Jacksonville

Graduation day

“You can’t be late, Lucía,” Máxim rasped in my ear as his body worked mine. “How did you talk me into this?”

“It’s your own fault for looking so hot in that suit,” I told him, my nails digging into his shoulders. “When your woman needs it, she needs it. We’ll be quick.”

I was getting it on with a Russian sex god. In a closet on campus. In my graduation robe. Because I could.

Life was sweet.

“Am I hurting you?” He was asking me that after what we’d done last night?

Though I was totally healed up, he still asked. My scar wasn’t even that bad. But as Máxim had said, “I can see how close I came to losing you.” Sometimes, he would shudder and kiss it. Well, no more than once a day. He’d also said the mark was much “daintier” than his own “rugged” bullet-wound scar.

His was on the right side of his chest; mine was on my left. Whenever Máxim and I kissed, so did our scars.

Because we were intertwined. In sync. Lock and key. Our bodies, our lives.

“Hurting, Máxim? I’m in agony here.” I rubbed my face against his, purring Spanish in his ear—that I needed him, I needed every inch of his gorgeous body, and every inch of his magnificent cock—which made his hips surge, because the devil understood it all.

In Russian, he told me he wanted to fuck me forever, that my body was his heaven and my skin tasted like sun—which made me rock my hips on him in a frenzy. Because I now knew more than four words of his language.

He had to muffle my screams with his palm, and his own yells against my neck.

Forehead to forehead, we caught our breath.

“You like me when I graduate, Ruso?”

A sound of satisfaction rumbled from his chest. “Woman, I love you when you graduate.”

We made each other presentable, then hurried to the auditorium, hand in hand. Beside the stage, he gave me a lingering kiss. The man could not possibly look prouder of me. “Behave up there, moyo solnyshko.”

Behave? Just for that, I mussed his hair before I ran to take my place in line.

The dean was moments away from handing me my holy grail! All it’d taken was half a decade, a near-death experience, and teaming up with a Russian mobster.

Natalie, Aleks, and Jess were waiting for Máxim in the audience, saving him a front-row seat. They all laughed at his disheveled appearance.

I’d begged the three of them not to come, but they wouldn’t be dissuaded. Because I was family.

Jess had been on her best behavior, because she wanted to coordinate hot mamí’s wedding, the one everyone knew would eventually happen. Organizing two billionaire weddings would pretty much set her up in the coordinator biz.

After this, we were all flying to Russia to see Natalie and Aleks’s estate and vacation at Máxim’s own—which he insisted was half mine. Which meant every horse was half mine!

I was also going to see Dmitri. I was nervous about that, but optimistic since he’d wanted to meet. Máxim remained committed to reuniting his brothers, and thought Dmitri visiting with someone who was a big fan of Aleks and Natalie could only help.

Also going to Russia? Scrappy Miami mutts. Máxim and I had kind of gotten three discerning dogs. At the pound, I hadn’t been able to pick between a trio of badass brutes. He’d frowned. “Why choose, solnyshko?” He bribed them as shamelessly as he spoiled me.

I hoped the pack didn’t trash the jet (as they had the Bentley and Vasili’s shoes!).

After our visit to the motherland, I planned for Máxim to take me to Paris—so I could experience the infamous Le Libertin club. I’d become an ardent and aggressive fan of my Russian’s kinks. Late last night, I’d still been primed after our earlier marathon session. I’d woken him by trailing the end of a rope along his torso. “You like me when you tie me up?”

He’d groaned, “I love the fuck out of you, woman, but I think I’ve created a monster.”

Sigh. I loved the fuck out of him too. He was the man I was always supposed to be with. Muchas gracias, Botox.

Ivanna would’ve been here for my ceremony, but she was overseeing the reroofing of my old apartment building. Máxim had given me the property for our second month anniversary. I’d asked Ivanna—a seriously savvy businesswoman—to manage it.

Yes, Máxim had set her family up financially, but she’d needed something to do. As she’d told me, “There’s only so many times I can take my mother and sister to Disney World. The song ‘It’s a Small World’ gives me hives.”

Shadwell had lined his pockets so heavily, the apartments had turned a profit from month one.

I’d finally learned how the man had discovered my hidden “safe.” The perv had secretly filmed me and other female residents.

But the strangest thing had happened—Shadwell had . . . disappeared. Never to be seen again! I’d asked Vasili if he knew anything about this. The man had said, “Al-ee-gahtor accident?”

Now the name of the game for that apartment complex was repairs. We planned to turn it into the neighborhood’s oasis. Already people’s lives were so much better.

In the meantime, Máxim and I eyed our next acquisition. We’d been working together every day, plotting to take over Miami. As we read reports and evaluated holdings, the dogs lazed at our feet.

He and I took plenty of time off for cafecitos, and each night we jogged and cooked. On weekends, we’d go boating, exploring islands and keys. Often he would use persuasion to make me shop. Well, when the vendors just showed up, I guessed I could.