by Lana Sky
And at the back of my mind, I’m praising Vadim as a horrible sexual genius asshole—I got my wish. Debouched kink times a thousand.
My nipples are rock-hard, my hair matted with sweat, my thoughts sluggish. My only remaining goal is to not get myself off. Even if it means I cry in torment, feeling real tears stream down my face as the toy buzzes. On. Off. Again.
The bastard wasn’t lying about the range of his remote. It’s like I can time each bout, using what I witnessed of his schedule yesterday as a guide. He’s read his newspapers. Remembered me. Struck his button. Drank his orange juice and ate his breakfast. Button. Drove to the office. Button. Went through reports. Button.
Button.
Button.
I know I can’t survive another fucking minute when the sensation has me wavering between lucidity and utter insanity. If I somehow manage to reach a phone and call him, would he come? But I won’t. Fuck him and his game. This torture. In defiance, I crawl back to the bed and climb onto the mattress, guiding my hand down my belly. But something won’t let me bridge that final inch.
And as if sensing my flirtation with rebellion, Vadim hits his fucking button.
I’m senseless, screaming. Cursing. I don’t even hear the thud of quickly approaching footsteps until their source is standing over me, his voice a gentle hum.
“Merde… Are you aching for me?”
It’s like my brain is torn in half. The first part can only register his scent. His nearness. I unfurl my limbs and nearly jump from the bed onto him. He’s wearing a black suit, and I clumsily rip at the fabric of his pants.
The other half registers the genuine awe in his voice—mingled with that ever-present suspicion. The latter lasts only as long as it takes me to claw at the fastenings of his pants.
“My beauty.” His voice alone enhances my torment, in addition to the reverent way he strokes my damp hair and tries to meet my gaze. It’s too much. Too much intimacy in this moment. He’s having another revelation, but I’m too far gone to wonder about what.
To care.
“P-Please.” I can barely speak, my voice high-pitched and broken. “Vadim, please—”
“Lie back.” He brushes my hands away and quickly unfastens his pants himself. My entire body rocks at the sight of his cock. Pulsing, completely erect, so thick, I can’t imagine how he’s not as mindless as I am. Though maybe he is… A muscle in his jaw twitches, his eyelids lowering as I spread my legs.
“Incredible,” he grates—real, unforced praise. With his gaze fixated between my thighs, he mounts the bed and slides his hand between my legs. I nearly levitate as his fingers enter me, focused on a task other than providing pleasure. There must be some trick to removing the toy, requiring a gentle, teasing bit of manipulation. Then, he yanks, ripping the device free, and I howl with relief. The next second I’m splayed beneath him, and he’s finally easing inside me.
My eyes roll back into my head as I convulse amid a sensation too intense to name at first. Electric. Punishing pleasure. One orgasm quickly blends into another. Another. Another. All I can do is cling to him and ride every dizzying wave, sobbing his name until I lose my voice altogether.
I never knew it was possible to crave someone so much. To feel so much hedonistic gratification, it becomes unbearable. Agonizing.
It’s only when he rears back and slides his hands beneath me that I realize he hasn’t moved since that first thrust. His eyes meet mine, his lips parting, voice relentless.
“You waited for me, didn’t you?” Again, he sounds thoroughly shaken. As if he’s come to some massive, world-altering conclusion. Something that I think should terrify me. All I can do is rasp his name in confirmation.
I waited.
And he pulsates, his jaw clenched. “You knew that only I could ever give you this.” His eyes darken as he grips my hips and snatches me to him.
I moan, my back arching, toes curling. How is it possible to be filled so completely? The sensation floods up through my body, straining my very skin. I’m bursting at the seams, so weak that I’m helpless when he rocks his hips and thrusts again.
Again.
He moves hungrily, grunting, his eyes fluttering shut as he goes deep. Deeper. Fathomlessly deep.
It’s more than I can take. All coherent thoughts vanish beneath a wave of ecstasy so potent that I know with a horrifying certainty that no one else could ever give me this. It’s the insanity brought on by the toy talking. Inspiring this crazed understanding that no one else will ever feel this good. I would never let anyone else reduce me to this.
