by Lana Sky
“A lie, of course,” he admits, his breath hot against my ear. “Or so I thought at the time.”
“And now?” I crane my head back, my chest tightening at how tormented he can seem in one brief moment—and then hard the next.
“I may be warming up to the idea that you have a very warped sense of attraction.”
Ass. I hiss in annoyance, but I find myself leaning into him, bracing my back against his chest, allowing his mouth the nuzzle the crook of my shoulder.
“Is that why you want to pierce me?” I wonder, almost fearing what he might say in response. “To mutilate me—”
“Never.” A growl rips from his throat, vibrating with indignation. One of his hands lands over my thigh, radiating a power that makes me feel deliciously small. At his mercy. “On you? Such adornment could only be beautiful.”
He treats that word so reverently, laving it with his tongue, making me wish he would say it over and over again. Or not. His cock is pulsing against my ass, spurring an answering wetness to coat my inner thighs. Cameras or not, I can’t resist rocking against his hardness, teasing a groan from him.
“Do I have your answer?” he grates through clenched teeth.
I only need to think for a second before I’m nodding. “Yes. You can pierce me. I… I want you to pierce me. But when?”
He grips my hips and gently lifts me from his lap, chuckling in a low, lethal tone. “I will pick a time most agreeable to me. I don’t think I’ll tell you, though. Not until I’m good and ready.”
“Ass!” I manage to stand on trembling legs, and he rises as well, smoothing his hands over my hips to help right my balance.
“Yes,” he murmurs while sliding his palm down to the back of my thigh. “Ass. You have a lovely one, I must say.”
My face heats, my thoughts threatening to boil once more. “Is that a compliment, Mr. Vadim?”
He doesn’t answer. His hand reluctantly leaves my ass only to capture my wrist, steering me after him down the hall and back into the office. He heads past the desk, opening a door that leads to an executive bathroom, complete with its own marble fixtures and walk-in shower.
“Impressive,” I mutter as he guides me back against a row of counters placed before a pristine mirror. He spins me to face him, and I suck in a breath at what I find when I meet his gaze.
Fire.
The brooding businessman has dropped his wall again. Heat sears through my belly, enhancing the moisture already trapped by the fabric of my lace panties. I arch my back, clamping my knees together.
A twitch in his jaw reveals that he’s well aware of my actions.
“I do believe there is some policy on the books that cautions against the CEO or whatever you are trapping innocent young ladies within bathrooms—”
His lips settle over mine firmly—and yet hesitant. As if he’s testing out what a kiss might feel like in this context. If I had an ounce of self-control, I’d remain still and let him explore in peace. But I don’t.
My fingers sink through his hair, pulling him into me as I adjust my hips, teasing the front of his pants until he’s panting, his eyes unfocused. He reaches out, snatching my wrist, and guides my fingers to his still open fly. I don’t think he even realizes what he’s doing.
I cup him fully and sink to my knees, relishing how he groans, his hands settling over my scalp.
“I would like to make an addendum to our previous arrangement regarding the piercing,” I hum, letting my breath wash over him. His piercing jumps, his body rigid.
“Anything,” he rasps in that beautiful, enticing way.
I extend my tongue, tapping his thickening crown. “I want to know everything about you,” I confess, lapping at a bead of fluid that weeps from him. My core clenches, my breaths thinning. Despite my faked confidence, I’m rapidly in danger of a total factory shutdown where my brain is concerned. For some reason, this matters, though. Saying this out loud, knowing he can hear me. “Everything. The good stuff. The bad stuff—” I capture the topmost silver bead between my thumb and flick it gently. He rocks on his heels, hissing something I don’t understand. French? “I want to know about your past. What you do for fun. Everything.” I take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the pulsing head of him.
A grunt revs in his throat as his nails tease my scalp. Could the icy businessman be losing control? Gosh, I hope so.
I bob my head and suck harder to encourage him. His piercing feels electric every time my tongue strikes it, his vibrating moans intoxicating. I’d always been intrigued by fellatio, but I never knew giving it could feel so…
Empowering.
