Page 73 of The Crimson Lily
A smirk that says it all draws itself on Maksim’s face. “Anything else?”
I let my ravenous instinct speak for me. “I want you to make love to me.”
Shit, I shouldn’t say that. I shouldn’t saylove. Why did I saylove? Make love? No! Maksim and Ifucked. The softest I can go to describe our frolics is…we didit? His glare still reflects in mine.
“I’ll gladly make love to you,zaya,” he says, stern and severe, yet calm and controlled.
Those words, coming from his mouth, make me lose my mind. They make me let go of all sense of reality. We finish dinner quickly, and Maksim pays the bill. It’s at that moment that I realize I haven’t spent a dime in this forsaken city.
We disappear into a taxi and make it back to the Grand Hotel Flora at lightspeed, to our suite, where Maksim propels me against the wall, my skin flaring again.
“Ouch!” I yelp. “Be careful.”
Maksim takes my lips to shut me up, but he’s more careful than usual despite all my expectations. His hands cover my back with a gentle crook as if protecting the marks from our kinky games. He gently slips my sweater along my arms and turns me around to assess the situation.
“I need to take care of this,” he concludes to himself.
I amble aimlessly behind him as he leads me to the bathroom. He turns on the light and makes me sit on the edge of the bathtub, ready to do his doctor’s work.
“So you’re an interrogator, a torturer, and a surgeon?” I ask softly with a silly simper.
Of course, Maksim doesn’t give me an answer. However, after half a bottle of wine and a nice dinner in the center of Rome, I’m not going to hold off on the inquiries.
“What else do you do?” I ask.
For the very first time, I ask Maksim what he does for a living. What he does for the Bratva.
He meticulously uses a new wet towel to soothe my skin. A few tender taps later, he leans in closer to my ear.
“That’s none of your business,” he whispers. I swear there’s a smirk on his face.
I roll my eyes. He knows darn well I don’t like to hear those words. He’s said them enough already. I peek over my shoulder, my large blue eyes asking for his consideration.
“It’s my business if we’re in this together,” I challenge.
I have no filter anymore. I have to confirm we are something. Maksim owes me something more than evasive words.
He kisses me. The type of kiss where you instantly close your eyes and let yourself be swayed by its kindness. I can smell him, his scent, and I know he’s driving my attention away. He’s doing this on purpose.
“Maksim…” I murmur plaintively after he lets me go. “You need to finish patching me up.”
He smiles at me. “I’m already done.” He straightens his posture and heads for the door. “Get yourself clean and come to the bed,” he commands.
I have no choice but to execute Maksim’s orders.
Maksim makes love to me then—softly, carefully, making sure I’m enjoying it. I’ve never seen him so tender before. He moves with the utmost care, his lips venturing down my neck. His tongue tastes my skin and sends electrifying slithers into my veins, like tree branches that grow and spread through my body into my mind.
I’m starting to fall asleep, his arms around me, his breath caressing the nape of my neck. There’s nowhere else I want to be. I feel better, comforted, safe. I want to stay here, in this bed with Maksim, for the rest of my life. I’m unsure whether I’m dreaming already. I may whisper:I love you. And he couldanswer:I love you too. And he would squeeze me even closer to him.
I’ll sink into a deeper sleep soon, into dreams I won’t remember the next day, dreams that don’t matter. Because this one, this image of Maksim holding me, is the dream I never want to end.
19
Rome is more beautiful in the light of a winter morning than during summers, where the temperature is always above 85 degrees Fahrenheit. Here I am, out for a morning stroll, while Maksim still sleeps soundly on the sofa in the presidential suite. I went out on my own to enjoy the air of the dawn and the stillness of the streets. The park beyond the Porta Pinciana extends past the horizon, with pine trees still beaming. I’m fascinated by the multiple shades of green before my eyes. I follow a path until I reach a sign that instantly reminds me I’m headed toward the Villa Borghese, Rome’s vault of hundreds of collections of paintings, statues, and sculptures. Perhaps I’d better return to the hotel before my legs take me to the Villa’s entrance. Today’s Thursday, and tonight, there is a Syndicate meeting on the agenda.
I tiptoe back into the room, trying to make as little noise as possible. I expect Maksim to still be asleep, but when I step into the living room, I notice the sofa blankets slouched on the floor. His jacket still hangs on the chair. His duffle bag is open, with clothes springing from all corners. It’s messy. Maksim is never messy. He’s not in the bedroom, not in the bathroom, not in thehallway, and nowhere else. Where the hell is he? The only thing left to do: call him.
He doesn’t respond, so I leave him a message saying I’m back in the room, wondering where he is. The worry in my stomach has already begun to simmer.