I praise him wordlessly, driven by an instinct I can’t name to stave off the next release I feel building. Not until I sense him stiffen, his cock pulsating inside of me, his voice a throaty rasp.
“You will come with me,” he commands as if reading my mind, connected to me in every way. “Come for me, beauty.”
And I do so screaming.
His release floods me like an antidote to a pain I didn’t even realize had been festering inside me. I surrender to him, letting him fuck out the rest of his release until we both collapse in a boneless mass. His arms encircle me, dragging me against his chest so that my head rests against his shoulder as I gasp to catch my breath.
It’s a slow, surreal descent from cloud nine. I can’t stop shaking as my body registers normal sensations again. The coolness of the room. The heat of him. The fact that the sunlight streaming in through the windows betrays that it’s either late in the morning or early in the afternoon.
So much for him returning tonight. A cocky smile quirks my lips—I wasn’t the only one in agony, it seems.
“Are you alright?” Real concern edges his tone as he strokes my arm, sensing every quaking twitch of my muscles. He sounds so hesitating, truly worried for me.
With what little strength I can muster, I tilt my head back to meet his worried gaze. Once he sees my expression, his lips part into a dazzling grin.
Panting, I tell him, “Best…idea…ever.”
Chapter Nineteen
We sleep for what feels like an eternity but turns out to only be a few hours before hunger drives me awake. I roll over to face him only to find him already watching me through hooded eyes.
“I love the way you sleep,” he declares, his voice a shallow rasp.
My aching pussy throbs, and I groan, so sensitive that even his voice seems liable to set me off.
“I love the way you come for me,” he adds mercilessly, teasing his fingers through my hair. “I love the way you sound. And…I love that you trusted me to pleasure you.”
I sigh, my lips stuck in what seems like a permanent, if tired, grin. “You are affectionate when you’re sprung,” I tease him, my voice hoarse. Gently, I stroke his chest, marveling at the softness of his skin. “I love the toy you had made for me. I love the game we played—”
“Enough to do it again?” he wonders, an eyebrow raised.
An ominous shiver runs through me as I decide upon my answer. Yes. I would. Turning into him, I brush my lips along his collar, tasting him. “I want to play many games with you.”
“Your wish is my command.” His smug tone warns me that the vibrator wasn’t his only custom-made item in the works. Does that scare me?
“You are excited,” Vadim suspects, stroking my chin. “Does my kink please you?”
I roll onto my back and languidly stretch out my sore, aching limbs. “I love your kink. But I really need to shower, and I’m starving.” I crawl toward the end of the mattress, but he stands before I even make it halfway.
“No.” Stern steps bring him to my side. Before I know it. I’m in his arms, cradled to his chest. “You are to be pampered,” he says while carrying me into the bathroom.
My grin grows wider. “Is that what you learned from your research?”
His wicked smirk warms me more than the temperature he sets the shower to before setting me onto a marble bench built into the wall of the stall.
“My research has t
aught me many things,” he explains as he returns to my side, laden with bottles of luxurious looking bath soap and fresh washcloths. “That you are to be pampered and rested in between our games, for one—” He lathers up a cloth with the sweetest smelling soap I’ve ever smelled and washes my legs, starting at each ankle. “And that I am to never push you too far. And that ensuring your pleasure should be my main desire. Never to hurt you.”
I swipe my fingers through his wet hair, loving the feel of it. Like silk.
“It seems I’m in good hands,” I say, spreading my legs so that he can continue his ministrations unabated.
The man takes his time, bathing every inch of me until I feel so boneless, I doubt I could walk on my own. Not that I’m given the choice to. He dries us off with a towel and then carries me back into the room. With a secretive smile, he sets me on the freshly made mattress before he wanders into the closet. A few minutes later, he returns dressed in a pair of sweatpants and with one of my less revealing nightgowns—an ivory one made of silk—slung over his arm.
The man even dresses me, resisting any attempt I make to help.
