MAXIM

I had no right to be angry. I knew that. Rationally, I knew that Derek had every right to say no to being with me and go on a date with Carolyn. Or with anyone.

But did he have to bring her here, where he knew I’d see them? Where I’d have to watch him pay her all the attention I wanted from him? Where I’d be forced to face the reality that he didn’t want me enough to get over his fears? That I wasn’t enough?

There had to be a thousand restaurants in this city. Why did he have to choose the one where I worked?

He’d done it on purpose, just to torture me. Why?

I spent the entire evening being mad at him, and in turn at myself for being mad in the first place. It was a ridiculous, twisted circuit of anger that had my head throbbing by the end of the night. I spent a ridiculous amount of energy flirting with girls just to spite him. I hoped he saw.

God, had I really thought he was going to choose me? That just because he let me suck him off in the kitchen or jerk me off in the dark I would matter to him? I’d only known him for three days! He’d spent like twenty years playing totally straight because he thought his attraction to guys was wrong. Had I really thought I would be the one to change that? Maybe I’d been the one to finally tempt him enough to act on his closeted sexual impulses, but that didn’t mean anything more than surface attraction. In the end, that’s all I was to him—a hook-up.

And I didn’t want to be his charity case. As soon as humanly possible, I was going to move out. I had my savings now, and I had a job making way better money than I’d ever made before. I might not have a Range Rover or a Rolex, but I had street smarts and survival skills, and I came from a long line of people who’d done what they had to do to get by. I didn’t need anyone to hand me luxury on a fancy plate—I could earn it myself, and I would. First thing tomorrow, I’d find another place to live.

I was silent and sullen on the ride back to Derek’s, and Ellen took note.

“Hey.” She glanced at me. “You okay tonight?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem okay. I know Russians aren’t chatty by nature, but you’re broody even for a Russian tonight. And your aura is a little disturbed.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. It’s dark. Very dark. I thought so when I picked you up today, but now I can really sense it.”

“Sorry.” I tried to think of a light color, so maybe my aura wouldn’t bother her.

“Don’t be sorry. Everyone is entitled to a dark aura now and again. But did something happen at work?”

“No.”

After a minute or so of silence, she said, “Did you know Derek was bringing Carolyn there tonight?”

“No.” I wondered what they were doing right now. Was he kissing her? Touching her? Fucking her? Jealousy spiked in me, unwelcome and unfamiliar. It’s none of your business what they do.

“She’s so nice, but…” Her voice trailed off, but my ears perked up. “I don’t know if they’re right for each other. Something’s off. It’s like they’re trying too hard.”

“Mmm.”

Ellen laughed. “Just sounds now, huh? Not even words?” She patted my leg. “You poor thing. I’ll leave you alone.”

At first I was grateful, but maybe I should have let her keep talking because my brain filled the silence with the memory of Derek’s voice, growling and deep. His heavy breaths. His tortured groans. Was he giving them to her right now? Was he telling her he wanted more? Was he demanding her orgasm the way he’d demanded mine? Maybe he was. Maybe that was standard procedure with him. Maybe he even had a script.

After saying a terse thank-you-good-night to Ellen, I let myself in the front door and locked it behind me. All the lights were out and the house was completely silent, so I froze when I heard what sounded like the clink of ice in a glass coming from the living room.

That’s weird. Derek was home? And sitting alone in the dark? Or was Carolyn with him?

The last thing I wanted to do was interrupt, but on the off chance that it wasn’t Derek in there but some kind of intruder, I stood at the threshold of the room and peered into the darkness. I thought I made out a lone figure sitting on the couch, but my eyes were still adjusting when he spoke.

“Come in.”

It was him. “No, thank you.”

“Come. In.”

Always have to have your way, don’t you? I hated myself for it, but I entered the room. He stood, went over to the bar cart near the window and poured something into his glass. The silver-gray light filtering through the blinds outlined his silhouette, and his shoulders appeared even bigger than I remembered. My dick betrayed me by trying to get hard.

“Drink?” he asked.

“No, thank you.” I played cool Russian because I knew it would bother him.

Still facing away from me, he lifted the glass to his lips. “How was your night?”

“Great,” I lied. “Yours?”

“Fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and I wasn’t about to ask.

“Guess I’ll head up to bed. It’s late.” And then I stood there for some stupid reason, as if I expected him to object.

He didn’t.

I puffed up my chest a little. “Tomorrow, I’m leaving. I’ll find another place to stay.”

A pause while he drank. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do,” he repeated, and I wondered if he was drunk. He tipped back the rest of whatever he’d poured and set down the glass. Then he walked over to me, and we stood chest to chest. “The right thing to do would be to go upstairs and lock your door. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

It was a challenge, and I took it.

Turning away from him, I tried to leave the room, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. Then his mouth was on mine, hot and hard and heavy, one hand gripping the back of my neck, the other wrapped around my forearm.

After a few seconds of stunned ecstasy—he still wants me—I shoved him away from me. Hard.

“Yes. Fight me,” he seethed, whipping his shirt over his head. “Fight back.” He came at me again, all strength and rage and heat, pushing me back against the living room wall. “I want you to say no. I want you to push me away. I want you to be the one to stop this because I fucking can’t.” His lower body anchored mine, the solid bulge of his erection digging into the front of my hip. “I fucking can’t.”

