by Lana Sky
I’m instantly on guard.
I sniff the air and find myself scanning him for any hint of lipstick or perfume—any trace of another woman. Because I’m an insane, irrational cow who has no right to be jealous. When I finally notice the object balanced on his palm, I wrinkle my nose in suspicion.
“What is that?”
A box, it seems. Light blue, wrapped with a white ribbon that makes it suspiciously resemble a present.
His grin widens. Then he notices something on the glass dining table and crosses to it, setting the small box aside. “Good. I’ve been waiting for this to arrive.”
So his henchman’s visit wasn’t all about food, I realize. Ena must have left the small brown wooden box for him. “I met your little friend,” I tell him dryly. “I don’t think he likes me much.”
“Ena?” He raises an eyebrow, too intent on inspecting the box to pay me much attention. “He doesn’t like anyone. It’s why I’ve kept him on for so long. He senses who a person truly is at their core and compromises himself for no one. There isn’t a more honest man in the world.”
I swallow hard, recalling his insinuation that I’m nothing more than a toy. “How long has he worked for you?”
“Over a decade,” Vadim says offhandedly. “But I’ve known him longer. Ena is gruff, but I’ll make sure he avoids you. Don’t worry about him. What you should concern yourself with is this…” He beckons me closer, and I warily comply, coming to stand by his side.
Aware of me watching, he takes his time opening the box, revealing an interior lined with black silk, containing a single, silver object nestled in a specially shaped cavity. It’s oval-shaped, about the size of my thumb, and crafted from delicate material.
“What is it?” I ask, unnerved by the bold way he strokes the edge of the container. “I will admit that I was much more impressed by the delivery of a lifetime’s worth of Chanel.”
Undeterred by my ungratefulness, he reaches into the box and withdraws something else. “This came with it,” he explains, revealing a larger, square-shaped object of the same material. The only thing of interest it seems to contain is a silver button built into the center. He presses the button.
A low hum comes from the box as the small object begins to vibrate. Suddenly it clicks, and my thoughts dissipate.
“You ordered this for me?” The mixture of both awe and terror in my voice shocks me almost as much as it seems to please him. His teeth flash, his eyes practically glowing.
“You wanted kink?” he questions, his tone gravelly in a way that makes me shiver. “Let us see if you truly have what it takes. I will admit that I originally didn’t have much interest in the subject, but I have started to conduct my own research.”
I rock on my heels, my brain spinning, thoughts in disarray. I don’t know what shocks me more? The fact that kink was supposedly never on his radar before I goaded him into spanking me, or the fact that…
He’s been learning. For me.
“And what have you discovered?” I wonder, batting my eyelashes at him innocently.
That telltale muscle in his jaw twitches, and he lifts the silver vibrator from its box.
“I’ve learned that control is a defining factor of these…relationships. As is trust. I want to test just how much control you can exert over yourself in the quest for fulfillment. And how much you can trust me to always give you what you need.”
No man has ever lived up to the term “panty melting” so thoroughly. The inside of my legs chafe as I take an involuntary step toward him. I don’t think I’ve stopped aching since the office. Boldly, I slip my hand around his neck and sidle up to him, pressing myself against his rigid frame. I’m not the only one aroused. Despite our little oral session, he’s straining against my hip. I grind against him slavishly, watching as his eyes glaze over, his tongue tracing his lips.
“You want to sexually torment me?” Again, I sound equally alarmed and excited. I can’t keep a tendril of curiosity from my tone either. One little silver dildo has never seemed so intimidating.
“No.” He shifts, capturing my chin to force me to face him. “I want to explore your limits. Once I learn them, I can better exploit them.”
I suck in a breath. “You aim to manipulate me?”
He chuckles and lowers his mouth to my ear. “I aim to pleasure you. More than any other. Do you accept that proposal?”
“So what?” I finger the still vibrating object balanced on his palm and shudder. Even picturing it inside me is…dangerous. “We play with it?”
