by Lana Sky
“You don’t like it?” He frowns and copies me by eyeing the box. “I can return it—”
“No!” Shaking my head to banish the doubts, I lean forward, letting my lips settle over his. “Don’t return it. But I do have rules,” I confess as his lips part against mine, and his hand slides around to the back of my skull, dragging me close.
“Oh?” He chuckles, his eyebrow raised. “Do state your proposal clearly.”
I reach down to finger his tie. “I want you to be open with me,” I murmur, loosening the silken strip. “I want you to trust me. I want you to be kinky with me whenever I command.”
“Ah, very tough conditions.” He draws back and grasps my hips. I arch into him. Gosh, I hadn’t realized just how much I’d craved his touch. A night without him and already the withdrawal was unbearable.
“I want to comfort you when you’re hurting,” I whisper, my eyes closing. “Don’t shut me out. You are not repulsive to me. I… I want you—”
He silences me with a kiss so deep my head spins as I relax into his arms, letting my hands roam his body as my hips seek out the firmness straining the front of his slacks. He feels so good against me. I can’t get over it.
Drunk on his scent, I match his vigor and palm him through the fabric of his pants, drawing a beautiful groan from his throat. And yet, he captures my wrist, preventing me from freeing him.
“Ena will kill me if we soil his kitchen,” he grates, guiding me back toward the doorway. “I think it’s about time I came up to bed, anyway.”
“No.” At the base of the stairs, I slide my fingers beneath his jacket. “I need you now.”
He stiffens as I tug at his pants, only to watch me with dawning understanding as I drag them down his hips and free his cock from the confines of his briefs. He’s hard already, stiffening against my touch. His hands cinch my waist as he pivots, pressing me against the wall while I eagerly wrap my leg around him.
He enters me slowly, and I savor the way my body adjusts. Like I was made for him. Designed to conform around him—so expertly, he fits me like a key sliding into a specially crafted lock. My eyes flutter shut, but he strokes my chin, forcing me to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs while thrusting so darn deep. “I need you to look at me, beautiful. Stay with me.”
He’s pleading as his eyes scan mine for something—though I’m not sure what. Something that makes my head rear back, my eyes threatening to roll. Only for them to fly open in shock as he withdraws, leaving me aching and gaping.
It’s only after my gaze returns to his that he starts to move. Again. Harder. More.
“So good,” I tell him, sensing now more than ever that he needs to hear this. Know this. “You feel so good, baby. So good. So good.”
He grunts, snatching my hips toward him, altering his angle of attack.
I cry out, gasping iterations of his name as my nails sink into his hair. I know even as my body clamps down around him, trembling with release, that I’m far beyond the danger zone when it comes to him. I think I’ve been past the point of return for days now.
I burry my mouth into the crook of his shoulder, stroking his back as he slams into me, inching my body up the wall with every thrust. I never knew sex could be like this.
Raw.
Real.
Intoxicating.
We’re experiencing something more than just a sharing of bodies. Something primal that makes me cling to him long after my orgasm rips me apart.
So much for finding a billionaire to screw for the weekend. Vadim Gorgoshev has shattered those simple expectations. This moment cements that whatever we share is already far beyond that.
And far more than my sexual adventure is at stake.
I’m falling for him.
Hard.
And from this height, I don’t see any soft landing in sight.
He bathes me again, massaging my limbs while I lie prone on the shower bench at his mercy. The water has long since stopped running—triggered by an automatic shutoff from what I could tell. A warm haze of steam bathes everything in a soft, dreamy blur, misting our skin and fogging our glass surroundings.
We’re in our own private universe, one I never want to leave.
“Your body is a masterpiece,” Vadim says, his voice a low rasp. I shiver as he drags a rag across my lower back as if memorizing every divot and curve.
“Why, Mr. Gorgoshev!” I exclaim with mock alarm. “Is that a compliment? Dare I say praise?”
He smiles, and it’s breathtaking. I make a mental note to never allow him near his asshole of a brother again. No one is worth making him lose this smile.