I’d never felt so torn between pride and lust before. I wanted him as badly as I wanted to turn him down. Because this was all a game to Derek—he was fucking with me like I was some kind of toy.

But goddamn, he was hot like this—fueled by fury and passion and whiskey, unable to hold back. He wanted a fight? I could give him one. But I let him kiss me first, let his tongue invade my mouth, even stroked it with my own, but when his hand moved to the crotch of my jeans, I shoved him back again.

“Now you want me? What about Carolyn? Pick a side, Derek.”

“I saw you tonight, flirting with people.” His fists were clenched at his sides. “I didn’t fucking like it.”

“I saw you tonight—the way you must have wanted me to—on a romantic date with a woman.” I walked toward him, and he backed up slightly. “So which is it?” Grabbing my T-shirt at the back of my neck, I pulled it off and tossed it aside. “What do you want? This or that?”

“Fuck you.” He rushed toward me and our bodies crashed together, all groping hands and open mouths and heavy, choked-off breaths. I hooked one leg behind his and took him down to his knees, and he pushed me onto my back, his body sprawled on top of mine.

His weight on me felt so fucking good, and through our jeans, our cocks strained to get closer, bulging against the denim as Derek rocked his hips over mine—delicious, agonizing friction. My hands were everywhere.

“God help me, I have to have you,” he whispered. He dragged his mouth down my neck and chest, over the tightly knotted muscles of my stomach. When he reached the waistband of my jeans, he pushed back onto his knees, straddling my legs. I propped myself up on my elbows in disbelief and watched as he unbuttoned, unzipped, and yanked them down to my thighs, my cock springing free.

I thought he might hesitate. I thought he might ask. I thought he might do any number of things that would indicate he’d never sucked a dick before and perhaps felt some ambivalence about it.

Nope.

Fisting my shaft with one hand he angled it toward his mouth and lowered his head, taking me between his lips. I groaned as his tongue swept over my crown and he began to suck, his head moving up and down my length. Oh my God, was this really happening? How was it possible to get the best blowjob I’d ever had from a complete novice? How did he take me so deep, suck me so hard, stroke me just the right way with his tongue?

Because it’s Derek. He’s perfect at everything.

“Jesus,” I whispered, closing my eyes as I hit the back of his throat again and again and again. If I kept watching, this was going to be over quickly, and I wanted this hot, wet, mind-blowing rapture to go on forever. But even the sounds were enough to do me in—he wasn’t holding anything back—and I knew I wasn’t going to last.

I opened my eyes as he looked up at me. Oh, fuck.

“Gonna come,” I choked out.

He went at me even harder, a ferocious growl escaping his throat, almost like he was ordering me to do it, threatening me if I didn’t. No problem, because a second later my climax ripped me wide open, and I was groaning and gasping and cursing as my cock pulsed and streamed inside his mouth, watching the whole thing happen with wide, disbelieving eyes.

When he’d swallowed every last drop, he released me and crawled back up my body to claim my mouth. He tasted like whiskey and sex, and I couldn’t get enough. “I want to fuck you,” he said, the words hot against my lips.

My body, which should have been completely sapped, ignited once more. “We need—”

“Upstairs.” His voice thick with urgency. “My bedroom.”

Two seconds later, we were tearing up the stairs and he was pulling me into his pitch-dark bedroom. With frantic hands, we shoved off shoes and socks, tugged off jeans and underwear, and then fell onto the bed, our mouths joined. I ended up on my back and he settled between my legs, grinding his slick, hard cock against mine, which was rising fast.

“I fucking love your body.” His words sent fireworks shooting through me.

“I feel the same,” I said, running my hands over his wide, muscular shoulders and back.

“More,” he said in that commanding tone of his. “I want more.”

“Take it.”

He got to his knees, and I heard the sound of a drawer open and close. A series of clicks. Hands rubbing together. In the shadowy dark, I could see the outline of him preparing to fuck me, and my heart pounded furiously in my chest. I watched as he began to stroke himself, a tremor moving through my body when I felt his warm, silky fingers slide between my legs. Deftly, unabashedly, he explored me, his touch so expert I almost couldn’t believe he’d never done this before. I love your hands.

I bent my knees and opened wider for him, inviting a more intimate touch. He eased one finger inside me, and my stomach muscles tensed at the sweet, tight burn of it. “Yes,” I whispered. One finger became two, teasing and stroking and stretching me. Whether by happy accident or on purpose, he rubbed my prostate, and my lower body started to hum. Fuck, that feels good. Fully hard again, I took my cock in my fist and rocked my hips, fucking his hand and mine at the same time.

He grunted. “Jesus. That’s so fucking hot. Don’t stop.”

I kept doing it, careful not to go at it too enthusiastically so I wouldn’t come yet. But his fingers were too deep, his eyes on me too hot, and you can only work against your own body for so long before it tells you to fuck off, this is happening. And I wanted it to happen with him. “Derek.” I struggled to speak. “Now.”

I’d never wanted anyone this badly, and I’d never cared so much about making it perfect for someone. It wasn’t that I’d been a selfish lover, but in the past it had mostly been about the physicality of sex. The arousal, the fuck, the release. With Derek, it was different—I was conscious of his desire for me on another level. I knew it had to be powerful enough to overcome fears that resided at the very core of his being. I was aware that he had chosen me not just over another man, but over himself.

I wanted to be worth it.