Page 37 of Scarred Bratva King

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against mine. “We need this to look convincing,” he says, his voice rough.

“Right,” I reply. “Convincing.”

But as his thumb brushes my cheek and his eyes search mine, I can’t shake the feeling that this is about more than appearances.

He spins away from me. “Leave. Now.”

It’s not directed at me. He’s speaking to the employees, his tone leaving no room for argument. I hear the faint murmur of acknowledgment, the soft rustle of movement, and then the sound of a door closing.

We’re alone.

I turn to face him. He stands a few feet away, his broad shoulders framed by the perfectly tailored lines of his suit. He’snot smiling, but there’s something in his expression—a glint in those icy blue eyes—that sends a shiver down my spine.

His lips curve into a smirk, and he gestures to the chair beside us. “This one. It caught my eye.”

I glance at the chair, its polished leather gleaming under the light. It looks expensive, luxurious even, but hardly the kind of thing that would captivate someone like Maxim. Still, I play along. “And?”

“I want to test it out,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “With you.”

My stomach flips, but I keep my expression neutral. “Test it out? As in sit in it?”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that does things to me I won’t admit. “Not quite.” Before I can react, his hands are on my waist, spinning me around so my back is pressed against his chest. His breath hits my ear as he murmurs, “Take off your skirt.”

A thrill runs through me, but I force myself to hesitate. “Here? Now?”

“Yes,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “Unless you’d rather I do it for you.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding. He watches, his gaze burning into me, as I slide the skirt down my legs.

“Panties too.”

I do as he says. The cool air brushes against my bare skin, and I feel exposed in a way that only Maxim can make me feel.

“Good girl,” he purrs, guiding me toward the chair. He sits first, his long legs splayed casually, and pulls me onto his lap.

I straddle him, my knees sinking into the soft leather on either side of his thighs. His hands grip my hips, steadying me, and I can feel the heat of him beneath me, even through the layers of his suit.

“Now,” he says, his voice dripping with wicked intent, “let’s see how comfortable this chair really is.”

Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, hot and insistent as he kisses a trail down my neck.

His hands roam my body, exploring every inch of me with a possessiveness that makes my breath hitch. And then, without warning, he lifts me slightly, positioning me just right, and his tongue plunges into me.

Oh god.

My head falls back, a gasp escaping my lips as he devours me. His tongue works in lazy circles, teasing and tasting, before switching to long, deliberate strokes that leave me trembling.

One hand grips my thigh, holding me in place, while the other slips between us, his fingers finding my most sensitive spot.

“Maxim,” I moan, my fingers tangling in his hair as I grind against his mouth.

His only response is a hum of satisfaction, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. He drives me higher and higher, his pace relentless, until I’m teetering on the edge, my entire body shaking with need.

“Come for me, Veronica,” he growls, his voice muffled but no less commanding.

It’s all I need. I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me in waves as I cry out his name. He doesn’t stop until I’ve ridden out every last shudder, only pulling away when I slump against him.

Slowly, I lift my head to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, his lips glistening from where they’ve been buried between my thighs.

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