Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 20
IVORY
Why did he have to come here when he did? Any other time would have been fine, even welcome, but here I am, in wet panties and an oversized t-shirt, still feeling the lingering warmth of my orgasm. I’m hideously self-conscious, wondering if he can smell me. And if he can … does he like it?
The guys at school had always said they could tell when a girl was horny because they could smell it. At the time, I thought this confession was revelatory since the other guys I knew seemed oblivious that girls could be horny or have orgasms.
There are definitely tiers of sexual knowledge, and while I’m admittedly more inexperienced, some of the things I’ve heard were just abysmal. I take it that Maxim at least has some experience with women. I reckon it’s more than I would be comfortable with, even.
Probably better not to ask.
Maxim reaches for his tea, and I’m curious to see if he will have learned his lesson about drinking it too quickly. He places it down as soon as he feels how hot it still is, and this exchange is amusing to me for some reason. He’s such a large man with a stone-cold demeanor, but this cup of tea is enough to hurt him.
“So, what ended up happening at that party you were at?” he asks, and my stomach drops.
The party is the last thing I want to talk about. It seems to be the only thing anyone else cares about recently, and while I understand it, hearing the manifold opinions regarding a sexual abuser’s perfectly deserved death doesn’t interest me. He got what he got. Whether there was foul play or not, I can’t say it bothers me either way. Nothing will change the way he treated women, and now nothing will change the fact that he’s dead.
“Oh, some guy was killed,” I say as flatly as possible. Perhaps attempting to appear ambivalent only implicates me in his death more, but to someone like Maxim, I doubt that’s a concern. It’s likely a point of interest, if anything.
“Oh, that was at that party? I remember hearing about it the next day, but I didn’t put two and two together,” he replies.
I honestly wish he would just drop it. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.
“Was he your boyfriend?” he continues, and my stomach churns.
Even the misunderstanding of Chad being my boyfriend makes me want to launch into a fifteen-minute rant about why I would never date someone like him, not ever, and that the implication that I would is an insult to my intelligence. Being born into a family with so much power and influence has brought me into the crosshairs of many Chads in my life, and never once have I considered them a suitable boyfriend or even a good person.
“No,” I reply, a little too hard and loud from my chest.
Maxim recoils, and my face flushes. I’ve never been the loud type, but that really struck a nerve.
“Alright then,” he replies quietly, reaching again for his tea and setting it down immediately upon tasting it.
“Thanks again for getting me my laptop,” I say, hoping to break some of the tension between us. Usually, I have a little bit of time to prepare for company, to rehearse small talk, and practice making interested faces in the mirror. Since my father met Meredith, feigning interest has become one of my superpowers.
“It wasn’t hard. Strings are easy to pull in the police department here. Nobody has any integrity,” he replies.
“So, the lack of integrity is to your benefit?” I reply, partially joking.
Maxim gets up from the couch and wanders over to the bookshelf on the opposite wall. “Aren’t you just happy to see it again?”
Well, of course, I think to myself. But Maxim’s character seems too opaque and hard to place on any kind of morality spectrum. He’s clearly not a monster, and he seems to care about my wellbeing. But if he can just take back something that the cops took for evaluation, what does that make him?
“Anyway, I need to get going. I’ll probably see you around here, yeah?” he says as he studies my copy of Jane Eyre.
“Yeah, probably, since we both live here apparently,” I reply. I tried so hard not to seem snarky, but it’s so obvious that he’s trying to get a promise of seeing me again.
We both walk towards the door, and Maxim gets just a little closer to me than I was anticipating he would. The feeling of his body near me sends a hot shiver through me, so pointed and arousing that I could scream.
We say goodbye, and as I close the door, I deeply inhale the lingering scent of his cologne. I feel like such a stupid girl with a crush. I always wanted to be the independent woman who didn’t need a relationship, or even an object of interest, to fulfill me, but I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’ve become.
“I’ll see you later,” he grumbles, his voice deep and throaty like he intends to stay here and fuck my brains out instead of walking through that door.
“See you,” I say weakly, my voice catching in my throat for a moment.
He smirks and walks out.
