THE FIXER

Shit. I’m so in over my head. My body is all hot and needy. I’ve never wanted to have sex so badly in my life. Part of me wishes I’d let Maxim pull me down beside him and do whatever it is he wanted to with me.

But there’s another part of me freaking out.

Freaking the fuck out.

I don’t even know what I’m freaking out about. I step into the shower and wash everywhere, like the soap and shampoo will somehow cleanse me of this gnawing anxiety.

And that’s when it hits me: I can’t do this with Maxim.

It’s way too scary. Because if he doesn’t hate me, if I stop refusing to sleep with him…

Then we’re something else. We’re my parents-the bratva boss and his woman.

I’m his wife not his mistress, but it’s no different. Maxim is just like my father. And me? The very heart of me?

I fear I could be just as pathetic as my mother.

What if I’m as needy as she was? Waiting around for her man to throw her the scraps of his attention. Being at the ready to perform for him, to please him, from the moment he walked in the door until the moment he walked right back out. Her job was to look beautiful, satisfy him in bed and obey his orders.

She played the role to perfection, and he still didn’t leave her with a dime. He literally gave her to his right-hand man, like she was a possession to be handed down.

Just like he gave me to Maxim.

So I’m not going to be like her. End of story. I’m not going to fall for Maxim and throw myself at his feet and wait for his scraps of attention. I will figure out how to live with him without losing my heart.Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I turn the water off and climb out of the shower, taking my time drying off. I don’t want to open the door and come out of the bathroom. I don’t know if I’m ready to see Maxim-I’m not sure if I’ve steeled my heart enough. I hold the knob and lean my head against the door, heart thumping. But when I finally brace myself and open it, I find him asleep. The orgasm must’ve relaxed him back into slumber.

I tiptoe through the room and put on my travel clothes from yesterday and gather up my things. I know I can’t run far. I know he’ll find me immediately, whether it’s a matter of minutes or hours. But I have to run.

I pick up my purse and open the door.

“One more step, and I’ll turn your ass purple.”

Maxim

SASHA FREEZES in place at my threat then closes the door.

She fucking played me.

Women. You can’t trust them. They lie and manipulate. She just gave me the hottest blowjob in the history of all blowjobs, and I stupidly thought it meant we were getting somewhere.

But no. It was all a manipulation.

Damn her.

I sit up in the bed and swing my legs over the side. “Come here.”

She lifts her chin. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”

My lips twitch, but I suppress my smile. I shouldn’t be amused by her fear. Except it makes my cock lengthen, thoughts of elaborate sex-filled punishments floating into my brain and smoothing out my temper.

I pat the bed beside me. “Come here, caxapok,” I coax. “I don’t bite hard.” I smirk. “Not you, anyway.”

Her jaw flexes, but she drops her large purse and walks over to the bed like I asked.

She’s a good girl at her core, I remind myself.

Or maybe not. I’d interpreted her virginity that way, but perhaps that’s just another part of her feminine manipulations. She’s never given herself to anyone because she doesn’t share. She uses blowjobs to ensnare men into her web, but they never get the prize.

I grind my teeth.

“Where were you going?”

Her haughty spoiled girl expression comes into place as she opens her mouth, and I snap, “Don’t fucking lie” before she gets a word out.

She closes her mouth again, flickers of fear and vulnerability in her expression.

“The truth,” I insist. “Or maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe the right one is, why were you leaving?”

She blinks rapidly, looking away. Her full lips shape a pout, and I find I want to kiss the fuck out of them, remembering how they looked stretched around my cock. “I… I just needed some space,” she admits with a sigh.

I’m torn between irritation and understanding.

“Space is a luxury neither of us have right now,” I snap then rein in my impatience. “Listen to me. Your father just died. There’s instability in the organization-massive instability. You inherited the biggest part of his wealth. I imagine there are dozens of men scheming about how to make a grab for that right now before the dust settles. Your father bound you to me for a number of reasons. One, marriage to me takes you out of the country, which makes it significantly harder to plot to kill you. Two, I know how to keep you safe. Many men in Moscow will remember my reputation.” I draw a finger across the ink on my knuckles, a mark for every kill.

She sits unmoving, those pouting lips taunting me.

“I have Dima working on tracking everyone who comes into the country from Russia and cross-referencing them with known members of the brotherhood. He’s writing a program for it now, but until that’s in place and until we see how things shake out in Moscow, I need to keep eyes on you at all times. I’m sorry, sugar. I’m not thrilled with it, either.”

Her gaze drops, and I sense her concession.