His mouth was on Dianna's neck before she could protest, hands already working the buttons of her riding jacket. She let him push it off her shoulders, let it fall.
"Practice isn't over," she said.
"I know." He backed her toward the wall. "So be quiet."
She pulled him down by his collar and kissed him hard. His hands slid under her shirt, thumbs tracing her ribs, and she arched into the touch.
They'd done this enough times that the fumbling was gone. Maxim knew exactly where to touch, how much pressure, when to go slow and when to push. He kissed down her throat while his hands mapped familiar territory—waist, hips, the curve where her thigh met her ass.
"Someone's going to walk in," she said.
"Then they'll get a show."
She would've rolled her eyes if he hadn't chosen that exact moment to slide his hand between her thighs. Her breath hitched.
"Already?" He sounded pleased.
"Shut up."
His laugh was quiet against her ear. Then he wasn't laughing anymore.
"Turn around," he said.
She did. Let him guide her forward over the trunk, palms pressing flat against cool leather. Her heart was already racing.
Maxim's hands pushed her skirt up slowly, deliberately. His fingers hooked into her tights and dragged them down. The air hit her skin and she shivered.
"Cold?" His voice was low, amused.
"No."
His hand slid up the inside of her thigh,
his fingers found exactly where she wanted them. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Already wet," Maxim murmured, sounding extremely satisfied with himself. "Did thinking about this all through practice get you worked up?"
"You're talking too much."
"Am I?"
His fingers moved in slow circles and Dianna's grip tightened on the trunk. She could hear voices outside still—someone calling out about form, hoofbeats on the path. Anyone could walk in.
The risk made everything thrilling .
Maxim leaned over her, his chest against her back, mouth at her ear. "Tell me what you want."
"You know what I want."
"Say it anyway."
She turned her head enough to look at him over her shoulder. His eyes were dark, pupils blown. "Stop teasing."
"That's not what I asked."
Dianna bit back a curse. He was going to drag this out, make her say it, make her beg if she let him.
She didn't let him.
Instead she reached back, grabbed his belt, and pulled him flush against her. "Fuck me, Maxim. Now."
His breath hitched. "There it is."
Then he was pushing inside her and Dianna's fingers curled against the leather, nails catching on the worn surface.
Maxim's hand found her hip, gripping tight while the other braced beside hers on the trunk. He didn't move right away—just stayed there, letting her adjust, letting the tension build.
"Maxim," she breathed.
"I've got you."
He pulled back slowly, then thrust forward. The trunk creaked under their weight. Dianna's breath came out sharp and stuttered.
They found their rhythm quickly Maxim's grip on her hip would leave marks. She'd have to cover them before going home.
She didn't care.
Outside, someone laughed. Footsteps passed close to the door. Dianna's pulse spiked, adrenaline mixing with everything else, making it all more intense.
Maxim's hand slid from her hip to her stomach, pulling her upright against his chest. The angle changed and she gasped.
His other hand came up, fingers wrapping loosely around her throat just . "Let me hear you."
"Someone will—"
"I don't care."
His hips rolled forward and whatever she was going to say dissolved. Her head fell back against his shoulder, eyes closing. She could feel him everywhere
"Dianna." Her name came out rough and urgent. "Look at me."
She turned her head.
His movements became more urgent, less controlled. Dianna's breathing went ragged. The pressure building low in her stomach intensified with each thrust.
She was close. So close. Her hand reached back, fingers threading through Maxim's hair and gripping hard.
"That's my girl," he breathed. "Come on. Give it to me."
His fingers found her clit and that was it, a broken sound escaping her throat before she could stop it. Maxim's hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the rest
He followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, his grip on her almost painful as he came.
Maxim pulled away carefully. Dianna turned around, legs unsteady, and leaned back against the trunk for support.
He looked at her—hair a mess, lips swollen, shirt wrinkled—and something soft crossed his face.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." But he was still looking at her like that. Like she was something precious.
It made her chest ache.
She bent down to retrieve her tights, her jacket. Started making herself presentable again.
"Dinner tomorrow," Maxim said, voice quieter now. "Let me tell them about us."
Dianna paused, tights halfway up her legs. "We've talked about this."
"And I still don't agree." He stepped closer, caught her chin, made her look at him. "I don't want the company. You know that. I don't care about any of it."
"I do care." She pulled away gently, finished fixing her clothes. "We are step siblings Maxim , this isn't just about us"
"So we just keep hiding."
"For now, yes."
"For how long?"
"I don't know yet." Dianna grabbed her jacket off the floor. "Just... trust me. Please."
Maxim's jaw tightened. But he nodded.
His phone started buzzing then. Once. Twice. Multiple times.
He ignored it at first, but it kept going.
"Check it," Dianna said, smoothing down her skirt.
Maxim pulled out his phone with a curse. Frowned at the screen. His expression shifted, something dark crossing his face.
"What is it?"
He turned the phone toward her.
It was a Shaky camera work, of A girl—naked, crying and she was being shoved backward into what looked like a storage closet.
"Emma posted it in the general group chat," Maxim said, voice tight. "Twenty minutes ago."
Dianna glanced at the thumbnail, looked away. "Okay?"
"That's Katherine Hart. First year scholarship student." He was already moving toward the door. "She's still locked in there."
"So someone will let her out."
"No one is. Everyone's just watching and commenting." Maxim grabbed the door handle. "I'm going to find her."
"Maxim—"
But he was already gone.
Dianna stood alone in the tack room, listening to his footsteps fade. She looked down at her phone , it had three missed calls from Serena, several texts.
She fixed her hair as best she could, made sure nothing looked too disheveled, then waited the appropriate five minutes before leaving.
The stable yard was quieter now—practice winding down, most students already heading back to change before dinner. Dianna walked across the gravel path with her head high, nodding at a few classmates she passed.
Nobody looked at her twice.
She was almost to the main entrance when a black car pulled up. The back window rolled down.
Serena leaned out. "Finally. I've been calling you for twenty minutes."
"I was at practice."
"Practice ended half an hour ago." Serena pushed the door open. "Get in. We need to go shopping."
Dianna slid into the leather seat. The door closed with a soft click.
"Shopping for what?"
"Damien's party tomorrow." Serena knocked on the divider between them and the driver. "Geneva. The boutique district."
The car pulled smoothly away from the curb.
Serena leaned back against the seat, looking tired. Actually tired, which was rare for her.
"Long day?" Dianna asked.