“I will bring you food,” he explains as he pads to the door, leaving me splayed on the bed.
“More food of Ena’s?” I playfully taunt.
He chuckles rather than answer.
And I go to war within myself. This is going too far. Too fast. An intimate bath and breakfast in bed take this liaison far beyond a one-night stand. The fact that we’re well beyond one night makes that clear as well. I should be doing whatever it takes to cement the boundary between us, and when I hear his steps approach, I’m ready to remind him of the unescapable facts—this won’t last. It certainly isn’t real. I need to return to California.
But then he rounds the corner, strolling through the doorway, and I forget my train of thought.
“From your stunned silence, I can assume this meal is to your liking?” he wonders innocently while advancing sporting a silver tray piled high with sweets and delicacies on one hand while holding a bottle of wine in the other.
The good wine.
Too stunned to argue, I scoot over to make room, and it isn’t long before I’m eating right from his hands. I groan with utter content as I sample a chocolate-covered strawberry.
“I love when you pamper me,” I declare as my eyes glaze over.
He chuckles, and his fingers dance over the tray of desserts in search of another treat. “I’m beginning to suspect that chocolate is your weakness every bit as much as wine is.”
I nod, relaxing into him. He sits with his back to the headboard while I lie in between his legs, leaning against his chest. Spoiled, tipsy, and with my brain still mush from earlier, I’m in no state to filter myself.
“What made you come after me?” I ask, thinking back to that night at the club. My teeth descend into my lower lip as I picture it. The very first time I pushed him past his boundaries with marvelous results. “I thought I wasn’t your type?”
“You aren’t.” He’s frowning even as he says it. Before I can fully tense, he lowers his mouth to my ear, his breaths thick and hesitant. “Maybe that’s a good thing… Or bad,” he adds, “considering my finances.”
A self-satisfied grin tugs on the corner of my mouth. “Tell me.”
He sighs as if thinking it over. Then he picks a small, bite-sized piece of cake from his tray and brings it to my mouth. As I chew, he says, “You challenged me.” His tone deepens, making it sound so novel to him. A foreign concept. “I’ve offended women before. Some left. Others threaten to ruin me, or extort me for money...” His eyes take on a cold gleam, betraying that sadistic hint of his personality. I pity the poor woman that ever thought she could take advantage of him. Something tells me, he more than ensured they regretted that decision. He relished in it. But then he cocks his head, his mouth tilted downward. “None have ever threatened to compare my sexual prowess to that of a sex club’s full roster before,” he admits, brushing his finger along my exposed shoulder.
I shrug to hide my blushing cheeks. “Could you see yourself wanting a real relationship with a woman you don’t have to bribe?”
Beneath me, his chest rumbles with a thoughtful hum. “Could you see yourself in a relationship so soon after your divorce?”
I squirm, unnerved by how easily he saw to my main source of hesitation.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “In theory, I want to say no, but in practice? I suppose there could be someone out there worth exploring something deeper with, no matter the time frame.”
And yet, I’m frowning. The thought is surprisingly unnerving, far too serious for my drunken brain to contemplate, so I crane my neck back and open my mouth.
Taking the hint, he places an exquisite looking piece of chocolate onto my tongue. I groan, sufficiently distracted, all thoughts of losing my newfound independence forgotten.
“Do you ever see yourself getting married again?” Vadim asks, unwilling to let the subject drop.
Damn. I take my time swallowing and then shrug. “I don’t know—”
“What about children?” His voice shifts, taking on a deeper, more cautious tone. Something about his reaction triggers a part of my brain, but I’m not sure why. Maybe recognition? It’s the same wistful, guttural way he spoke about his horse, betraying a deeper emotion I can’t comprehend just yet.
Which leads to a more important question—does he want children?
“No. I… I don’t want children,” I confess. If I did want to pursue a relationship with anyone, it’s best to get that out of the way. “I don’t.”
He stiffens, and my cheeks catch fire. It’s the same reaction I’ve grown used to, and one of the main reasons why I’ve avoided my parents, in addition to loathing their guilt.
