Chapter 3: Almost (R-18)

The limousine sat in the heavy, rain-soaked shadows of the Romanov estate, a silent witness to the storm brewing inside.

The partition was a wall of cold, unyielding glass, and the only light came from the blue-tinged security lamps of the mansion, strobing across the leather like a warning.

The air inside the cabin was thick, smelling of expensive cologne, rain-dampened silk, and the heavy, musky scent of a man who had just bought my entire existence.

"We’re here," I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it was barely a breath. "Why aren't the doors opening?"

"The night doesn't end just because the wheels stop, Veronica," Maxwell rasped. He sat with his legs spread wide, a mountain of dark, dominant power. "Come here. Sit on my lap."

I bit my lip, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't move. I couldn't. The fear was a lead weight in my stomach. "R-Romanov... I d-don't wan—"

"I didn't ask what you wanted," he cut me off, his voice dropping into a cold, hard register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "I paid fifty million for a woman who follows instructions, not one who whimpers in a corner. Move. Now. Unless you want me to think my millions went to waste on a useless, shivering brat."

The insult stung worse than a slap. I flinched, my eyes welling with tears of shame, and I followed his command immediately.

I crawled across the plush leather, my knees shaking. I tried to sit on him like a chair, my back to him, trying to keep any semblance of distance between my skin and his.

"Properly. Face me," he snarled, his hand snaking out to grip my waist. "Or are you so pathetic you can’t even look at the man who bought you?"

Shaking, I turned around, straddling his powerful thighs so we were chest to chest. Even through the fabric of my lace panties and his expensive wool trousers, I felt it—the thick, pulsing length of his cock. It was a heated iron bar pressing directly against my core.

"Now, move for me," he commanded, his hands anchoring my hips. "Feel the difference between a boy and a man."

I began to grind, a slow, agonizingly shy rock of my hips. I was so clumsy, my movements stuttered by my own embarrassment.

SLAP!

The sound of his hand meeting the meat of my thigh echoed in the car. It wasn't enough to bruise, but the sting was sharp and sudden.

"Focus, Veronica," he hissed, his obsidian eyes burning through the silver mask. "I said move. If you can't even grind on a man properly, what use are you?"

I let out a broken whimper and quickened the pace, my hips rolling in a desperate circle. The friction of the fabric was a dull, building heat.

Suddenly, his hands moved with blurring speed. He hooked his fingers into the lace of my panties and ripped them away with a sharp snap, tossing the ruined fabric into the footwell. He unzipped his trousers, freeing his massive, scorching heat.

The moment he guided me back down, skin-on-skin, I gasped, my fingers digging into his broad shoulders.

Without the fabric, the sensation was sensational. Every slide of his hard, veined skin against my sensitive, swollen pussy felt like a strike of lightning. My own wetness acted as a lubricant, making the rubbing incredibly smooth and agonizingly intense.

'Is this... is this what sex is supposed to feel like?' I wondered, my mind spinning into a void of heat.

Thaddeus made me feel like I was broken, like I was a statue. But this... this friction is making my blood boil. I feel alive. I feel used, but for the first time in three years, I feel noticed.

As I moved above him, Maxwell leaned forward. He tore the remains of my bodice down, fully exposing my breasts to the cool, conditioned air of the limo. He took my nipple into his mouth, sucking with a possessive hunger that made my back arch.

"Ah! Maxwell! Please..." I bit my lip, my head tossing back as he swirled his tongue over the aching peak.

"Let it out," he commanded against my skin. "Don't choke on those sounds. I want to hear you moan. I want to hear exactly how much you like being handled by a man who knows what to do with you."

"I... mmm... it's too much," I whimpered, my voice breaking as the pleasure began to overwhelm my shame.

Suddenly, before I could reach the peak I was chasing, he gripped my waist and hauled me off him, dumping me onto the seat beside him. I panted, my body aching from the sudden loss of heat.

Maxwell just sat there, his dick heavy and pulsing in the dim light, a dark smirk playing on the corner of his lips as he looked at my disheveled state.

"Taste me, Veronica. Prove you were worth the price."

I froze, looking at the heavy, pulsing length of him. "I... I can't. I've never... I don't know how."

When I didn't move, his expression darkened. He reached out and violently grabbed my hand, his fingers like iron as he yanked my arm forward and forced my palm to wrap around his bare dick.

"You will learn," he hissed.

Shaking, I began to stroke him. I gripped the base, my hand barely able to fit around the circumference of him. I moved my hand slowly, watching the way the skin bunched and smoothed as I slid up and down the veined, velvet length. My breath was heavy, coming in ragged gasps.

"Lick it," he ordered.

I leaned down, my heart in my throat. I let my tongue dart out, tentatively licking the very top of him. I tasted the salt of his skin and the faint, bitter tang of pre-cum.

"That's right," Maxwell groaned, his head hitting the headrest. "Lick it like an ice cream, Veronica. Use that tongue. Don't be afraid of it."

I tried to follow his lead, swirling my tongue around the head of him, tasting him more deeply. I was so inexperienced, so clumsy, but the sound of his low, guttural approval made my own core throb in response. I looked up at him through my lashes, my lips slick with his scent.

"I... I really don't know how," I whispered against his skin, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

"I will teach you how to do it properly later," he rasped, his voice thick with a dark, shimmering hunger.

He didn't wait. He gripped my shoulders and pushed me back, laying me down across the wide leather seat. He hovered over me, his heavy weight pinning me down, his knees prying my thighs wide apart. He took his dick and began to rub it raw against my pussy, sliding the length of himself through my slickness.

"Shit, Veronica," Maxwell groaned, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "You're so fucking wet. You're soaking me. Is this what that coward missed out on for three years?"

"Mmm... Maxwell," I moaned, my eyes fluttered shut as the raw friction sent sparks through my nerves. The smoothness of the rubbing was intoxicating; it felt like I was being polished by silk and fire.

"You're like a furnace," he panted, his hips moving in a rhythmic, torturous slide against my core. "So tight. I can feel your pulse jumping against me."

He guided himself to my entrance and pushed—just the tip. He wasn't even inside me yet, but the mere pressure of the head of him felt like it was claiming territory that had never been touched.

"Ah! No! Stop!" I cried out, the 'seal' of my virginity screaming as he tested the boundary. Tears flooded my eyes immediately. Even with just the tip, I felt like I was being split in two. "Please... it hurts! It’s too big!"

Maxwell froze, watching the tears stream down my face. He looked at my trembling body, at the raw vulnerability of my first time, and he let out a jagged, frustrated breath. He pulled back completely, his voice a chilling, dark promise.

"Shh, stop crying," he whispered, his gloved thumb catching a tear. "Alright, you don't deserve to have your virginity taken here. Not in the back of a car like a common whore."

He sat up, hauling me into his arms and tucking my head into the crook of his neck. I was sobbing into his chest, my body still humming from the raw rubbing. He kicked the door open, the cool rain splashing against my feverish skin as he stepped out, carrying me toward the massive iron doors of the mansion.

"I’m going to take you in a bed made of silk," he promised into the wind. "And I’m going to make sure you remember every second of it."