completely. My ankle restraints are equally compromised.

As Maksim’s hand trails over my waist, I lean forward, my lips striking against his mouth. I kiss him, my lips moving against his like a key trying to find each of the bolts in a lock. Trying to get through the door and reach freedom.

I yank my left arm forward, unraveling the knot by force. I shove Maksim as hard as I can, while my other hand slips out of the knot and my ankles kick free from their bindings. Maksim barely moves, but shock paralyzes him. I grab onto him, my hand on his throat, using all of my weight to force his back onto the bed as I tighten my grip.

“How naive do you think I am now?” I demand. “You don’t feel so powerful now, do you?”

The heat of his cock presses up right under me. My dress is still pulled up near my hips and, in our scuffle, his pants have fallen farther down. I stare down at him—the wolf that is intent on eating me—and all I know is that I need him inside me.

I release his throat, reaching back to yank his boxer briefs down. His cock is thick, veined, massive.

Fuck this man. He does not get to make the rules. He does not get to make me tuck tail and run. If this is the game he wants to play, so be it.

I can play it just as well as him.

I slide my neck away from his reaching grasp as I reach down, my hand grasping onto his cock.

I line it up against myself and press down on him. If I weren’t so wet, I can’t imagine him fitting, but as it is, I take him in inch by inch, my body thrumming as he fills me completely. As I rest my hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the bed, I see his face. His upper lip is slightly raised in a taunting snarl. He thinks I’m still naive, still playing a game I don’t understand. He’s too consumed in his own power to realize that he’s lost all of it.

I rock my hips back and forth. His lips part slightly, but the look in his eyes doesn’t disappear.

I don’t know much about Maksim Akimov, but I do know this: I fucking hate him.

The man inside of me. The man who knows more information about my own daughter than I do. The man who wants to ruin my family and my future. The man who thinks he has me under his thumb. The man I want to fuck and destroy at the same time.

I raise myself up and slam back down, so hard that it almost hurts. His face twitches, not with pain but with pleasure. I keep going, but causing him pain starts to become less important as heat begins to creep under my skin. I start bouncing, my thighs burning as his cock takes me to uncharted territory.

He reaches up, trying to grab me again, trying to reassert his dominance.

But I knock his hand away from me. My pussy grips tighter around his cock as I speed up the bucking of my hips.

When he kisses me, I bite him again, just like I did before. I taste the blood between us, but it’s barely noticeable as his hands lower to my hips. He thrusts into me just as hard as I’ve been pushing down on him.

He’s taking control again.

I shove his chest, pushing him back down. I rock my hips back and forth. His face scrunches up as he tries to figure out his next move. I feel that tightening pressure building up, but I can’t let myself get off before I get him to do the same. He taunted me about coming and now I’m going to make him eat his words. This is war and I’m not going to be the one to surrender first.

He’s going to be my conquest.

I’m not going to be his.

Even as I think this, I find myself sinking down on him and leaning forward, pressing my clit against his groin. I rub against him, more and more desperate for release with each passing second. When he raises his hips, thrusting into me with full force, I know I’m not going to last much longer.

As the pressure mounts inside me, threatening to explode into a river of delirium, I pull away from him, bouncing up and down with enough fury to start a fire. The feeling of his cock, the scent of his sweat, the sound of our breathing colliding against each other, and that face—it’s all too much. I try to think about something else, anything else, but his eyes—a pale blue or a soft gray, I can’t quite tell in the darkness—own me completely.

Despite my best efforts, I yield first.

I lose.

But the orgasm doesn’t feel like losing. It is manic, all-consuming. It’s so good that I can barely breathe as I realize why they call an orgasm the little death. Another layer of pleasure cascades down as I feel Maksim tense and explode inside me.

When the orgasm finally relinquishes its grip on me, I rest my forehead against his chest, still trying to catch my breath. I should get off him—a sore loser, a conquered woman—but my legs feel barely functional and the rest of my body isn’t in any better shape. I need a minute to collect myself.

Several more seconds pass by. Our breathing almost becomes synchronized but before it can, Maksim puts one hand under my right arm, the other under my left thigh and lifts me off him with alarming ease. He lays me down on the bed. He looks down at me and takes a breath, his mouth opening to say something.

But nothing comes out.

He closes