“Or should I call you Dima?” I wonder, recalling the moniker Milton and his brother used.
I instantly regret the suggestion as his face falls flat.
“No,” he says, stroking up the curve of my spine. “I… I love the way you say my name.”
My grin is a mile wide, and I attempt to practice my sexy purr, “You mean like this? Vadim.”
He nods, his nostrils flaring. “Like that.”
I roll onto my back and observe him leisurely, drinking in every inch of his gorgeous frame.
“Will you pierce me now?” I wonder as he turns his attention to my torso. He skirts the cloth between my breasts, traveling down over my belly.
“Now?” He releases an appreciative sigh as his gaze lowers to my legs. “Perhaps,” he says. “You still want this?”
I grin wickedly. “More than ever.”
Something equally feral alights his gaze as he stands and pulls me into his arms. Cool air assaults us both when he finally opens the shower stall, and we forsake the warmth for a brisk return to the real world. On his way into the bedroom, he grabs a handful of towels and dries me off before letting me crawl onto the mattress.
I twist around, reaching for him. “Are you going to do naughty, sexy things to me before I’m pierced?” I wonder, my voice giddy.
“I—” A crisp, musical tone cuts him off. Confused, we both turn to the nightstand where his cell phone rests. It dawns on me that I’ve never heard it ring before. The novelty of the fact makes him frown, and I suspect it’s not by accident. Few people must have that number, their calls unavoidable. “I have to take this,” he says reluctantly, crossing over to the end table.
I lie back and watch as he casually answers, only for his posture to shift drastically in the space of a heartbeat. He hunches over, gripping the end of the table, his voice hoarse. “T-Tomorrow? No, I understand. Yes, I am still interested. Placement?”
He exhales raggedly, tearing his hand through his hair, and I rise up to my knees, concerned.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when he finally hangs up.
He averts his gaze, his expression drawn tight. His stupid wall comes up, up, up, and I feel like a madwoman desperately trying to tear it back down.
“No! Don’t!” I shuffle toward him and loop my arms around his neck, pressing my body to his. “Don’t shut me out. You don’t have to tell me everything, but just give me a hint. Don’t shut me out.”
“A hint?” He sounds so damn exhausted. I lean back, pulling him onto the bed, forcing him to lie beside me. He stares up at the ceiling while I straddle him, stroking his cheek. Finally, his eyes refocus on me, and hesitation transforms his features. He almost looks like a stranger again. Some new man with new secrets to uncover. “I will need my fake wife tomorrow,” he confesses.
Jealousy rises up so swiftly I can’t suppress it—until I remember. I don’t recall him actually hiring anyone to fulfill that role. In fact…the ring is still on my finger, so comfortable there I’d forgotten I’ve been wearing it all this time. Leaning down, I claim his mouth and drag my fingers down his front.
“Me,” I tell him sternly. “I’ll be your fake wife.” I simper, pleased with myself, but his frown deepens, his gaze still distant.
“There is something I need to tell you,” he says seriously. “But I don’t
think you’ll stay if I do.”
I shudder at the thought of what. A real wife that he needs a decoy in order to divorce from? Legal trouble, and he needs a wife as a character witness? My brain churns through the possibilities, but I can’t think of any dire enough to make him look so…
Torn.
I come to a decision too quickly to parse through the consequences. “Then don’t tell me,” I say, sealing the request with a kiss. “Not yet. I think I can handle anything—but murder, a secret army of bastard children, or my participation in a ponzi scheme—” I break off as he jolts upright, knocking me off of him.
Dazed, I roll onto my side and watch him. He’s cradling his face in both hands, his expression stricken.
“I said something wrong,” I whisper, reaching for him. “I’m sorry. What did I say—”
“Nothing.” He stands and marches into the bathroom, his shoulders hunched against me. “I… I’ll be back.”
I slump against the pillows, blinking as my eyes burn. I’m stung by the whiplash of his reaction, but more than that, I’m worried. For him. He’s flickering like a candle flame now more than ever. I don’t know which direction to swing in to match him. Playful? Serious? Sensual?