“No.” He steps into me, his stance suddenly clinical, like a doctor about to perform a procedure. “You keep this inside you—” He lowers his hand to my hip, pressing enough for me to feel the vibrations through his skin. Holy heck. I grip his forearms for balance, my brain melting. “Until I give you permission to remove it.”
I rear back to meet his gaze, my mouth opened in horror. “On?”
“Not constantly.” I sense him inhale as he brushes his mouth along my throat, tasting my scent. “However, I will have the remote on me at all times, to be utilized at my discretion. You will be surprised by the range. My main request is that you refrain from touching yourself. At all. Only I may have that privilege. Understood?” His fingers slip beneath my skirt, trailing up my thigh, and I nearly buck into his hand just to find relief.
“So wet,” he murmurs in approval. “But this game will not commence tonight. This will be merely the preliminary round.”
I frown. “Not even one little orgasm for me?” I arch into him, pressing my breasts against his chest. My hips seem to move of their own accord, grinding, teasing.
With difficulty, he pulls back, leaving only his hand against me. “No,” he says thickly. “Do you trust that I will make it good when you finally do experience release?”
Do I trust him? All it takes is the memory of his tongue on me to come up with an answer. “Yes…”
“Good. The other stipulation is that you cannot remove this. I will know if you do.”
He guides me back and taking the hint, I lean against the table, spreading my legs. Observing him crouch before me, his head disappearing beneath my skirt is an experience all in itself. Orgasming without touching myself only a few days ago would have seemed like a pipe dream. Now? I arch my back, gasping in anticipation.
My clit is already swollen, demanding attention as the smooth surface of the toy grazes my lips.
Vadim makes a low sound in his throat. “So beautiful you are,” he praises. “So eager already. Can you wait for me to savor you?”
I nod, feeling like a child undertaking a chore in the hopes of a treat. And even his slow, careful insertion of the device is a sensual delicacy almost enough to make up for the lack of his fingers. It’s so light, I barely feel it, but the vibrations when felt internally…
I grit my teeth, my eyelids fluttering, and my muscles jerk, making me squirm. I’m vaguely aware of him rising to his feet before me, watching my reaction.
Finally, the sensation abates, and I can breathe again.
“Holy…crap…” I’m panting, my body slick with sweat. A wicked grin shapes my mouth even as I contemplate the daunting prospect of enduring this at his discretion for only God knows how long.
“Too unbearable?” Vadim wonders, sounding irritatingly level.
I shake my head. But I can’t resist asking, “If I’m a good girl, will you fuck me fast?”
His smile. It’s so sinful, so wicked. My toes curl even as my thighs twitch, too aware of the pressure building between them to risk coming together.
“I will fuck you,” he promises, copying my filthy language. “All in good time.”
I pout, rolling my eyes. “So, what will we do until then?”
“Dinner,” he says, smoothly, clearing the table. I note that he tucks the smaller, baby blue box he’d teased me with earlier into his pocket. “It dawned on me as I drove back that I haven’t fed you since lunch.”
A lunch that we
never actually enjoyed, thanks to me.
And I’d been too caught up in the whirlwind day to notice. With a pang of guilt, I recall what Ena said about making him eat. The fact that he seems to take effort on his part to remember normal meal timeframes proves just how little he must eat normally.
“Are you going to cook for me?” I ask as he steps behind the counter and opens the fridge.
“No.” He opens a drawer that I assume is the freezer and withdraws a slim, rectangular metal container. The space seems to be full of at least six other similar boxes. After closing the drawer, he places the container on the counter and lifts the lid, revealing a neatly proportioned meal of baked chicken, vegetables, and rice.
“Equestrian. Chef. Damn good in the sack. Is there anything you can’t do?” I wonder, partly impressed, partly irritated.
He laughs and places the container in the oven. “I share your thoughts on cooking. You should be complimenting Ena. He continues to make these things for me, though I rarely eat them before they spoil.”
