Page 52 of The Crimson Lily
Argh, I’m not going to answer that! Not before he tells me what the hell we’re doing, what the hell we are, and if there even is a “we”!
“Stop!” I yell. “Maksim, please, I need to…”
He seizes both my wrists and pins me down. I can feel my cheeks redden and my head go hot. Maybe I also have tears in my eyes. His grasp loosens. I can feel him knocking at my door, but he isn’t entering me. Feeling him so close, almost inside me, makes my body explode. I do my best to force my hips to remain calm while they beg for him, for him to fuck me. Has he noticed that too? Maksim is searching for something in my gaze. It’s as if he’s checking if I’m okay.
“If you don’t want this, I’ll stop,” he declares.
Fuck you, Maksim. I’m about to spew venom. I free myself and smack and squeeze his ass.
“Don’t you fucking stop!” I hiss.
He laughs. A scornful and raucous laugh. He anchors his knees in the bed and pulls me toward him. Before he makes a move, his eyes flash, and he gives me a huge slap in the face. One of the deviant games we like to play. That hurt. Good. It’s about time Maksim Kovalyov marked his territory again.
All muscles in my body solidify when he enters me. Maksim lifts my legs up so he can get a hold of my neck. He presses on my throat as he still moves inside me. I have no air. He cuts the access of my blood to my head, and I start seeing the world whirl around me. Sounds dissipate, colors dim, only the raw pleasure he’s giving me remains printed in my veins. He seems to savor every squirm and every squeal from how much I enjoy this.
“Touch yourself,suka,” he orders
I can’t disobey. I slide a finger down my body, drawing little circles as his tongue had just a few minutes ago. In the meantime, his hands gift me the ability to breathe again and go for my breasts instead. It doesn’t take long for my blood to crystallize, a progressive icy blast that flares through my body until it erupts in the form of the most powerful orgasm. I moan and scream and screech so loud that I could deafen him, the neighbors, and all of New York City. My hips propel backward, and I roll to my side, invaded by contractions and convulsions I absolutely can’t control.
Only when I manage to get back to reality do I notice Maksim has also finished, just a little before me. I was so caught by that explosive wave that everything else in the world froze. Good thing I’m on birth control now!
“You’re beautiful when you come like that,” he says, out of the blue.
I look at him a little surprised. It’s the first time I hear a compliment of that sort come out of his mouth. It’s so sweet. I feel a spark of glee light in my heart. Maksim said something romantic. It’s my little reward, and I’m walking on clouds!
I hop out of bed, gathering the sheets, looking for new ones. Maksim heads for the shower. I remember my prior emotions and realize I’ve just been fucked to euphoria and forgot about how angry I was. I feel a little cheated. Oh well. Maksim wasn’t wrong about the fact he can’t always be on time. Such is the job. Once my bed is fluffy and clean, I amble to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and don’t even cast a single glance at Maksim behind the shower curtain. My shower is too small for the both of us, so I’ll wait my turn. I return to the bed and collapse into it, waiting for myboyfriendto come lie next to me. Now, I really have to ask him what we are, but I don’t get the chance.
I fall asleep with the cute, cat-shaped lantern on my nightstand still on. I return to reality when Maksim walks into the room again. I don’t know what time it is. Everything is hazy. I want to get out of bed, but my muscles fail me. I see him turn the lamp off, then he sneaks behind me and wraps his strong arms around me. He gives me a little kiss down my neck and on my shoulder right before I close my eyes again. As he’s Maksim, he’ll probably move to my couch, where he always sleeps when he’s here. That’s his first rule, and it’ll never change. Maksim sleeps alone because his dreams can make him do dangerous things to me, or so I conjectured after that night in Paris. The second rule, on the other hand, was broken long ago. I guess it finally dawns on me, after six months, when I feel him stroke my hair. I’m about to drown in my dreams. I don’t need to ask my question; Maksim is obviously attached to me. He holds me in his arms for another couple of minutes until I am fast asleep.
14
It’s the smell of coffee and orange juice that makes me open my eyes. Here I am, in my bed, greeted by Maksim beside me, who brought me coffee in bed. Man, he’s just the perfect one. I blink a few times, just to make sure I’m not dreaming. He sits next to me, fully clothed, his curly hair combed to the back of his head. He looks at me. I wonder how long he’s been sitting here, observing me. He’s placed one of my small bamboo trays on my nightstand.
“Good morning,” I murmur, stretching my paws like a cat.
I sit up straight and seize the warm cup. I keep on looking at him, smiling, still making sure I’m not in some beautiful dream. While I sip from the cup, he comes closer and crawls behind me to lie by my side. Only then do I realize that the cup is made of Styrofoam, and this coffee is an Indian-style soymilk latte.
“You got this from Mumbai Chai?” I ask, surprised he went to my favorite diner.
Our eyes meet, but his betray no emotion. “I made sure it was how you liked it.”
Oh, he remembered Mumbai Chai. He remembered how I once told him I like Indian-style coffee. And he remembered I don’t drink milk. I wonder for a moment what Priya must havethought when she saw Maksim. If she made the connection to me. There’s only one kind of person who orders Indian-style soymilk lattes. I blush a little, imagining what sorts of questions I’ll get next time I see her. At the same time, I just feel happy. Happy he went down the street to get me coffee. Me. I now know for sure this is more than just casual. Ourrelationshipis more than casual.Weare more. Maksim doesn’t need to say words to prove he cares about me.
I lay the cup back on the nightstand and roll to him, plunging my face in the crook of his chest, smelling his delicious cologne. He strokes my hair a few times before I take his lips.
There is a second question I meant to ask him though, should he have answered yes to the first one. After Paris, I went to my favorite place to look for information about other women who…like what I like in bed. The internet.Some people like these things, Béatrice’s words spun round and round in my head. I went on a soul-searching quest and ended up on a BDSM forum, specifically on the informative topic ofTheArt of Punishment. Just the title made me shiver a little. It mentioned terms likepower playanddiscipline, and evenrewards. The description of the idealdominantpersona for the lady who authored the topic instantly reminded me of Maksim. One of the main requirements:Trustwith a capital T.
I trust Maksim, literally with my life, because as much as he likes to hurt me, he always asks for my consent, and I always give it to him. We have our acts and little plays where he forces himself on me—feels weird just thinking about it—but we both know it’s an act, and I just have to say one word in one specific way and he’ll stop. We have asafe word, which is another term I saw pop up on the page. Well, it’s more of a safe…sound. A squeal in a specific pitch. Asafesqueal.
That piece of text taught me a lot, and especially reassured me that I’m not insane and there’s nothing wrong with me. Manyother women like the idea of being punished by a man who controls them—not in a bad, abusive way, but they like the idea of a man who’s earned a woman’s submission and cares for and cherishes them. Exactly like Maksim does me.
I roll back to the nightstand and grab my phone. I open the topic I bookmarked and look to Maksim, analyzing him to see if he’s ready to hear me out.
“Maksim, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I begin. I hesitate, check his body language, then I go on. “I’ll just start with one basic question: Have you heard of BDSM?”
He chuckles a little, then rolls to his back and passes a hand through his thick black curls. “Yes,” he says and swallows.
“Have you…” I’m not particularly eager to hear what he’ll answer next, but I have to know. “Have you ever done it before?”
