Page 26 of Broomsticks and Bloodstains
But the message was crystal clear. Someone was watching—and they wanted me to know it.
Chapter 16
Sofia
Maksim came to me, same as always, but something was different.
I’m sure he didn’t think I noticed the way he braced himself like a man expecting a fight the moment he stepped into my home. Or the way his eyes swept through the shadows before he kissed me.
Except by then, I knew him. His kiss was distracted—his body present, but yet not.
“You okay?” I asked as I brushed my fingers over the hard line of his jaw.
“Fine,” he replied—too fast. The word sat between us like a lie we both agreed we wouldn’t touch.
His hands found my ass and I wrapped my legs around him. There were no more words as he carried me to my bed, and we tore at each other’s clothing.
When he thrust deep, I gasped. There was no gentleness that night. One hand cradled the back of my head, the other gripped the front of my throat, and he kissed me as he drove repeatedly into my welcoming body. My nails scored his biceps as I fought for a deep breath but only got the bare necessity.
“You’re mine, Sofia,” he ground out, his mouth moving against mine.
My eyes locked on his.
“Say it,” he demanded as he let up the pressure of his fingers.
“I’m yours,” I agreed.
He plunged into my throbbing core as he coarsely breathed against my lips. “This is my pussy. My body. Understood?”
Swallowing hard against the palm of his hand, I nodded.
With a guttural groan, he released my neck and hooked my leg over his arm. His face nestled into the crook of my neck, and he fucked me like the world was ending. By the time he poured his cum into me, we were slick with sweat. The sheets were tangled around our legs and trailing on the floor. I had no idea where the pillows had gone.
“That was… intense,” I breathlessly whispered as he held the majority of his weight up but remained blanketed across me.
He grunted noncommittally and then tugged me into the curve of his big, warm body.
Exhausted, we fell asleep.
Over the next few days, he slid into a pattern I pretended not to see forming. He was always near, always watching—but his energy had shifted. He was taut, coiled like a snake prepared to strike at a second’s notice.
When we went out to eat, he barely touched his food. He seemed to be smoking more. Sometimes, when he thought I wasn’t looking, his gaze would find the window as though he expected to find someone on the other side.
I did my best to lose myself in the bar, in the steady rhythm of pouring drinks and wiping spills. Yet I would constantly find him at the end of the counter, jaw locked, fingers thrumming a soundless beat on the surface. He no longer flirted. He didn’t even smirk. He simply watched.
And waited.
Each day it was the same. Work. Maksim. Sleep. That is, if you could call the few hours I spent drifting in and out as I lay in his arms, sleep. Repeat.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he murmured as he kissed me after I’d locked up the front door one night. “I had some… things… to take care of.”
I didn’t ask what those “things” were, and he didn’t elaborate.
He held my hand as he guided me to his blacked-out SUV. Holding my hand, he helped me up inside.
As I settled into the soft leather, I watched him walk around the front, gaze already scanning. Smelling of stale smoke and cheap beer, I almost hated riding in his vehicle when I got off work. He never complained, though.
Instead, he appeared like the tide—predictable only in that he always came. Sometimes he waited across the street until I locked up; sometimes he waited inside, occupying the same stool like it belonged only to him. It pretty much did now.
