Page 28 of Craved

“I’m very glad to hear it.” His voice is as soft as his palm when he caresses the curve of my rear. Then his fingers slip between my butt cheeks. “But that doesn’t mean you’re in.”

“Then no,” I say, trying to pull away.

He yanks me closer. “Do you really think you have a say? Do you think I give a shit about what you want anymore?”

As he speaks, his thumb teases my ass while two fingers slip into my core. I’m wet—so wet—and I hate my body for reacting this way. For craving a touch that he wants to be torture.

He thinks he has the upper hand. That he’s punishing me for some crime he won’t even reveal. This isn’t love or affection—it’s hate sex. It’s power sex. It’s Maxim trying to get his way sex.

And now it’s me turning all that shit around on him. Me taking the power as he throws me back onto the bed, then straddles me.

“Yes,” I say, telling myself this is my Maxim as my fingers fumble at his fly. “Fuck me,” I beg, refusing to concede. Taking the power. Claiming this moment. “Please, Maxim. I want you.”

The words are rough and raw, and I see the frustration on his face. He didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect me to crave him. To need him.

I don’t.

It’s an act. The bastard locked me up. He’s trying to use sex to make me small.

Except you do like it. You want him. You know the horrible truth about him, and you want him anyway.

So what does that make you?

Broken. It makes me broken.

And when I tilt back my head and find his eyes looking back into mine, I know that he’s broken, too.

I wonder vaguely if we broke each other, but the thought barely has a chance to form before he’s spreading my legs, his fingers dancing over my clit, sliding into my very wet core, readying me even though I don’t need readying at all.

I hear myself whimper, and hate myself. But I can’t worry about what that means right now. I’ll have to worry about the state of my soul tomorrow.

Right now, I just want him. I’ve missed him so damn much, and we never had closure, and as I spread my legs and hear myself begging, I tell myself that’s my excuse. Closure. Release.

Just sex.

Sex so that he doesn’t have the upper hand.

But as his hands slide up to cup my breasts—as he thrusts his cock inside me, then bends my knees so that we rock together—as he pounds harder and deeper in a way that brings back all the sweet memories of the years with him—I don’t care who is in control. I don’t care about the mission. For just this slice of time, it’s me and Maxim again. Something I never thought I’d ever have again. Something I’ve craved.

Something I need to soak up now, because it’s all about to disappear. Because I’m going to take the bastard down.

At the very least, I’m going to die trying.

Chapter Fourteen

Her eyes were closed, her lips parting as she cried out in pleasure. Each cry made his cock harder, and when those sweet sounds were interspersed with whimpers of, “Please,” and “Oh, yes, yes,” Maxim wasn’t sure if he wanted to come right then or stay inside her forever.

He wanted her.

She was a lying, scamming bitch. He knew that. And yet he couldn’t wrap his head around it. Not when he’d first learned about her duplicity so many years ago. Not when she’d called him out of the blue, intent on shoving her way onto this operation. And not now, when she was here, completely at his mercy.

He’d tried to pry the truth from her while the drug had pulsed in her veins. To identify the population Killion intended to contaminate and how. He was frustrated as hell that Killion hadn’t yet revealed the full plan to him—and he couldn’t help but wonder if Killion had somehow discovered that Maxim wasn’t loyal. Not by a fucking long shot.

Considering that Killion still hadn’t revealed to Maxim the soon-to-be recipients of the D-Day bacteriophage, he had to at least consider the possibility that his cover was blown.

Except if that was the case, why wasn’t he dead? Either through the same method as the senator or from a bullet through the brain.

More, he hadn’t caught even a hint that Killion had lost faith in him.