Max's Desire

by Elyzabeth M. VaLey

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I love you and if you were ever to tire of me, I’d fight for you. I’ve gone to hell and returned, Eva. For you, I’ll do it again. Come here,” he said. “Let me kiss you.”

  She did as he asked, gently brushing her mouth to his.

  “You’re scared of hurting me,” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t be. The thought of you is what brought me back. Having you here is what’s going to heal me.”

  Digging his fingers in her hair, he brought her close, pressing his lips to hers possessively. He took his time, tasting her before nipping the bottom bow and tugging. Eva gasped and he swept his tongue inside, stroking it against hers in a slow, sensual dance. He poured his soul into the kiss, putting into action what his heart had known from the moment he’d seen Eva in Lust’s lair. Finally, they pulled apart, both of them panting.

  “I love you, Max,” she said.

  “I know, kitten. That’s why I don’t believe Lust and neither should you. I trust you with my heart just like you trust me with yours.”

  He brushed his thumb across her lips, dipping it lower to her neckline, placing his palm at the top of her breast where he could feel her heart’s wild beat.

  “It’s been too long for you, hasn’t it?”

  She nodded, a spot of red dotting her cheeks.

  “I’ve masturbated, but it just hasn’t been the same. I missed you. Your touch. Your warmth.”

  Max slid a fingertip beneath her shirt, skimming over the nipple. Eva shut her eyes and expelled a long breath.

  “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

  “I’m also hungry.”

  Deftly, he pulled down her top and bra, exposing her breasts to him. His cock rose at the sight of the creamy flesh and turgid points. He squeezed one, then the other, relishing the way they puckered beneath his ministrations.

  “Come closer,” Max said.

  “You really shouldn’t,” Eva protested.

  “I need a taste. You’re not going to say no to a sick man, are you?”

  She scooted closer and he latched onto a nipple, sucking hard. Eva gasped and toppled forward, placing her hands at either side of his head to keep from falling on him.

  “Perfect,” Max muttered, switching to the other tit. He made to reach around her, but she squirmed out of his grasp.

  “Max, your arm and your ribs,” she scolded. Her gaze went to the visible bulge of his erection hidden beneath the hospital sheet. Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue emerged to wet them. Max groaned. His dick stiffened further, precome leaking from the head.

  “Eva, I’ve got another arm and my ribs—”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head.

  “You’re in no condition for this.”

  “I know my limitations, kitten, and as much as my cock is wishing you’d climb over it, my body wouldn’t resist the stress, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you happy.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “But—”

  “Open your jeans,” Max demanded.

  “Max, I don’t want you to be in any more pain.”

  “I’m going to be if you don’t do as I ask.”

  Her eyebrows arched and her lips quirked.

  “Fine.”

  Dipping her gaze, Eva focused on her pants, leisurely caressing the button in circles before finally popping it open. She glanced at him, then back down, and bit by excruciating bit lowered the zipper, finally allowing him a glimpse of blue lace underwear.

  “God, I can’t wait to be out of this hospital and to have you fully naked riding my cock.” Max patted the bed. “For now, though, I want to watch you come on my fingers.”

  Eva sat at his side. Max wound his arm around her, running his fingertips over the soft material and inching lower until his hand covered her pussy. She was hot and wet, the lace unable to contain her arousal. Max rubbed the hilt of his palm across her clit. Eva mewled.

  “You’re not complaining anymore,” he pointed out while winding two of his digits beneath the elastic of her panties. Eva shook her head.

  “No point in arguing with a man who has made up his mind.”

  Max chuckled.

  “Turn toward me a little. That’s it. Hold on to me.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  “You won’t hurt me.”

  Gently, she placed one of her hands on his chest. Her palm scorched his flesh through the flimsy hospital robe, invigorating him. Warmth seeped into his heart, gripping it with a love so fierce it brought tears to the back of his eyes.

  “Look at me, kitten. There’s something I want you to understand. I’m going to bring you pleasure and happiness any way I can, for as long as I live. You are my mate.”

