Page 52 of Doctored Vows

I swallow to lube my throat with much-needed spit before replying, “Because when you’re the payee of the barter, you’re also meant to be the recipient of any benefits sought.” Lust hangs heavy in the air, forcing a brief interlude in my reply. “I’ve been the sole beneficiary of our arrangement. That isn’t exactly fair.”

“It isn’t?”

When I shake my head, he crowds me against the wall, then angles his head until our lips are half an inch apart.

I bake under the intensity of his hooded gaze, but I play it cool. I want him to kiss me again, desperately, but solely with the hope it will unlock more memories like our kiss in the cabana did.

Yeah, right.

I want him to kiss me so badly that I’m on the verge of falling to my knees and begging.

I won’t, though.

If I don’t keep things even between us, I will be eaten alive.

Maksim’s eyes flicker like he mistook my worry as a challenge before he finally breaks the tension that’s so hot I’m overcooked. “If things aren’t even, and you’re all about equality, how are you going to fix the injustice, Mrs.—”

I propel onto my tippy-toes and kiss him before he can finalize his reply, and before my head can get in a single word over the numerous shouted demands of my heart.

My boldness eggs Maksim on as much as it did in the video from last night. After banding my legs around his waist, he weaves his fingers through my hair and tugs my head back. He takes all the control, and I give it to him.

This time, since we’re not interrupted, our kiss lasts far longer than the thirty-second grind-up Zoya promised she’d remove from her phone after forwarding it to me.

Maksim’s kiss is deep and messy. Desperate. It is better than the one we shared in the cabana but makes me just as needy and hot. I want his hands roaming my body like they were then, groping and exploring me. I want to feel his erection squashed against me, and the roughness of his stubble on my collarbone when he suckles on the delicate skin of my neck.

I want him everywhere.

And I want it now.

With one swoop, I use the legs circling his waist to yank him over the half an inch separating us before I grind down on the thickness his zipper is struggling to contain.

“Fuck, Doc. You’ve got my cock acting like I don’t have an ounce of control over it.” He cups my ass in his hands before he guides my hips forward, rocking me against him. It is the equivalent of a prom night grind-up behind bleachers, but it has me burning up everywhere. My skin sets on fire as my panties dampen. “You’re making me lose my fucking mind, and I don’t want to do a damn thing about it.”

He kisses me again until I am as drunk on excitement as I was last night, and then he inches back.

It isn’t as bad as it seems.

A second after he steals a longing glance, he cranks his neck to the side and tells a man standing at the end to continue without him. “Make sure he is found. I want this public.”

“Yes, boss,” the man replies, his voice as rumbling as predicted when you take in his broad shoulders and gigantic height.

He’s barely entered the elevator before Maksim reacquaints our lips. While walking us toward his suite, he kisses me like he can’t breathe without my mouth on him, like the chemistry that’s burned between us since day one will never disintegrate.

He kisses me like he loves me, which is utterly ridiculous to even consider. We barely know each other, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to relish every snippet of attention he awards me.

I’d be insane to turn this down.

As Maksim drags his tongue along the roof of my mouth, his hand slips beneath my shirt. Just his fingertips brushing across my skin sends a torrent of excitement to the area between my legs.

My pussy, to be precise.

My body’s response to his simplest touch makes me frantic to experience the same. I want to feel the heat of his skin under my hands, to see if it bunches and contracts like mine does when awarded simple brushes and urgent gropes. I want to feel every inch of him, and I don’t know if I can wait until we’re in the safety of the bedroom to do that.

Maksim chuckles when I push him into the first solid object I see. Luckily for him, it is a bulky sofa.

His laughter is switched for a moan when I fall to my knees between his splayed thighs and shoot my hands to the waistband of his pants. I pull at his belt, hard, and work it through the loops with urgency.

Maksim’s pace is slower than mine. With a lazy smile like he has all the time in the world, he unknots his tie and tosses it aside before he unbuttons his pants and lowers the zipper just enough to expose the designer brand name of his boxer briefs.

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