Volkov

Chapter 11

The ride back to my apartment was silent, but not uncomfortable. Maksim was seated beside me in the back of his sleek black car, his presence commanding even in stillness. I could feel the weight of his gaze every so often, a lingering intensity that made my skin tingle.

The night had been overwhelming in the best and worst ways. The gala had been a whirlwind of elegance, tension, and intrigue. Maksim had guided me through it all with a quiet possessiveness that I couldn't decide if I liked or resented. And now, here we were, on the way back to my place, the air between us thick with unspoken words.

The car pulled up to my building, and I glanced at Maksim, who was already stepping out of the car. He didn't wait for me to protest as he extended a hand, helping me out of the car with an ease that made my breath catch.

"I'll walk you to your door," he said simply, his voice low and steady.

"You don't have to," I replied, even though the idea of him leaving me so abruptly made my stomach twist.

"I insist."

Of course, he did. Maksim Volkov wasn't a man who took no for an answer.

As we stepped into the elevator, the silence between us became almost unbearable. I shifted on my feet, my mind racing to come up with something to say, but nothing felt right.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, I led the way to my apartment. My keys jingled in my hand as I unlocked the door and pushed it open. I hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Maksim, who stood just outside the threshold.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable. "If you're sure."

I nodded, stepping aside to let him in. As he walked past me, the scent of his cologne—something rich and woodsy—filled my senses, making it hard to focus.

I shut the door behind him, suddenly hyperaware of how intimate the space felt with him in it. My apartment wasn't large, but it was cozy—warm lighting, shelves filled with books and plants, and a plush couch in the living room. It was my sanctuary, a sharp contrast to the opulence of the gala.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked, my voice a little too high-pitched.

"No," he replied, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me. "I'm fine."

I nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Okay."

Maksim took a step closer, his towering frame making the room feel smaller. At 6'6", he dwarfed my own 5'10" height in a way that was both intimidating and thrilling.

"You looked beautiful tonight," he said, his voice softer now.

I swallowed hard, my cheeks warming. "Thank you. You didn't look so bad yourself."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, and for a moment, the tension between us eased. But then his gaze darkened again, and the air grew heavy.

"Raven," he murmured, his accent curling around my name like a caress.

I didn't realize I had moved until I was standing directly in front of him, my head tilted back to meet his gaze. His eyes searched mine, as though looking for permission, and when I didn't pull away, he reached out, his hand brushing against my cheek.

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I leaned into it without thinking.

"This is dangerous," he said quietly, his thumb grazing my jawline.

"I know," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His other hand settled on my waist, pulling me closer. I could feel the tension in his body, the restraint it took for him to hold back.