  He curled his fingers over her G-spot, massaging the bundle of nerves. Eva whimpered. He picked up his pace.

  “You are my heart’s desire, Eva.”

  Her hips rolled back and forth with his ministrations and her breath came out in short, fast spurts.

  “I will always love you. All the way to hell and back.”

  “Max,” she moaned, digits curling over his gown and pussy muscles rippling with the impending orgasm. “I—”

  He grinned. She didn’t need to tell him again.

  “Now, come for me, kitten.”

  The End

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  BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER

  BREAK ME

  Elyzabeth M. VaLey

  Copyright © 2017

  Prologue

  Grisha Vasiliev entered the ballet studio. His five-hundred-dollar leather shoes squeaked against the vinyl floor. He frowned and stood to one side, away from the other spectators, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The velvety smoothness of the piano chords playing from the speakers wrapped around him like the touch of a lover’s caress.

  “Down, up, down, plie, tendu, pli-plie.”

  Anton Phillip, the ballet master of his company, drilled instructions from the front of the room across a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A group of close to forty dancers aged fifteen and over followed his commands. They were there to learn and take their technique to the next level with the best: Anika Vasiliev’s ballet company.

  His business. Grisha not only owned the city’s ballet company, which included dancers, an orchestra, managerial and support staff. He also had schools for both children and adults. Furthermore, he employed permanent staff of craftsmen for prop and costume design, as well as his own physiotherapists and physical trainers.

  “Your back must turn you around, not your knee, your back. Observe,” Phillip called out.

  Grisha swept his gaze around the room. His breath caught. There she was. In the front row, a few feet to the left of Phillip. She was unmistakable in her red leotard with the low scooped back and black skirt.

  Ayla Clark.

  She was his reason for coming to today’s master class. He’d seen her name in the registry list and he knew he had to see her up close.

  Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her choice of outfit. Her dark hair, which she had pulled into a bun, caused her aquiline nose to stand out. She kept her attention on Phillip as he demonstrated the movement. She copied him.

  “That’s it,” Phillip praised her.

  Ayla smiled. Full lips pressed tightly together, eyes downcast. Grisha cocked his head. Always the same. He had been observing her for the past few months and her smiles were never wide or open. For him, it appeared as if she were pleased but didn’t want to show it. Either that or she felt she wasn’t good enough.

  Yet, her technique was flawless. Her body lithe and flexible. When she danced, her spirit showed through and true joy reflected on her face. Those were the moments he hated her.

  Grisha swallowed. His fingers trembled. He closed his hand int
o a fist. Easy now. It wouldn’t do to lose control here. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at some of the other girls. There were some wonderful dancers assembled in the studio and some which would never make it far in the business. He caught sight of another girl. She turned well but didn’t land properly. Her eyes narrowed, clearly displeased. She tried again. Grisha shook his head. She was a good dancer, but she was not the best. Her movements lacked finesse.

  He found himself searching for Ayla again. He followed her across the floor as she performed a chasse and a pirouette.

  How could she move with such precision? In her, he saw true love for what she did. She wanted to be a dancer. It was her dream, her purpose in life.

  Yet, she currently worked for a small ballet company as part of the corps, a mere background dancer. She never held a position for more than a year, even though she was good. Why? He wasn’t a dancer himself, but he had grown up in that world. He knew perfection and passion when he saw it. Ayla had both. When she danced, he could almost taste the happiness coming from her. Grisha licked his lips.

  It was intoxicating.

  Sickening.

  Bile climbed to his throat. The bitter taste in his mouth made him grimace. Happiness. The word clanged in his head like loud church bells. A myth. A legend. There was no such thing. Women like his mother Anika, Marie, and now Ayla, equated the world of dance with bliss. It was an illusion, just like ballet. They were one and the same. Castles built on clouds. Beautiful on the outside but so sensitive a mere breeze would blow them into nothingness. The real world was bleak.

  Dark.

  Lonely.

