Page 6 of Surrender: XXX Maxim
Anger.
“Did you take my ring out of fear?” he wonders, his accent thickening, his baritone deepening. He’s hunting for a line of attack, I think—desperate for anything to feed his rage. To distract from the truth—he’s losing control. “Is that it?”
“No.” He flinches at the sound of my voice, but I finally regain control of my limbs before he can reply. There is only one way to reach him when he’s like this—the only language we both understand.
A startled grunt escapes him as I brush my hands over the front of the jacket draped over me. A tailored silk, the fabric easily slides from my shoulders to the floor.
His eyes narrow, tracking the flesh bared with ravenous interest and that wavering darkness slowly fades in favor of a new emotion. He’s here again, alone with me in this room—not the past.
I swallow back my relieved sigh and brace. Maybe he’s right. In some ways, it really does feel like that very first day all over again. My first exposure to the taste of his brutality. I’m unsure of what to expect from this massive creature who radiates power and control.
And yet for whatever reason, I’m drawn to the flame, even if it burns.
Thispain doesn’t hurt the way it should.
“Say it,” he demands, recapturing my chin in his grasp. With gentle pressure, he pries my jaws apart. “You are mine. Say it.”
I rush to obey. “I’m yours—”
“Body and soul,” he prompts, each word grated through clenched teeth. His tone alone betrays that they mean more to him than a selfish boast of possession. So much fucking more. They’re the reason why I can watch him at his worst, on the brink of madness, and keep what little shreds of sanity I still have left. Why his hands shake as they grasp handfuls of me—whatever he can reach. Nails drawn, he claims every inch of flesh, his eyes fluttering as I flinch.
“Body and soul,” I tell him, fighting to form a coherent response.
“And you won’t run from this? From me?” He grinds his hips into mine, igniting a tendril of fire in my core. Clamping my thighs together is the only way to stave off the inevitable inferno.
“I won’t.”
In a blur of motion, he moves in, claiming my mouth as his hands grip my waist. His tongue barely slips between my lips before he draws back and wrenches me around to face the wall. I suck in a breath, the sound nearly drowning out his appreciative groan. His palm smooths over the flat of my belly, aiming between my legs. In an expert motion, he spreads me open, teasing me with the broadness of his thumb.
I barely adjust to the substitute before the real thing batters against my throbbing skin.
One thrust, and he’s so deep I can’t even cry out in response. I gasp instead, my lips parted, air trapped in my lungs. Overwhelmed with the feel of him, my brain conjures a million words to describe the sensation—full, so full. Thick. Heavy. Everywhere.
Then he moves, bucking into me, forcing my cheek against the ice-cold wall as his body pins me in from behind. He’s slow at first, ensuring every thrust stings. Burns, so deep I’ll feel him for days. Just as the pain fades into a delicious ache, he moves faster. Harder.
The rhythm lacks the brutal tempo I’m used to. My world narrows to sin and skin, and the wet heat of his mouth latched onto my shoulder, muffling the animalistic grunts he makes with every single thrust.
My nails uselessly scramble over the surface before me, seeking out stability. Security. Anything.
I find neither.
Nothing in the world is stable enough to anchor me against him. I have to endure—every ounce of frustration and fury, slammed into me, straining the confines of my body. The emotions roused by the night’s events seep from him, betraying more than words ever could.
Sevastyn rattled him.
Infuriated him.
But what happened after confused him.
And the sight of that marble ring on my finger…it scares him?
There’s almost too much to make sense of—too much for him to process alone.
So he spills them all into me one by one, until his release drags both of us under. His grip on my hair tightens painfully as he rams into me one final time, so hard my knees buckle.
He’s left holding me, sweeping his hand beneath my knees as he pulls out and lifts me into his arms. Boneless, my head lolls against his shoulder as I find myself focusing on his face first, marveling at what I see. Gone is that twisted, pained expression. I can’t resist stroking my fingers along the corner of his mouth, tracing its shape when devoid of a scowl or frown.
For once, he moves free of tension, crossing the room to another door that I hadn’t noticed. The bathroom? He shoulders the door open, and I realize that my suspicion was horribly off base.
