Page 32 of The Crimson Lily

It’s 6:32, and I’m still roaming around the house like I’ve been preparing for a speech.

I’m practicing out loud what I’ll be telling him, how I’ll ask him the question I want to ask, and looping a thousand different reactions he might have.

I hear his low and husky voice each time, closing my eyes to enjoy the melody as I remember it.

Liliana, of course we’re together. I love you, and I always will.

But then his voice turns to something cruel.

Liliana, you’re just a toy to me. Or to something emotionless.

What did you expect, Liliana? I feel nothing for you.

7:14 p.m., still no Maksim. I check my phone. Check again and again. Nothing. I am getting worried, or hurt, or disappointed. I’m not sure. I go to the kitchen to stir the meal and stare at it for another forty-five minutes.

Fuck it, I’m hungry. 8:46 p.m. I feel duped and stupid for feeling duped.

The bourguignon is still warm, so I grab a plate and serve myself.

I am angry. I’ve been able to repress the anxiety with that constant feeling of numbness I’ve grown used to, but right now, I just want him to walk in through the front door and explain to me why the fuck he’s so late.

I mean, Maksim doesn’t owe me anything, but saying 6 p.m. and not showing up is just blatantly rude.

Darn it! I hate him right now. That bourguignon is freaking delicious, and he’s missing out!

It’s 9:20 p.m., and I pop that bottle of wine.

I look at the clock one more time to make sure I’m not in some alternate reality, or I haven’t imagined the past three hours waiting for Maksim.

I am furious. I’ve chugged two glasses of wine by the time the clock strikes 10 p.m. Fucking idiot.

Not Maksim—no, me. I am an idiot. I am an idiot for believing this evening would play out like a fairy tale.

I down another glass of wine. Ugh, it’s getting to my head.

I stand up to clear the table and get those fucking candles that look like sad, dangling penises out of my sight.

I giggle to myself—I just compared candles to sad, dangling penises.

I almost trip when entering the kitchen and figure I might as well just go to bed.

But I need to throw something at the wall first, so I choose the pinecone from fall 2022 that rests on my coffee table and smash it against the nearest wall.

It feels good. Too bad I only have one pinecone. Well, not anymore.

Knock, knock, knock.

Motherf —Seeing the clock interrupts my thoughts.

10:29 p.m.: I walk to the door, slowly, holding my ear out, thinking I’ll magically determine who’s knocking.

When I reach it, I don’t even look through the peephole.

I seize the knob and turn it ever so slightly so the door clicks open.

That’s my way to make a point. I decided that just now. I won’t open the door more than that.

I hear his footsteps behind me as I walk away.

“There’s still food in the kitchen,” I blurt, not turning around. One additional method to amplify my point.

His hand catches my wrist. He pulls my arm and makes me turn around.

I don’t have time to look at him, at his perfect stubble and intense blue eyes.

He hauls me in and presses his lips on mine.

His arms cage me. I have to wriggle to get myself out of his embrace.

I take a step back and shoot arrows at him with my eyes.

“You’re late!” I jerk.

Maksim towers above me with his massive chest. He wears a dark-gray suit with a black shirt, both of which seem brand new.

His cologne reaches my nose, and I swear I could faint right here from the intoxicating scent.

His black hair isn’t combed, and his curls look a little longer than I remember.

Fuck, he looks way too handsome for my own good.

He must notice the effect he has on me because I can only see a smirk on his face. He takes a step toward me. At first, I want to jump back in his arms, but my sanity slaps me awake, and I slap him in the face.

I shouldn’t have done that.

With effortless speed, he dashes to me and lifts me in the air. He pins me against the wall where I annihilated that pinecone and offers a low, controlled growl. My head spins from the alcohol and the wild turn of events.

“Stop throwing a tantrum,” he commands. His voice is sharp, but his smirk is still there. “You know I’m not always on time.”

I twitch my nose at him and blink a few times to stay in charge of myself.

I am now higher than him, and his face is right above my chest. His eyes glow with a familiar silver hue.

He takes a dive into my more than ample cleavage, tracing nibbles and kisses down my skin.

He groans in seeming relief from devouring my chest as if he hasn’t consumed his favorite dessert in centuries.

“No…” I protest with a lustful exhale. “Maksim…”

He lets me slide down against the wall back to my feet and takes my lips again. His hands make their way along my waist, to my breasts, which he squeezes a little too hard, and finally, to my collar. He seizes the cloth in both hands and tears my nightdress in half.

I gasp, shocked and consternated. That was a good dress!

Oh, how I want to slap him again! But Maksim catches my wrist and holds it against the wall above my head.

I can’t avert his stringent gaze. He gives me a silent but firm warning that I’d better not strike him again, or he’ll make sure I regret it.

He releases my hand and moves back to my skin, exploring down my curves with his lips and hands, venturing beneath my chest, giving me kisses along my stomach.

He’s going down on me, and I can’t stop him.

“No, Maksim.” I make a foolish attempt at opposing his will.

I try to pull him back up, but he won’t budge. I have to make him stop. I need to talk to him. I need to ask him about us.

“Maksim, please,” I beg with a murmur and a moan. “I want to talk!”

He responds with a grunt and a kiss between my thighs.

He makes his way closer to me, slipping his tongue into me with gentle strokes.

I moan again, way too loudly. My body is already writhing from his blazing touch, yearning for more.

