Corrupt

by Lana Sky

  And I nearly run into Vadim. But he’s…different. It’s as if the pleading man from downstairs transformed into a stranger in an instant. A disinterested stranger. His eyes skim over me with barely any notice as he promptly enters a nearby room.

  And I nearly trip as my head whips around, tracking him. What the hell?

  The room is the same one he pierced me in, I see as I follow him, driven by sadistic curiosity. What could distract him from his groveling?

  Redecorating, it seems. The leather chaise is now against one of the walls, the medical instruments vanished. One of those heavy boxes lies open in the center of the room while Vadim rummages through it, apparently assembling something. It’s large and black made of wood. A table?

  Square-shaped and about waist-high, it contains a divot with a soft cushion covered in red fabric and two silver fixtures on either side. A detail so unusual, I find myself inching forward just to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks.

  Nope. The closer I come, the easier it is to identify those objects, positioned upright, made of silver rings—manacles.

  And something inside me is brutally savaged by a wave of jealousy so fierce I sway.

  “Preparing for your new fake wife?” I ask nastily, grasping for any form of retaliation.

  He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he peers at a white booklet that I assume must be instructions. Then he adjusts something at the end of the odd platform with a silver wrench. He’s changed, stripping his suit for the white dress shirt and slacks. The look, paired with his current task, makes something inside me quiver, my throat dampening. Damn. He makes a buttoned-up Mr. Handyman look sexy.

  But I’m not fooled.

  To prove as much, I stomp loudly downstairs and steal one of Ena’s meals from the freezer. I eat while scowling and contemplate taking one of his fancy sports cars and attempting once more to send the poor man into bankruptcy.

  Instead, I find myself bounding right back upstairs and towing the boundary of that mysterious room. He’s still here, assembling yet another unknown wooden structure. Sweat glistens on his brow, and he’s left the first few buttons of his shirt undone, exposing the scar along his throat. He looks so intent on his task, he doesn’t seem to notice me until I strut boldly to the platform.

  Up close, I start to get an inkling of what it might be, and my heart skips a beat. The red cushion is the ideal size and width to comfort a woman’s torso if, say she happened to be leaning across it—and those manacles are in the perfect position to capture her wrists and keep her immobile.

  Like some sexy, taboo pillory.

  My heart sinks, poisoned by yet even more jealousy. I swear, my vision goes green. I can’t help myself. Like any scorned creature, I attempt to go right for his jugular.

  “Nice to see that your research into kink won’t end with me,” I say coldly, placing my hand down within his line of sight. I can’t stop myself from fingering the curve of one of the manacles as burning hot envy unfurls in my chest. So much for his supposed ignorance when it comes to kink. He seems to be well prepared to welcome his next conquest and indulge her fully. “I hope your new fake wife is a prude—”

  He snatches my wrist before I can truly process the action. With an easy display of strength, he flattens my palm against the platform. Clink. The manacle encircles my wrist and stunned, I tug, surprised when it doesn’t budge.

  “What the hell?”

  He grabs my other wrist and secures it within the other manacle just as quickly. Then he backs away from the platform entirely, escaping my limited view. Panic sends my heartbeat racing as I crane my neck, desperate to track his movements.

  “What the hell are you doing? Vadim!” My voice rings out, trembling with a hint of uncertainty. “Vadim!”

  Within seconds, he reappears directly across from me, dragging a black stool behind him. Calmly, he sits, placing his hands on either knee. Our gazes meet, and a tendril of unease races down my spine. I’m suddenly aware of my new piercing, grazing my clit, enhancing the burning sting I’ve barely grown accustomed to. But it’s anything but painful. Stubbornly, I strive to ignore the sensation in favor of baring my teeth at him.

  “Get me out of this!”

  He cocks his head to the side and leans back on his stool. I sense that he’s waiting for something—like a dog trainer waiting for the naughty mutt to remember one command or the other.

  “You fucking bastard!” I strain at my binds, hissing in exasperation. “Let. Me. Go!”

  Something unreadable flashes through his dark eyes, and I stiffen, falling silent. A subtle softening of his jaw is my reward, and I watch, riveted as he lifts one of his hands and lowers it to his fly.