I have him in the palm of my hands—literally. His balls swell, his body quaking, and his grip becomes insistent.
“Not…in your mouth,” he grates.
But I can’t resist. Like a child with a treat, I devour him with vigor. Deepthroating him isn’t in the realm of possibility now, but I take him as far as I can, giving him a taste of what it could be like. What we could be like.
Fire. Sizzling, crackling, pulsating energy.
My throat is already contracting the second the first taste of him floods my mouth, and this time I drink him all the way down.
Panting, he slumps against the counter, comfortably crushing me between it and his muscular thighs. Pleased with myself, I rear back to watch his face as he stares down on me, his eyes wide. He’s having another world-altering revelation, I suspect. Still breathing heavily, he reaches down and strokes my bottom lip, chasing a stray bit of moisture.
“Insolent witch,” he rasps hoarsely. “I didn’t want to risk… Should I punish you for disobeying?”
I nod, a part of me way too eager to take him up on that threat.
But he stands upright with an urgency that displaces some of the lust. He adjusts his pants and helps me to my feet. With a wet paper towel, he cleans me up, and we escape the bathroom together, then the office entirely.
Minutes later, we’re back in the car. He drives with one hand while the other finds mine, capturing it. I marvel at the sight of our combined fingers, my heart racing.
“More work?” I wonder, as he lazily merges into traffic.
He shakes his head. “I’m done for the day. I’m thinking of heading home.” His eyes flicker toward mine, and for once, I know exactly what he’s thinking. Dirty man.
I can’t deny the idea of crawling onto him the second we enter his house is very tempting. I’m still on edge, and at the back of my mind, I realize that I never actually came in the bathroom. I didn’t even notice. Somehow, watching him had been more than enough to satisfy me in the moment. And now, I crave something…more.
A taste of him more intimate than even his literal taste.
“I want you to take me somewhere,” I tell him, flipping our clasped hands so that I stroke the veined back of his. “Somewhere special to you. I wasn’t kidding before.”
And maybe that should scare me. The more I learn of Vadim Gorgoshev, the more I forget my internal promise. This is all just fun and games. Nothing serious. I’m not falling for him after barely a week.
I’m not.
“You really want to know?” he wonders, his voice suddenly cold, devoid of heat. I stiffen, alarmed, and sit straighter in my seat. “Then I’m afraid there is something I haven’t told you about. Someone.”
I choke down a panicked swallow. Someone? A real wife he has hidden in a storage shed somewhere?
“Who?”
He sighs, and casually manipulates the steering wheel, leaving the main street altogether. “The love of my life,” he says simply. “It’s time you’ve met her.”
Chapter Seventeen
I want to vomit until he parks before a building on the outskirts of the city—presumably the home of his supposed true love. As soon as we exit the car and I inhale a familiar, musky scent, some of my panic eases, replaced by grim amusement.
“Don’t tell me your true love lives in a barn?” I ask as he leads me into a wide
, spacious stable overlooking a vast expanse of green pasture.
“Oh yes,” he says with a stern nod. “This is her kingdom, and here is the queen...”
I gasp as he leads me to a stall where the most beautiful white mare I’ve ever seen immediately sticks her head over the low door. She whinnies in greeting, her eyes gleaming at the sight of Vadim. True love in its purest form.
A love that seems wholly reciprocated.
“And here she is,” he gushes, stroking her ivory mane. “My Zzazza. My sweet.” He brushes his lips along her cheek. “The only girl to ever claim my heart.”
“Should I be jealous?” I wonder as I creep forward and offer my hand for her to sniff. Money must not really be an option for him. She’s gorgeous, and her “kingdom” appears to be a massive stable housing only her and two other horses, each within their own spacious stall.
“Who is this?” I ask, spotting a darker, chestnut face eyeing me from another stall.
“Donali,” he explains, reluctantly leaving Zzazza. “And that handsome gelding is Markesh. All beautiful. All who own a piece of my soul.”
