Page 28 of Doctored Vows

“Yes, it does. Your wants are as important as anyone else’s, Maksim.” My voice comes out huskier than intended. It can’t be helped. The temperature in the elevator is roasting, and it has me conjuring up the many ways we could achieve the same sweat-slicked skin scent outside of this tin box.

It takes him half a lifetime to answer. “Do you know what I want?” He isn’t looking at me but must spot my nod because he continues rather quickly. “I want to know why I think I’d know if you were lying when I don’t even know you. I want to know why you won’t leave my fucking head after everything you did.”

Everything I did? What did I do?

Before I can articulate my questions to the person capable of answering them, Maksim crowds me against the wall and sneers through clenched teeth, “But more than anything, I want to know what hand you used.”

His anger worries me, but since I’d need more than eight hours of sleep to give it any justice, I veer for the nonviolent checkbox on his wish list. “Hand I used for what?”

When his eyes lift from my chest to my face, my breath catches. He’s angry, but his fury isn’t directed at me. He seems furious at himself, so you can picture my shock when his response is nothing like I am anticipating.

“Which hand you used to climax while pretending it was my head buried between your legs.”

My eyes widen as my throat dries.

The situation between my legs is on the opposite end of the humidity scale, but I won’t let him know that.

The only time a wolf isn’t dangerous is when it is standing across from one.

“I did no such thing.”

“You’re a shit liar, Doc.” My heart races when he snatches up my left hand. He removes the banana I’m clutching for dear life with so much force it turns to mash. “You’re ambidextrous. You use your right hand as often as your left, so I kept jumping between the two when I pretended it was your hand stroking my cock last night.”

My thighs shake when he unballs my hand and drags his nose down my sweaty palm.

His growl sets my skin on fire, but instead of taking a second whiff as my wicked head is hoping, he drops my hand back to my side before gathering up my right.

I don’t object when he follows the same routine as earlier. I’m too mesmerized by the lusty glint in his eyes to do anything. I don’t even pay attention to the elevator arriving at our floor.

Maksim looks as hungry as I felt before I gorged my weight in greasy breakfast food, but the only item on his menu is me.

I like that more than I should admit.

“You used your right hand,” he murmurs a second after sniffing the palm of my right hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything last night.”

I choke on my last word when he tugs me forward so fast that I crash into his chest. Then I moan his name like I did last night when he slides my hand down the front of his pants. He’s hard, veiny, and the tip of his cut penis is weeping with pre-cum.

The silky droplets coat my palm in no time.

The same can be said for my panties.

I’m drenched, but before I can ashamedly beg for Maksim to finish what he started last night, he pulls my hand out of his pants and says, “Now I’ll be able to hear and smell you next time,” then exits the elevator like his head isn’t spinning as ruefully as mine.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Zoya’s lips twitch, but not a peep escapes them. She’s confused. I understand why. I just dumped all my bewilderment onto her, and I don’t feel the slightest bit relieved.

“Nope. You need to go over it again,” she requests a short time later. “He called you a liar before shoving your hand down his pants to intermingle your scents.” She points to me as she says “your” and hooks her thumb at the matching penthouse next to us when she reaches “his.”

“That’s not what he did.” When she glares at me while folding her arms over her chest, I backtrack on my fabricated statement. “Yes. Then he left.”

“Because he…” Her words are delivered slowly as she struggles to sort through my brief yet confusing exchanges with Maksim. After a beat, the confusion clouding her eyes clears before they open wide. “He doesn’t think you’re married, does he?”

“No. But even if he did, would that stop him?”

Zoya shrugs. “Maybe he’s married to some bigshot lady boss, and she’d force him to kill anyone he cheats with. He could be protecting you.” When I glare at her, she snorts in my face. “What? His suits scream mafia, and it is something I’d do if I were the Godmother of the Bratva.”

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