  With envious dexterity, he has it open in seconds, palming his cock. Holy crap. He moves slowly in firm, deliberate strokes that have him hardening in a shocking display that leaves me gasping.

  “W-What are you doing?” I try to sound angry, but awe laces my tone instead. Shit. Shit. Shit. I want to seethe, and rage, and scream.

  But he is impressive even from this angle. His piercing stands erect, swallowed by the swelling flesh until the rounded ends of the barbell are all that remain visible.

  Well aware of my drifting attention, his eyes ruthlessly seek mine out as he manipulates his straining cock. Stroke after stroke leaves him pulsating, but his expression remains unchanged. Unreadable. Cold. Undeniably sexy…

  No. “S-Stop!” I shake my head and struggle against my binds, making the metal clang. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He does stop, his hand stilling, his gaze unmoving. For seconds. Longer. Unbearably long. I squirm, my lips parting for another demand.

  The second they do, he starts to stroke himself again, rendering me silent. As my lips close, he strokes faster. Again. Soon, his entire body is rocking with the motion, his cock straining in his grasp. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the sight. Any words die in my throat as his hand moves even faster. Surer. The longer he pleasures himself, the more I lose my train of thought.

  Men like him don’t exhibit themselves lightly. It’s an intentional display, I suspect. Meant for me alone. To tease me. Shatter me. Chastise…

  And it’s cruel, unusual punishment. I’m senseless, lost in the whirlpool of conflicting emotions. Shame. Rage. Need. Musings of anger quickly turn to imagining how he would taste, let alone feel if I tried to take him from this angle. As if reading my mind, he stands, letting his pants fall down to his ankles, baring himself completely. Slowly, he advances, his hand still moving, muscles straining beneath his skin.

  I don’t even realize that my mouth is already open until he cups my chin, tilting it so that I’m forced to look up at him. His thumb traces my lower lip as he bucks his hips. And I don’t hesitate.

  A groan rips through me as his taste explodes over my tongue, and I eagerly lap at the crown. My eyes roll, and I forget all about hating him. Fellating him on the bed was one thing. But this…

  It’s so different.

  The angle forces him deeper, and I have to tilt my throat to better accept his length. Bound and immobile, all I can do is take whatever he’s willing to give. Just the tip at first. Then the full crown. More. More.

  More.

  I gasp in exasperation as he pulls away, but then our eyes meet. As if in warning, he caresses my cheek before guiding himself in, in, in.

  My eyelids flutter as I struggle to handle this much. He’s throbbing against my tongue, so thick I can barely close my lips around him.

  And it’s utter perfection.

  I hum in contentment as he rocks his hips, feeding me more, precious bit by precious bit. My wrists strain against the manacles as pressure builds between my legs, seeming to center right over my piercing. I start to whimper as he cradles my cheek while easing more into my mouth, barely teasing the back of my throat.

  Then he withdraws again, leaving me gasping.

  Before I can even protest, his fingers work to part my hair as he encircles
my position. His other hand finds my waist and toys with the waistband of my thong. I shiver. The slightest pressure teases the piercing and sets off a tidal wave of friction, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Unprepared, I writhe, torn between clamping my knees against the heat or opening myself up to him further.

  “How did I know this method would reach you when words don’t?” He sounds so damn smug. I hiss, only to trail off as he teases me again with another gentle swipe. Another and I moan in hapless surrender.

  “You wore this to tease…” His voice is a guttural shadow of his usual neutral cadence. Still calm, but nowhere near as disarming. Lust lurks in the vicious tone, heightening the heat building in my blood. “Didn’t you?”

  I shake my head, gritting my teeth against a reply as I struggle to remember my anger. “Go to hell—”

  I gasp as his finger slips between my legs, teasing the moisture gathered there. “It’s working,” he grates. “Consider this me teased to the point of madness…”

  A part of me stiffens, aware of my healing piercing—but the pain doesn’t hurt, and I’m reckless enough to writhe, just enough to test my limits. More pressure sets me ablaze.

  And it’s too tempting to heed common sense warning me to stop.