I still haven’t decided by the time he reappears in the doorway, his hair dripping, his face damp. I imagine him standing over the sink, splashing water onto his face until he regained his trademark composure. His dark eyes flicker to me, wholly unreadable.
“Stay,” he commands before entering the hallway, his footsteps resonating. Puzzled, I wait once again in anticipation of which way the flame of his mood will dance. Seconds later, his voice drifts back to me, “Come.”
I stand and follow after him on unsteady legs. He’s just down the hall, in the closed room directly adjacent to the bedroom. The space beyond is just as massive though sparsely furnished. Cardboard boxes are stacked in one corner, each one large and sufficiently mysterious. In the center of the room is a leather chaise with a sheet draped over it. Nearby is a metal folding table upon which is an array of neat, surgical-looking supplies set on top of another white cloth.
Standing with enviable grace, Vadim tugs on a pair of gloves with his back to me.
“Are you ready to accept this?” he wonders, his tone sin.
I quiver, my heart racing with excitement. “Ready to accept what?” I ask innocently as I continue to close the distance between us.
So maybe he wasn’t lying about being a trained professional. His setup looks sterile and organized with clinical precision.
“Impressive,” I murmur, stroking his shoulder. He cocks his head back, a quick, tempered smile playing over his lips.
Whatever upset him before is apparently forgotten.
“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the chaise. “I need to examine you.”
A thrill runs through me as I practically hop onto the surface and lie back while lifting my nightgown up to my hips. He turns to survey me, his gaze narrowed with focus. Shyly, I spread my legs, giggling as he sucks in a breath. Yet overall, he maintains his steely, doctorly presence.
“Have you ever been pierced before, Ms. Connors?” he wonders while unfolding a medical drape that he places over my abdomen.
“Just my ears,” I reply.
A low sound resonates in his chest as he urges my legs apart and instructs me to bend my knees. “Merde,” he grates, an unprofessional term. Not that I care. The expression on his face… It’s enough to make me bite my lip and consider putting this off long enough to seduce him. His eyes are wide, his lips parted and deliciously pink. I inhale as they move, his voice a low hum, “You are so beautiful.”
I’m drunk off his baritone, dizzy already. Having him peer between my legs is surprisingly more comfortable than I feel it should be. More intimate. He eyes me appreciatively but in a way that doesn’t make me feel like a piece of meat. What was that word he used?
Masterpiece.
I shudder as he guides me further into the correct position. Then he changes his gloves to a fresh pair and swipes a cool liquid over my mound, fighting to regain his professional composure.
“You will feel some pain,” he warns as he turns back to his selection of tools. He lifts something delicately with a pair of tweezers and holds it up for my inspection. “Is this fitting enough to meet your expectations?”
“Oh, Vadim,” I breathe as I take in the delicately curved piece of metal—the female equivalent to his barbell piercing. “It’s beautiful.”
I watch eagerly as he manipulates his tools and captures the tiny hood of flesh above my clitoris. But as I hold my breath in anticipation, his doctorly persona slips.
“Tell me you want this,” he commands in a gruffer baritone, meeting my gaze. This. That dangerous word contains so many unspoken entities, each one hinted at by the ferocity making his eyes seem to glow.
And I don’t hesitate. “I want this.”
Wordlessly, he guides a needle through a corresponding tool and then sets the piercing in place. The needle drives in easily, but despite any numbing he may have used, the pressure is uncomfortable as hell. I grit my teeth, hissing at the sensation. Thankfully, the discomfort quickly fades into awed admiration as I watch the piercing mark my flesh. A statement of independence if there ever was one. A slight bit of pressure exists but isn’t unbearable, and as Vadim guides me to my feet, I don’t feel too much discomfort.
“No tight clothing for the first week, at least,” he warns, as any professional would. “To err on the side of caution, no rigorous sex for the same timeframe either. Four to eight weeks at most is the typical healing timeframe.”
I pout. “But what shall I tell all of the many horny billionaires wrapped around my finger?”
