BAD BOY [ 𝑀𝑀 ]

NINE

A few weeks have passed and my body has healed. Maxim took care of everything — feeding me, spoiling me, worshipping me with his mouth until I forgot the pain. He bathed me, held me, gave me everything I never knew I needed. And now, I feel stronger than ever.

We sit together for breakfast, the quiet intimacy of our routine settling between us. My love still hesitates around my brothers, wary, unsure. But it doesn't matter. He's mine. Everything if fine — except for Egor, who can't seem to help himself from testing his limits.

"How's your leg, Aurora?", my baby asks

"Everything's healed now. I can train again!", she smiles. She really missed Ballet. And I miss Maxim. Yes, he was by my side for weeks. Day through night but I want him alone. I want to surprise him. He deserves it after taking so good care of me.

He loved Italy. So why not another trip? Maybe France — the city of love. It's cooler there, softer, but still beautiful. He's never left Moscow and I want him to see everything. Everything his heart desires. He once told me about his dream seeing the world, and I will tear apart heaven and hell to give it to him. After everything he's endured, after all the pain, he deserves happiness. He deserves peace. And I want to be the one to give it to him.

I need him. More than air, more than life. I crave his touch, the way his big, haunted eyes see right through me. And fuck, I crave his soul. It should belong to me — every dark and broken piece. I want him in every way possible, just as my entire existence is already his. He has me wrapped around his finger, and I would set the world on fire for him. Burn the skin from everyone who ever dared to hurt him. Reduce their bones to ash, erase their name from existence, damn their souls to hell — because that's where they belong.

One word from him and I'm on my knees, ready to obey.

After breakfast, I tell Wladimir I'm taking the jet. I've planned for a week, but if my baby wants to stay longer, we'll stay as long as he pleases.

The thought of telling him my surprise makes something warm unfurl inside me. I head to our room, eager. The fact that we share this space — that I wake up beside him every morning — feels unreal, like a dream I refuse to wake from. I watch him sleep, the way his small body curls up when he's cold, the soft little noises he makes. The way he reaches for me, even in sleep, wrapping himself around me like I'm the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

And then there are moments when he thinks I'm asleep, but I'm not. When his delicate fingers trace over my chest, my face. When his soft lips press against my skin, and he whispers love poetry in a voice so pure it makes my heart ache.

I live for those moments. I crave them.

Now, he's in the bathroom, going through his morning routine. He looks so peaceful like this, so unaware of the storm raging inside me. Quietly, I move behind him, slipping my arms around his fragile waist, pulling him against me.