“So far, my competition for your heart seems to be against a fake wife, your bodyguard, and a beautiful horse. Can’t a girl catch a break?” I’d been speaking without thinking. It’s only when I see his jaw clench that I realize how stupidly reckless I was.
Mr. Vadim, the guarded, mistrustful businessman, doesn’t seem to want a relationship with me either. Great.
In silence, he opens a cupboard and withdraws two glasses and a familiar bottle of wine. As the food warms, he returns to the table and pours two glasses.
I take a seat across from him and promptly drain over half of my glass in one go. The moment the buzz creeps to my brain, I forget all about my discomfort.
“Why aren’t you married?” I ask him, folding my arms before me. “For real?”
He looks away and slips his hand into his pocket. Zap! I nearly lunge from my seat as waves of pleasure rip through my core in a relentless, pulsating rhythm. I lose track of everything, trying not to scream as it goes on and on… When it finally relents, I slump against the table, breathless, my chest heaving, nipples erect to the point of pain.
And the bastard is standing before the oven, removing the steaming container. “Food’s done,” he says. “I hope you have an appetite.”
I gape as he divides the food between two plates and places one before me. Smiling, he sits on the opposite end of the table and casually slices off a piece of chicken.
“Don’t let the food go cold,” he scolds.
I eat warily, constantly on edge. My mother once tried fence training her Pomeranian with a shock collar, and in this moment, I feel for the poor thing. Only more wine can soothe my nerves.
“Dinner with your brother is in two days,” I point out, sounding breathless. “What happens after that?”
He shrugs and chews on a bit of vegetables. “I have many talents, but I’m afraid that seeing into the future isn’t one of them.”
My upper lip quirks even as real irritation sears through my nerves. Bastard. “It looks like you’re learning to have a sense of humor, at least.”
He smiles, one of those rare, authentic grins. Again, I can’t shake the sense that whatever happened today changed him. Shook something loose in him that leaves him sitting languidly, clearing his plate for the first time since I’ve been with him. Maybe it was going to the stables? I let him show me something special to him.
And now I only want more. Another sip of wine firmly shoves me from borderline tipsy into drunk territory, giving me the courage to probe him despite the risk of sexual torture.
“If I wanted to stay after the dinner, what would you bribe me with?”
I’m boasting, of course. There’s no way I’m actually considering it. Not even as his eyes cut up to mine, darkly suspicious.
“What would you want?”
“Hmm…” I mull it over, making him wait. “Tell me what merde means,” I say, picking a harmless target first.
Those dark eyes fixate on me mercilessly. “It could be translated as ‘shit,’” he finally admits, taking another bite of his food—seconds. “An expression of frustration, you might say.”
And one he seems to love spilling around me. I puff up, oddly pleased to have pushed him to such a breaking point. Cursing doesn’t seem like his go-to vice. I’ve made him utilize it.
“What about ta gueule?” I ask, no doubt butchering the phrase he’d hissed at me while in the club.
“It means ‘shut up.’ Is that all you want?” he prods before I can retort, his tone mocking. “Translations?”
“No.” I meet his gaze and lick my lips. “You buy me a horse as magnificent as Zzazza so that we can have an honest race between us to settle who the better rider is, once and for all. I have a feeling you’ll be the one to ‘ta gueule.’”
He laughs, his eyes sparkling. “If such a creature existed, I would have no trouble procuring him for you.”
“When did you get her?” I ask, presumably another easy topic.
But I’m wrong.
His face falls, his wall erected in a heartbeat. “When I was lost,” he says softly. “On the verge of death. She…she brought me back to life.”
“Oh.” I want to ask him more. I bounce in my seat, weighing the risk. Screw it. I start to, “Tell me—”
“We should head to bed.” He stands and grabs our plates and—sadly—wine glasses and places them in the sink.
