Page 45 of Bound in Possession

I turn away from her sleeping form, swinging my legs out of bed. I move quickly and silently, slipping into the dressing room to pull on a pair of dark gym shorts and a heavy cotton shirt. I don't look back at the bed as I slip out of the master suite, the heavy oak doors clicking shut behind me.

I need clarity, and I need it now.

I head down to the mansion’s private gym facility in the basement, the cold air of the concrete corridors matching the sudden chill in my thoughts. I don't turn on the main lights, preferring the dim, shadow-filled room as I approach the heavy leather punching bag hanging from the reinforced steel beam.

I wrap my hands with practiced precision, the tight cloth binding my knuckles. Viktor is waiting at the gates, my infrastructure is burning, and I am letting a Caruso girl soften my edges.

I raise my fists and strike, the loud, echoing crack of leather hitting the bag shattering the morning silence as I begin working out, desperate to sweat the memory of her touch out of my system.

I work out for a while, burying the frustration into the heavy bag until my shirt is soaked through with sweat and my knuckles ache beneath the wraps. I’m deep in my own head, calculating the logistics of the shipment from Chicago, when the distinct sound of footsteps echoes down the concrete steps.

I pause mid-strike, catching the heavy bag with my forearm to still it, and turn around.

Camilla walks into the gym. She’s wearing tight gym wear that hugs every single curve I memorized last night, the dark fabric clinging to her hips and highlighting the small waist I held so fiercely in the dark. She looks incredibly sexy, completely destroying the mental barrier I’ve spent the last hour trying to build.

Fuck.

I can’t take my eyes off her.

She eyes me up, her dark gaze taking in my sweat-sheened chest and the raw aggression rolling off me. With a cool, deliberate slowness, she sets her gym bag and water bottle down on a bench across from me. She arches a perfect eyebrow.

"Are you working out or are you just watching me?" she asks, her voice dripping with that effortless arrogance.

"Come here," I command, my voice a low, rough growl that brooks no argument.

She lets out a soft scoff, stepping back slightly. "Excuse me?"

"I won't repeat myself, Camilla. Come here."

She rolls her eyes, but the defiance in her posture softens just enough for her to cross the gym floor, her sneakers squeaking softly against the rubber mats until she is standing right in front of me.

Before she can utter another sharp word, I step into her space, my hand moving like a flash as I wrap my fingers securely around her throat. I don't squeeze to hurt, but the grip is firm, an unyielding anchor that forces her chin up and locks her gaze to mine.

"I come down here to avoid distractions," I say, my thumb pressing right against the frantic thud of her pulse point. "Why are you here?"

She scoffs against my palm, her dark eyes flashing with that beautiful, stubborn heat. "Are you saying I’m a distraction, Maksim?"

"Yes," I answer flatly, my gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.

"Too bad," she murmurs, a dangerous little smile touching her mouth. "Deal with it."

She twists out of my grip with a fluid grace, turning on her heel to saunter off toward the free weights section. As she goes, she throws a casual look over her shoulder. "I’ve always done Pilates, so I don’t know much about done gym workouts. Can you get me a personal trainer?"

The words hit my ears, and my head instantly heats up. All I see is red. The mere image of another man putting his hands on her, adjusting her form, or looking at her in this gear makes a primal, possessive fury explode in my chest.

"What did you say?" I ask, my voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register that should have made her run.

She turns around to face me fully, completely unfazed by the storm brewing in my eyes, and repeats it with agonizing clarity. "I asked for a personal trainer, Maksim."

"I'll train you myself," I growl, taking a slow, predatory step toward her, the hand wraps stretching tight over my knuckles.

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. "I’m serious, Maksim. I want to learn how to properly protect myself."

I stop a mere inch from her, my massive shadow completely engulfing her small frame. I look down at her, my eyes narrowing as a memory clicks into place. "Is that why you were carrying my knife the other day?"

Camilla tilts her chin up, meeting my heavy stare with absolute resolve. "Yes. And I’m going to carry it everywhere.”

I stare down at her, the sheer audacity of this girl never failing to amaze me. A knife in the hands of someone who doesn't know how to wield it is just a weapon waiting to be turned against them.