“You own this entire stable?” I ask incredulously.
A sly smile shapes his mouth, and his eyes gleam in a way I’ve never seen, resonating warmth. “I rent it out to a few students who give Donali and Markesh all the love they could ever need. But my girl Zzazza? She is all mine.” He returns to the mare, rubbing her affectionately. “But I have sorely neglected her. For that, I apologize, my sweet.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen her in a year?” I move to stand by his side, watching as he showers the horse with murmured praises and generous petting.
Something that could be guilt darkens his gaze as he withdraws from her with a sigh. “Ena has been keeping you company in my absence, hmm?” She knickers as if in agreement. “I told the old bastard to take you out at least once a day.”
“She must be a dream to ride,” I say.
A small smile shapes his mouth. “That she is. It’s been far too long since we’ve taken a nice long one, hasn’t it?”
Something about how he tailors his voice for the horse alone makes my chest feel tight. Awe? Maybe more jealousy too.
“We could now?” I suggest, only to realize that a dress worth several thousand grand and a tailored suit probably aren’t the best items of clothing to wear horseback riding.
Vadim scoffs. “Most women would be horrified at the prospect of smelling like an animal and risk breaking a sweat.” His eyes glitter playfully, and I puff myself up, placing my hands on my hips.
Challenge accepted.
“Is that so? My mother bred thoroughbreds for fun when she wasn’t playing the socialite housewife. You should be worried if your riding skills will even impress me. If I had suitable clothing, I’d have you take me out in a heartbeat. We could always ride naked,” I add, savoring the faint color that paints his cheeks even as his expression remains stubbornly neutral. “But that might offend your workers’ sensibilities.”
“Luckily for you, I keep a spare set of jodhpurs here,” he says, leaning in close, his breath hot on my neck. “And I am more than willing to display my skills for your judgment.”
I crane my neck back and meet his gaze with a lazy smile. “You’re on.”
He is an amazing rider. Balanced in front of him, I can sense every slight shift in his posture as he guides the horse beneath us down a winding path through a vast range of fields. He and Zzazza move so beautifully in sync it’s as if they’re reading each other’s minds.
And maybe I’m more than a little jealous now.
I had wanted him to tell me more about himself, but I’m starting to realize that this way is so much better. Seeing it for myself. Feeling the air whip through my hair as a powerful, massive creature moves beneath me primarily of its own will. It’s an illusion of control built mostly on trust, and I think I understand a fraction of his obvious passion for it. And once again, my impression of him is turned on its head.
We return to the stables far too soon and change into our regular clothing. Night is just starting to darken the horizon by the time we approach the house.
“You head in,” Vadim says as he pulls into the garage. “I have some things to attend to. I’ll be back soon.”
His hand lingers over mine as I reluctantly leave the car, holding me until the last possible second.
“Where are you going?” I ask, suspicious.
He laughs. Such a sinful sound. “I think you enjoy it more when you can’t anticipate my actions,” he says smugly. “I’ll be back soon.”
He drives off, and I watch him go with a frown. The man is starting to know me too damn well. Enough for me to admit that he’s right—I enjoy the thrill of his mystery now more than ever.
Sighing, I enter the house, relieved to find the door unlocked. I can’t help but pout as I wander the spacious interior all alone. I could have begged him to take me, but even I can take a hint. He wanted to be alone.
Probably to head to some hotel bar and troll for another fake wife.
Knock it off, Tiffy, warns my inner bitch. You’re getting too involved with him. If anyone should be leaving, it’s you.
I should. I even linger near the staircase, toying with the idea of running upstairs, packing a few things, and then escaping into the dead of night with only a note left for him on a pillow or something equally as dramatic.
Instead, I keep moving, heading for the kitchen in a frantic search for wine. I round the bar counter and promptly scream as my eyes fall over a figure rummaging through the fridge.
He’s bulky, dressed in a scarred black leather jacket and jeans. A blunt mop of dark hair frames an angular, round face set with almond-shaped brown eyes. The man’s tan skin enhances their color to a piercing degree as he inclines his head to observe me. Unimpressed, he returns his attention to the fridge.
