Page 90 of Maxim

I brush my fingers over Natalya’s bare shoulder and she jumps before relaxing when she realizes it’s me.

“Have you eaten?” I ask, and her lips quirk up in a faint smirk before she rolls her eyes. It’s become a habit now. She’s accused me of being obsessed about what she eats, and it’s true, just not for the reasons she thinks.

I’m not trying to monitor what she eats because I think she’s fat. Far from it. She’s perfect the way she is, but a few pounds either side of that would make no difference whatsoever.

It isn’t just her looks I’m attracted to - it’s her. I love her caring nature, the way she’d step in to save her friends or anyone she cares about. I don’t love the way she puts herself in danger in pursuit of the truth, but it’s a part of her and I’m pragmatic enough to understand she isn’t going to change.

All I can do is help her.

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes again. “Greta made some pasta and salad. I think what’s left is in the refrigerator. Not sure there’s any chocolate fudge cake left though, sorry.” I smile despite myself. This is the first time she’s teased me since the bomb blast. It’s a hint she’s beginning to emerge from the deep fog of shock that’s enveloped her in the last few days.

“Good. I’m not hungry right now. Not for food anyway.”

She squeaks when I lift her and sit back down on the chair with her on my lap. It’s the first time we’ve been intimate since I moved her in here and I’m desperate for her. Literally.

Her lips are soft against mine when I pull in close for a kiss. I’m expecting some protest, or for her to make an excuse to leave, but she leans into the kiss. I start gentle, not forcing her, but it isn’t long before the sweet moans falling from her lips flick a switch.

She’s spent too long in her head. It’s not healthy. If I can make her feel better for a bit, it will help.

When my mouth moves to her neck, my teeth nipping her soft skin, she moans a little louder. While I’m tempted to take her inside to prevent any of my guards from seeing my malyshka naked, I decide not to. The air is warm and unless someone comes toward the pool, they won’t see a thing. And if they do, they better pretend they’re fucking blind.

Nobody gets to witness Natalya fall apart except for me. Her pleasure is for my eyes only.

Chapter sixty-three

Nat

Max has kept his distance all week, just like he promised that first evening. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to, but in hindsight, it helped me clarify some things.

When Mickey told me Max was a member of the Russian mafia, I was shocked. Beyond shocked, in fact.

The mafia are criminals. They deal in drugs, weapons, and people. Uriov is in the mafia, and he’s about the worst possible example of a human being. Anyone who makes money from abusing women and children is a fucking psychopath. I don’t think Mayor Kolanski is mafia, but he does have close ties to Uriov.

So if Max is in the mafia, surely he’s no better than them?

But I’m not thinking about whether Max is a dangerous criminal. Not while he shifts so I’m lying half under him on the reclining chair. It’s way too small for the both of us, but his hands and mouth are on me and all I can do is feel.

“I’ve missed you,” he tells me as he pushes up the loose tee I’m wearing. There’s a sharp exhale when he discovers I’m wearing a pale blue bra from a set I found in the closet. The cups are made from delicate lace and sheer gauze, my hard nipples clearly visible.

When I found the energy to check out the closet, I found it was full of clothes, all in my size. A mix of casual wear, a few cute summer dresses, and everything else I might need in the current climate. When I thanked Greta, she shook her head and told me it was all Max’s doing.

He licks my nipple through the lace and I moan. Loudly.

“It makes me happy to see you wearing the lingerie I bought,” he says with a satisfied smile. There’s a hint of ownership in that statement but I don’t pull him up on it. Honestly, I like knowing he chose the clothing I’m wearing.

Rick bought me clothes, too, but they were things I’d never have chosen for myself, mostly unflattering styles designed to hide my figure. Everything Max bought me is stylish and fits me perfectly, a mix of comfortable and sexy.

“Are you wearing the matching panties?” he asks.

I nod and he quickly pulls my cotton pants down my thighs.

“Fuck, you look good enough to eat, malyshka.”

There’s a massive bulge in his tailored pants as he sits back and admires me in the lingerie he’s bought for me. Never have I felt so desirable. Max doesn’t see thick thighs or a rounded belly. In his eyes, I am a beautiful woman with soft curves designed to cushion his hard muscles.

How can a man who makes me feel so amazing be evil?

While my head tells me he’s dangerous and I need to stay the fuck away from him, my heart disagrees. My heart knows it’s too late. I’ve already fallen for my dark mafia gangster. Nothing he does will make me walk away now.

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