Your biological clock is ticking, Tiffy, they gently remind at every opportunity. You don’t want to be alone forever. You would make a wonderful mother.
“It’s not like I hate children,” I add in a rush. “I love them. So, so much. I always wanted to be a mother too, but when I was with Jim…” I close my eyes, combating an unexpected prickling sensation—that of tears threatening to form. “He was kind of a Nazi when it came to setting the timeline of when he thought we were ‘ready.’ In short, never. He’d spin the tired old excuses about having enough money or time, but the truth was he never wanted a baby. Not with me, anyway. But as these things usually happen, I got pregnant unexpectedly.” I suck in a breath as the pain rises up swiftly, striking like a punch to the chest.
“You don’t have to say anymore,” Vadim warns, still cradling me in his arms. Maybe it’s his warmth that makes me brave enough to keep talking?
“I was so happy,” I croak. “Everyone says that, but I can’t explain… I truly was so ecstatic. My relationship with Jim was a bust, but with this new baby? I would be the perfect mother. I would do anything...”
“What happened?” Vadim prompts, his voice soft. I look down, surprised to find that he grabbed my hand without my realizing it. His thumb strokes my palm, and I find that it’s easier to continue now—when I’ve never spoken about this to anyone. Not my one-time therapist. Not my parents. Not even Jim.
“I have some pre-existing medical issues, so I knew it was a risk from the start. I prayed for a healthy pregnancy, anyway,” I add thickly. “I promised that I would be perfect, just as long as everything went well. Jim wasn’t happy, but for the first time, I didn’t give a damn what he thought. I was happy. I was confident I could do it alone if I had to, and that was enough. But…” I sigh, and tears fall, impossible to keep at bay. “I woke up one morning, barely four weeks in, and I knew something was wrong. I went to the hospital, they told me there was no heartbeat, and… I can’t explain what that felt like. I can’t. I don’t think anyone can ever understand unless you sit there watching some stupid machine refuse to pick up what you know in your heart should be there. It’s devastating. It is world-altering. But at the back of my mind, I always knew that it was pro
bably a blessing. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready.”
Case and point? Jim got the privilege of becoming a parent before I ever could—a “fuck you” from the universe if there ever was one.
Vadim’s silent, but I suspect he’s thinking again, mulling over the best way to phrase his next question. “You’ve never considered adoption?”
I shake my head. “I had a friend—well, a member of the church—who adopted through foster care, and it was a magical experience. That is until the drug-addicted mother attended a few classes and decided she wanted her baby back. All it took was one overzealous judge to mandate visitation, and the adoption was undone. I can’t go through that pain. I can’t…”
“I’m sorry.”
Something in my heart rips open, and I can’t stop the vicious onslaught of tears. His judgment I could handle. Maybe a scoff, or an eye roll, or a gentle reminder that loss happens and I should get over it or some bullshit like what my therapist—who lasted a week—tried to shove down my throat. His understanding is a balm on an infected, blistering wound, and it burns like disinfectant.
“What about you?” I croak, wiping at my eyes. “Are children in your future?”
He goes rigid again, and I shiver as his fingers trace a path up to my wrist. “Too personal? I’m sorry—”
“I was abused as a child.” He says it so tonelessly that it takes my brain a second to process it. When I do, horror washes over me so heavy I can’t suppress it. I gasp. A million of his little nuances flash through my mind, cementing his claim. His piercing. His mistrust. His initial approach to sex.
And I suddenly feel like the biggest bitch in the world for pushing him. Taunting him. Dragging him from his comfort zone without a damn given to anyone but myself.
“Oh, baby…” I reach for him, lacing my fingers with his free hand.
“I won’t go into the details,” he adds, his tone eerily level. Robotic almost. “But whatever form or manner you can envision happened, most likely did.”
I twist around and stroke his jaw, my eyes brimming with even more tears. He looks so cool again, so distant. But this time, his wall is down, and I can sense the monstrous effort on his part that must take. To let me in. To allow me to feel the tension rippling through him.