Assuming a thief would show more discretion in front of a potential witness, I try to think of another explanation for his appearance. Then I remember. “Are you Ena?” I ask as the man turns, closing the fridge door with his hip. In his arms is an array of more fresh fruit that he arranges onto the counter. My heart stutters as he snatches a knife from a nearby drawer and promptly halves an apple.
“You,” he says, his voice gruff and heavily accented with a dialect I can’t place. “Mr. Vadim eat—” He points to the fruit before lifting an orange and cutting it into slices. “Yes?”
“Y-Yes,” I croak, warily inching toward a stool. “You want us to eat—”
“No. No.” He faces me fully, his eyes narrowed. “You make him eat—” Again, he points to the food. “Or his brain goes.” He adjusts his thumb and forefinger into a terrifying imitation of a gun. Then he presses the tip of it to his temple and mimes pulling the trigger. “You make him eat. Yes?”
“Yes,” I insist, my voice rasping.
“Good.” He marches to a nearby cupboard, surprisingly light on his feet despite his girth, which isn’t entirely composed of muscle. His build reminds me of a Sumo wrestler, and I realize why Vadim might use him as a bodyguard.
He opens a cupboard and withdraws a wooden bowl. As he neatly arranges the fruit inside it, I contemplate how rude it might seem if I escape upstairs. Not out of fear—mainly to hide. There’s a tension in his body that unsettles me in a way I can’t explain. I doubt he’d hurt me, but I get the sense that I am sorely not welcome here.
And not just in this house, but Vadim’s orbit in general.
“You go to brother dinner?” Ena grunts the second I start to shimmy in the direction of the hall.
“Um…yes,” I stammer. “With um, I think his name is Maxim and—”
“He should not go.” He slams his knife onto the counter and storms to the sink to wash his hands. “Brother makes Mr. Vadim go crazy,” he adds once he shuts off the water. “He goes for you.”
I blink. “I’m sorry?”
Hissing in disgust, Ena whirls to face me, and there’s
no mistaking the raw anger lashing toward me like a whip. “You are toy in brothers’ game—” He jabs a finger in my direction. At the back of my mind, I register that he only has three remaining on his right hand. “You go. He stays. So go.” He points in the direction of the front door.
I’m too stunned to say anything. By the time I regain control over my mouth, Ena is already stomping through the kitchen, heading toward the exit himself. “You bad for Mr. Vadim,” he says coldly. “You go. He better.”
A second later, the front door slams behind him.
Overwhelmed, I reclaim my stool and bury my face in my hands. Maybe the disgruntled bodyguard is right? Playing this game with Vadim—no matter how fun it might be in the interim—is only going to end badly. His idea of a relationship seems to extend about as far as his credit card limit and as for me…
I’m not looking for anything serious. Because doing so would be a total betrayal to my new, improved independence freshly reclaimed after years stuck in my marriage with Jim. After nearly a decade, what do I have to show for it? A trail of broken dreams, wasted potential, and no survival skills to speak of, other than living off a mixture of my trust fund and alimony.
Jumping into another relationship—real or otherwise—could only be deemed as unhealthy at best. Pathetic at worst.
It’s not like I’m falling for him, the beautiful, sexy, billionaire of unknown wealth who delivers the best sex I’ve had to date. That would be recklessly irresponsible. So it’s a good thing I’m not thinking about him right now, wondering what the hell he’s getting up to without me.
I’m not.
To distract myself, I mentally catalog all my potential outfit pairings utilizing my new wardrobe. I don’t even notice that someone is behind me until it’s too late. They touch my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” a voice like sin drips into my ear. The owner’s trademark smugness proves that yes, startling me was exactly his intention.
My eyes narrowing, I whip my head around, startled by his charming grin. That ride did wonders for him. His eyes gleam, and his posture seems relaxed for once. Even his smile looks more natural and less like a mask anchoring his wall.