He frowns as if seriously mulling it over. “Tell them that you are taken,” he suggests, pulling me into his arms. “That you are owned.”
“Owned?” I play with the word on my tongue. It surprisingly doesn’t sound anywhere near as degrading as it should. More than that. Powerful. Owned the way the moon owns the strength of the ocean’s tides—both drawn to each other in an inescapable, magnetic pull. “There is one billionaire in particular who demands satisfaction,” I tell him, standing on tiptoe so I can whisper into his ear. “I don’t think he’ll want to wait a whole week to enjoy me.”
“Oh?” his tone lowers to that dangerous, devious baritone.
I nod, sliding my tongue along my lower lip. “Oh, yes. I suppose I’ll just have to find other ways to pleasure him in the meantime. Starting with…” I blurt out an array of x-rated suggestions, and he laughs, throwing his head back, his eyes gleaming.
“It’s a good thing I took the liberty of special-ordering a few apparatuses specifically for that occasion.” He gestures to the boxes in the corner, and my eyes go wide.
“A kinky room, just for me? Why Vadim, I didn’t know if you had the imagination in you.”
“And then some,” he warns, his upper lip quirked. “You’d be surprised what a quick Google search and an hour’s long consultation with one of the world’s most renowned sexual experts can accomplish...”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It isn’t until midnight that he turns distant again. I catch him brooding through half-closed eyes, and I doubt he’s even aware that I’m watching him. His brows are drawn together, his expression stricken. Two slim fingers massage his temples to no avail. With every passing second, his frown deepens, enhancing the uniqueness of his face that lends to sadness so well. To torment.
I start to reach for him, but he turns away, lying with his back to me. And I know that whatever is bothering him has everything to do with our newfound relationship. Regret?
But why?
I’m too terrified to seek out an answer now. Not freshly pierced and drunk off lust. I drift off instead, and it’s morning when I finally startle awake.
“I need you dressed.”
I look over to find Vadim exiting the closet, already wearing a suit. Over his arm
is an array of brightly colored fabric that must be an outfit for me.
“Please,” he urges, spreading out a tweed coral skirt and ruby blouse onto the end of the mattress.
“What’s going on?” I blink my eyes to adjust to the harsh daylight as I sit upright. My piercing aches, but not in an overly painful way. More like a giddy reminder of the hedonistic pledge I made to both him and myself—owned. My brain melts at the memory, and I almost miss what he says next.
“My…meeting.” He cuts his gaze to the door and tugs at his tie. “They are almost here.”
He’s nervous, I realize. It’s such a contrast to his usual icy cool that it takes me longer to process it.
“Okay.” I bound into the bathroom and wash up quickly. Then I change into the clothing he specified, puzzled by the overall effect—modest, yet fashionable. The perfect perky wife to his cold businessman. When I stand beside him, I envision the picture we make.
And I freaking love it.
A posh businessman and his classy, yet sexy wife. My heart aches as I realize just how much I enjoy the thought of it. Being his, displayed on his arm. Belonging to someone who seems eager to show me off rather than make me wilt in his shadow.
I smooth my hand down his shoulder, startled when he pulls away.
“I need to tell you—” He breaks off, his body angled away from me so that I can’t see his face. Puzzled, I reach for him again.
“What’s wrong?”
He cocks his head and moves swiftly toward the hall. “They’re here.”
They? I follow him warily, lingering in his wake. Downstairs, a stern-faced Ena stands guard near the foyer. The two men share a glance, conveying a silent understanding. As Vadim nods in approval, Ena opens the door, revealing the woman I recognize from his lunch “meeting” the other day. Today her outfit is an olive green two-piece suit ensemble with a modest-fitting jacket and skirt.
“Good morning,” she says with a tight smile, stepping inside. “I’m so glad you could accommodate us at such short notice. We are glad. Aren’t we, Magdalene?”
Vadim descends the final few steps and crosses to her, his voice deeper and more tense than ever. “Of course…” He trails off as a smaller figure appears beside the woman.