I open my legs a little wider to welcome him, but he stops and raises his blue eyes to me.

Looking down upon him this way makes me feel like I’m his goddess and he worships me.

I feel appreciated, venerated, and cherished. I don’t want to feel any other way.

“I haven’t seen you in over a month, and you want to talk?” he challenges.

He doesn’t let me answer. He’s already with his face back between my thighs.

It’s getting too intense. I have to rest one of my legs on his shoulder to keep balance.

My right hand is gripping his hair, my left hand is trying to hold on to whatever is near me.

The side of the wall will do. His hand creeps up my body to capture my breast again.

That’s when I let it all out, as he keeps on the tease for a while longer.

I scream. My legs shake from uncontrollable spasms. I latch on to his head, squeezing him closer to me like I want to absorb him.

I am barely recovering when he lifts me up again and brings me to my bed. I try pushing him away. I try to resist, beating his chest as he comes to cover me whole. I struggle against his embrace, even when he takes my lips again.

“No!” I shout, gasping for a chance to talk. “Maksim, I need…”

He snatches another kiss. He takes off his jacket, his shirt, and he’s now unbuckling his trousers. All I see is muscles adorning his perfect torso. I curl my eyebrows in sudden surprise, as if it’s the first time I see him bare.

Of course he notices. “Did you miss it?” he asks.

Argh, I’m not going to answer that! Not before he tells me what the hell we’re doing, what the hell we are, and if there even is a “we”!

“Stop!” I yell. “Maksim, please, I need to…”

He seizes both my wrists and pins me down.

I can feel my cheeks redden and my head go hot.

Maybe I also have tears in my eyes. His grasp loosens.

I can feel him knocking at my door, but he isn’t entering me.

Feeling him so close, almost inside me, makes my body explode.

I do my best to force my hips to remain calm while they beg for him, for him to fuck me.

Has he noticed that too? Maksim is searching for something in my gaze. It’s as if he’s checking if I’m okay.

“If you don’t want this, I’ll stop,” he declares.

Fuck you, Maksim. I’m about to spew venom. I free myself and smack and squeeze his ass.

“Don’t you fucking stop!” I hiss.

He laughs. A scornful and raucous laugh. He anchors his knees in the bed and pulls me toward him. Before he makes a move, his eyes flash, and he gives me a huge slap in the face. One of the deviant games we like to play. That hurt. Good. It’s about time Maksim Kovalyov marked his territory again.

All muscles in my body solidify when he enters me.

Maksim lifts my legs up so he can get a hold of my neck.

He presses on my throat as he still moves inside me.

I have no air. He cuts the access of my blood to my head, and I start seeing the world whirl around me.

Sounds dissipate, colors dim, only the raw pleasure he’s giving me remains printed in my veins.

He seems to savor every squirm and every squeal from how much I enjoy this.

“Touch yourself, suka ,” he orders

I can’t disobey. I slide a finger down my body, drawing little circles as his tongue had just a few minutes ago.

In the meantime, his hands gift me the ability to breathe again and go for my breasts instead.

It doesn’t take long for my blood to crystallize, a progressive icy blast that flares through my body until it erupts in the form of the most powerful orgasm.

I moan and scream and screech so loud that I could deafen him, the neighbors, and all of New York City.

My hips propel backward, and I roll to my side, invaded by contractions and convulsions I absolutely can’t control.

Only when I manage to get back to reality do I notice Maksim has also finished, just a little before me. I was so caught by that explosive wave that everything else in the world froze. Good thing I’m on birth control now!

“You’re beautiful when you come like that,” he says, out of the blue.

I look at him a little surprised. It’s the first time I hear a compliment of that sort come out of his mouth. It’s so sweet. I feel a spark of glee light in my heart. Maksim said something romantic. It’s my little reward, and I’m walking on clouds!

I hop out of bed, gathering the sheets, looking for new ones.

Maksim heads for the shower. I remember my prior emotions and realize I’ve just been fucked to euphoria and forgot about how angry I was.

I feel a little cheated. Oh well. Maksim wasn’t wrong about the fact he can’t always be on time.

Such is the job. Once my bed is fluffy and clean, I amble to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and don’t even cast a single glance at Maksim behind the shower curtain.

My shower is too small for the both of us, so I’ll wait my turn.

I return to the bed and collapse into it, waiting for my boyfriend to come lie next to me.

Now, I really have to ask him what we are, but I don’t get the chance.

I fall asleep with the cute, cat-shaped lantern on my nightstand still on.

I return to reality when Maksim walks into the room again.

I don’t know what time it is. Everything is hazy.

I want to get out of bed, but my muscles fail me.

I see him turn the lamp off, then he sneaks behind me and wraps his strong arms around me.

He gives me a little kiss down my neck and on my shoulder right before I close my eyes again.

As he’s Maksim, he’ll probably move to my couch, where he always sleeps when he’s here.

That’s his first rule, and it’ll never change.

Maksim sleeps alone because his dreams can make him do dangerous things to me, or so I conjectured after that night in Paris.

The second rule, on the other hand, was broken long ago.

I guess it finally dawns on me, after six months, when I feel him stroke my hair.

I’m about to drown in my dreams. I don’t need to ask my question; Maksim is obviously attached to me.

He holds me in his arms for another couple of minutes until I am fast asleep.