Page 29 of Bound Vows
“Because you were hiding.”
“Because I was stealing champagne like a spoiled teenager instead of attending dinner with my family.” The self-loathing that accompanies this admission tastes bitter despite years of repetition.
Maya moves behind my chair and places her hands on my shoulders, her touch gentle despite everything between us. “You survived because you weren’t where you were supposed to be. That’s fortune, not cowardice.”
“Tell that to my dead siblings.”
“Your dead siblings would want you to use that survival for something meaningful rather than drowning in guilt.” Her fingers begin massaging the tension in my neck and shoulders. “You’ve spent sixteen years building an empire. Perhaps it’s time to consider what comes after revenge.”
The massage dissolves my resistance more effectively than alcohol or threats ever could. Maya’s hands work with intuitive knowledge of where I carry stress, and her touch makes rational thought increasingly difficult.
“After revenge comes peace. Something I haven’t experienced since that night.”
“Peace requires letting go of the past.” Maya leans down and speaks directly into my ear. “Can you do that, Andrei?”
Her breath against my neck sends electricity through my nervous system, and I realize this conversation has shifted from debriefing to something far more personal.
“I don’t know how to let go.”
“Then let me show you.”
Maya moves around to face me and settles onto my lap, straddling my thighs. The position puts us at eye level, and I can see compassion and desire in her still-blue gaze.
“This is dangerous territory, Piccola.”
“Everything about our situation is dangerous.” Maya frames my face with her hands and leans closer. “But after tonight, I could use some relief, too.”
When she kisses me, it’s nothing like our previous encounters. This kiss carries tenderness instead of aggression, and comfort instead of conquest. Maya takes her time exploring my mouth while her hands thread through my hair.
“Let me take care of you,” she whispers against my lips.
I should maintain control and remember that allowing vulnerability creates weakness that enemies can exploit. Instead, I surrender to Maya’s touch and let her guide this encounter according to her desires rather than mine.
She slowly unbuttons my shirt, then traces patterns across my chest that make me groan with need. When she reaches my belt, Maya looks up and waits for permission, which I grant with a nod.
“Tell me what you need,” she demands while freeing me from the confines of my pants.
“You. Just you.”
Maya stands long enough to remove her dress and underwear, then returns to my lap wearing nothing but the communication earring and a smile that promises everything I’ve craved sinceour first encounter. But instead of positioning herself above me, she settles back and runs her hands across my chest with torturous slowness.
“Not yet,” she whispers when I reach for her hips. “I want to explore first.”
Her fingers trace every scar on my torso, pausing at the raised tissue near my ribs where a bullet grazed me years ago. Maya leans down and presses her lips to the mark, and her tongue follows the path of old violence.
“Tell me about this one,” she demands while moving to another scar.
“Knife fight in Moscow. I was nineteen and overconfident.”
She kisses that mark too, then continues her inventory of my body’s history. Each scar receives attention, and each old wound gets worshipped until I’m trembling beneath her touch. Maya’s mouth moves across my skin like she’s memorizing every inch, and her soft moans vibrate against my chest.
“And this?” Her fingers trace a particularly long scar across my shoulder.
“Glass from a car window. Same night I escaped captivity.”
Maya’s lips follow her fingers, and she bites gently at the raised tissue before soothing it with her tongue. The combination of pain and pleasure makes me groan and thrust upward, seeking friction that she denies.
“Patience,” she scolds while pinning my hips to the chair. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
