Page 50 of Sold to the Russian
By the time the last round hit, Viktor threw his arms up. “Fuck yes. She wiped the floor with your ass, Brother. I’m a little embarrassed for you to be honest.”
Maeve’s laughter reached her eyes. Irina separated herself from Kostya like he were a germ. “Remind me never to bet against you, Maeve.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling settled in Fedya’s chest as he watched the chaos of Kostya explaining why he lost unfold before his eyes. He was pleased with what he saw, pleased that Maeve engaged with his family like they were her own.
And he let himself wonder what would happen when he finally told his family the truth about her.
Chapter 18 - Maeve
The house had fallen silent after Fedya’s siblings left.
Maeve was certain she could still hear their laughter and teasing lingering in the walls of the kitchen and living room, but what bothered her more than the projection of her imagination was just how much she loved spending time with them, how much she adored their relationship, the love they clearly had for one another, how quickly she felt like one of them, and how easily they made her feel accepted and wanted.
She’d never felt like she had a family until them, and that made her chest ache because she knew better. She knew these people weren’t hers. They didn’t even know the truth about her identity. What would they do if they found out? What would happen to this attachment for them that had grown on her? Would they look at her with the same eyes they once used to look at her with admiration or with hate? Would they be disgusted by the truth of who she was? Who her father was? What her father did to shake the balance of their family?
And Fedya, the man who was hers—if only temporarily—was complicated, dangerous, and her feelings for him were not at all in line with why her father pushed her into this marriage.
And yet it was so easy to forget why she was here in the first place. So easy to forget herself in Fedya’s kisses, in his touch, in a parallel life that she’d stepped into when his siblings were around, one that didn’t revolve around schemes or expectations from her father or survival.
One that was genuine and true. Warmth and connection and belonging all wrapped in five individuals—including the man she kept lying to herself she wasn’t in love with.
He was in the shower now, the sound of water rushing from inside while she stared at her reflection in the mirror of the room. Her mind flicked to the security camera in the studio. Surely, he should’ve seen it by now. There was no way he wouldn’t have checked yet. He’d spent an obscene amount of time showering before he joined her and his siblings to play games. And he’d looked at her like he’d seen it. Yet, he hadn’t said as much as a word about it, even after his siblings had left them alone. He hadn’t physically reacted to it, hadn’t so much as looked at her in that way.
There was no way in hell that he wasn’t interested in her little show. For all she knew, he was probably jerking off in the shower to the memory of it right now.
His restraint irked her, though, because she wanted a reaction. That’s why she did it. She wanted to break that calm he’d developed since they slept together a week ago. He’d left bruises on her skin from how hard he’d fucked her that day, and now he had suddenly become a saint?
Moments later, she was pushing the door to the bathroom open, padding through the steam that greeted her, heading towards the sink. There was no point announcing her arrival when she could clearly feel his eyes on her as she slipped on her robe and tied it around her waist.
The whole thing was supposed to be an innocent, casual act—so casual she would be. She pretended to have the decency not to look at him as she picked up her toothbrush, squirted some toothpaste, and met her own gaze in the mirror.
She could feel him, all of him, as she slowly brushed her teeth. She could feel him through the foggy glass, his presence pressed against her back like a wave of heat. He was watchingher; she knew this very well even without turning around to look at him.
There was lather in her mouth when she grinned, just as the shower cut off abruptly.
She continued brushing her teeth, humming a song even as the door to the cubicle creaked open behind her. She caught his reflection in the mirror as he stepped out with the confidence of a fully clothed man, even though he was stark naked, dripping, and hard as a rock.
Maeve squeezed her thighs beneath her robe as she focused on her brushing instead. But the image of his stiff cock swaying lightly between his legs with every step he took towards her was forever engraved into her memory.
“I’ve never had a woman seduce me with toothpaste and silence before,” he said, his voice rough.
Maeve turned slightly, meeting his gaze in the mirror with a soft, casual shrug. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t think I’ve seen the footage?”
She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth. Her breath smelled like mint, but she needed it to smell like him. “I was starting to wonder.”
“I saw it.”
“Good for you.”
He took a step closer. “I watched every second of you fucking yourself, knowing fully well that I’d watch it.”
She turned around now, leaning against the sink as he approached her. “I was counting on it.”
“I should be angry.”
Maeve’s eyes traveled down his body. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she stared at his cock. “But you’re not.”