“I’ll help.” I grudgingly rise and cross over to assist.
Bzzzz. I howl and grasp the counter, my legs turning to jelly as searing pleasure builds, fed by incredible friction. No matter how tightly I clamp my legs, it builds. Builds. It’s almost too much, going on for too long. Pleasure turns sharp, honed to a painful, aching need, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching into my panties just to find some relief.
Finally, it stops, and I’m on my knees, shaking against the side of the counter.
“I’ll meet you in bed,” Vadim says, strolling for the staircase at a leisurely pace. “Ten minutes should be enough time for you to prepare, correct?”
Prepare? “But where am I going to sleep—”
A teasing jolt has me yelping though it only lasts a second. A warning, I suspect. Its intention is clear—I’m sleeping with him. In his bed. Again.
When I’m able to walk without staggering, I practically run up the stairs and into the bedroom. My cheeks heat as I pass him stripping beside the bed, and I enter the closet, grabbing a more conservative bit of lingerie—a black negligée. Then I race into the bathroom, wash up—dragging a cloth gingerly between my legs—and I finally approach the bed with minutes to spare of my deadline.
Yawning for his benefit, I wrench back the covers and climb onto the mattress beside him as if I’m not intimidated by the idea at all.
Sleeping beside him without the aid of a lusty stupor to explain it.
Sighing, he copies me, but he doesn’t remain on his end for long. Shock runs through me as his hand lands over my hip, wrenching me against him. Effortlessly, he folds over me from behind, preventing any hope of shimmying away during the night. It’s the most dangerous concept of spooning one could ever envision.
“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs against my scalp. “Try your very best to get some sleep.”
And I go alight with the threat.
Chapter Eighteen
Vadim Gorgoshev is a sadist.
I barely drift off before I’m jolting awake, gasping in agony. Those vibrations return with a vengeance, ten times more intense, given how sensitive I already am. What felt like a nine on the pleasure scale before is cranked up to twenty.
I’m gasping to smother any moans, writhing beneath the sheets. Nearby, a sturdier body lies innocently motionless, even as a moan finally succeeds in escaping my throat. Moisture coats my inner thighs, spiking the air. Despite my neighbor’s rigid stance, I sense him inhale—even in my addled state.
And it somehow adds to the building inferno like gasoline.
Cautiously, I fall asleep.
Only to be startled awake again.
Over.
Over.
Over again.
I lose track of how many times it happens through the night. Enough that I’m barely coherent when dawn light displaces the shadows, and Vadim moves from his spot, looking infuriatingly refreshed.
“Sleep well?” he inquires before strolling toward the bathroom.
I can’t even answer. I’m too busy contemplating how much shame I’d feel if I admitted defeat right in this moment and rubbed myself off. I never knew that arousal could be this painful. This…intense. My clit is my brain’s sole focus, demanding relief. Anything.
“I have work at the office,” Vadim says, returning fully dressed. His crisp ebony suit bolsters the reality that it’s already late in the morning. I’m losing track of time, my brain is so scrambled. “I don’t know how late I’ll be,” he adds, drawing my attention back to him.
I suck in a breath as he leans down and plants a kiss on my sweaty forehead.
“I will see you later tonight.”
My heart lurches. “T-Tonight?”
He leaves the room without a reply, but I don’t trust my legs to attempt to follow. I shimmy to the edge of the mattress instead and tentatively brace my foot on the floor. Buzz! Another torrent of vibration makes me curl into a ball, and I scream for real. Fuck him. God, I want to. I need to. I can’t…
Think.
Desperate for some kind of distraction, I stumble into the bathroom and try to shower.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
It’s too much, and I wind up trembling naked on the cool marble floor, seeking out what little comfort I can find. My body is a slave to my libido, heightened to an insane degree. Something about the toy’s design must make it so the pleasure provided is incredible—but never quite enough stimulation for an orgasm. The result is some hellish sexual purgatory.