  Painful.

  Grisha ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to alleviate the growing headache in his temples. The words hammered in his skull harder and harder as they had done for the past year.

  He had grown complacent, settling into a routine which lulled him into a false sense of security. In the last four years, he hadn’t felt the pull. He buried himself in his business and into a peaceful life. He tricked himself into believing he’d conquered the need to inflict pain and destroy joy. It was never the case. The monster within him lay dormant, waiting for someone to bring it back to life. Ayla had been that person. One look at her and his world had come crashing down around him.

  Grisha bit into his cheek and tasted blood. His vision wavered for an instant as the image of a bloodied Ayla danced before him. She reminded him of what he’d lost and what he could never have.

  He unclenched his fists.

  Ayla pranced about, oblivious to him and his plan. Soon, he’d show her what life was really about. The music which made her so joyful would make her miserable, and his world would be righted again.

  “Thank you very much, everyone,” Phillip said, breaking into Grisha’s reverie.

  People clapped. Grisha joined them politely. The music had stopped. Dancers stretched out their kinks. Family members and observers crossed the floor to chat and congratulate them.

  Grisha made his way to Phillip. Here and there chatting groups quieted as he passed them. He smirked. Although he hated the attention, it was all part of the business. If any of these ballerinas wanted to be someone important one day, they had to know who he was.

  “Anton,” he called out. He’d known Phillip for many years, long before coming to the United States.

  “Mr. Vasiliev,” the teacher said respectfully. “What a pleasure to see you. Thank you for coming.” Phillip strode toward him, grinning. They shook hands.

  “The pleasure is mine. Wonderful class.”

  “Indeed. We had some great dancers today. I am keen on inviting some to audition for us in the future or to consider joining our school,” Phillip said.

  “I trust your instinct, Phillip.”

  “Thank you, sir. Although”—Phillip lowered his voice—“I value your opinion.”

  Grisha clasped his hands behind his back and looked around. His gaze landed on Ayla. She sat on the floor, legs wide open, torso bent forward. A thin strand of hair had fallen loose from her bun and curled over her cheek. His mouth went dry.

  “She’s exceptionally good,” Phillip whispered.

  “But unstable. She never stays in a company for more than a year. You know we value commitment.”

  Phillip nodded.

  “True, but—”

  “She’s also too old.” Grisha cut him off. “I think her registration file stated she was twenty-seven.”

  “Very well, Grisha. I won’t speak to her, but do you want me to introduce you?” Phillip sneered.

  Grisha’s eyes widened. He forced his gaping mouth shut.

  “How dare you?” he said.

  “Don’t get all offended, Grisha. It’s happened before, regardless of that stupid saying about not mixing business and pleasure. Besides, you know I would never judge.” Phillip winked.

  Grisha shook his head. The man was hopeless. Phillip was a perpetual flirt and it wasn’t the first time he took a ballerina home for the evening. Nor would it be the last. Grisha allowed it as long as the girls he chose weren’t part of the company and his little escapades didn’t affect his work.

  “So, how about a little introduction?” Phillip insisted. He clapped his hands, capturing everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentleman, today we have the pleasure of having the owner of Anika Vasiliev’s ballet company here with us, Mr. Grisha Vasiliev,” Phillip announced.

  Grisha nodded in greeting. He raised his hand.

  “It was a delight to watch such talented people at work. Please, continue with what you’re doing. I do not wish to interrupt.”

  Applause filled the air. Grisha smiled. He scanned the crowd. Ayla. She stood a few feet from him, her hands on her hips. Their gazes locked. Her eyes wide and beckoning. Daring him. Grisha’s heart jolted. Her lips parted. Roses bloomed on her cheeks. An image of her delicate features marred by pain flashed before him. Blood rushed to his head.

  Phillip smacked him on the back, laughing. The moment shattered. Ayla turned away. Grisha cursed inwardly, and then took a steadying breath and shrugged. It’d be all right. She’d be his soon enough.

  End of sample chapter

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