  I wantonly rock my hips, seeking out the contact. In response, he teases me with the tip of one elegant finger, and my brain explodes. I buck against him, seeking out more.

  I’m denied. The finger withdraws only to tug my thong down my hips entirely. Cool air tickles the heated flesh, and I shiver as his touch finds my ass, kneading the right cheek.

  “So beautiful.” He practically groans the praise, his voice thickening. “So wet. Beg me for mercy, and perhaps I’ll grant it.”

  Even as his groping fingers churn my brain into butter, I manage to cock my head back and laugh. “Beg? …Screw…you!”

  His hand withdraws only to strike again in a stinging burst of pain—he spanked me. My tongue moistens my lips as my thoughts go on hiatus. His palm is already stroking the pain away, but just as I relax, he smacks me again. And again.

  “I will redden this flesh,” he promises darkly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? My beauty, so damn stubborn. I warned you that only you have ever driven me to this. Chastisement.” Another smack makes me lurch against my binds, a whine trapped in my throat. “Do you require more?”

  Yes. “N-No,” I attempt to hiss. “Get off—”

  Unbearable friction teases my mound—thick, pulsating pressure rubbing against me, carelessly close to my piercing. I go rigid, my thoughts self-destructing. The resulting pleasure is almost too good. Too dangerous. My brain can’t handle it. It wipes itself blank, a slave to the whims of his movements. His sadistic game.

  Groaning, he parts my lower lips around his shaft, sliding through my wetness only to pull back. Again. Back. Again.

  It’s maddening.

  My lips seem to move of their own accord, spitting out pleas my brain never approves of.

  “Please,” I whisper, arching into him as much as I can. What I’m begging for? I don’t know. Just that I need more of…this. His touch. His appreciative grunts as I eagerly buck into his fingertips. More of him.

  “You want me inside you?” he wonders, his tone a rasp.

  I can only nod, too far gone for shame. “Yes—”

  “You know I can’t.” He rocks against me anyway, and my eyes roll it feels so good. But he never goes deeper than the slightest, taunting bit of pressure. Out of concern? My piercing is on fire, but in a way that only enhances the pleasure shooting through me in an electric pulse.

  “Please—”

  “You want relief?” His tone softens even as his grip on my hair tightens sharply, tugging. The act forces my head back, wrenching my gaze to the ceiling. “Do you want to come, beautiful?”

  I nod mindlessly, wiggling my hips for more.

  “Please…”

  His cock disappears, leaving me so aching I cry out. Another pressure eagerly replaces his full length—smaller and more persistent. His thumb? He eases the tip inside me before going deeper.

  And my binds are the only things keeping me from levitating. Piercing. Pleasure. Those two words dance through the remains of my lust-addled brain. Holy goodness, I never knew that even fingering could feel this good. The slightest penetration enhances the pressure swelling over my clit—one teasing thrust and combustion.

  My orgasm rips through me so fiercely I don’t even realize it’s happening until I hear my own cries echoing back to me. My nails scrape against the wood beneath them, my body trembling with ecstasy.

  “I told you once… You are owned,” I hear Vadim claim, his voice gruffer than ever. Possessive. I should fear it, a part of me warns. At the moment, I’m too far gone to care.

  “Owned,” he continues, still stroking me from the inside out. “Cherished. Chastised.” Smack! Another blow to my ass makes me lurch onto the tips of my toes, my core rippling, my brain mush. I lose track of the words spilling off my tongue—just that they would make me blush were I in my right mind.

  “Please, please, please—”

  He strokes through my hair, murmuring praises as his cock returns, pressing insistently at my mound. My clit is on fire, a searing warning—but all concern of healing timeframes leaves my brain.

  “Please!”

  He bucks his hips, entering me with such a smooth, controlled thrust that only my sheer wetness drags him as deep as he goes. From the outside, my sore flesh isn’t touched at all. But from the inside…

  I scream as pleasure tears through me in unbearable waves. Almost too much. Tears sting my eyes, and I slump, mindless as he takes me so, so gently.

  “Beautiful,” he says, his breaths feathering, thrusts strengthening. “So beautiful... Mine.”

  I’m boneless when he wrenches himself free and hisses through his own torturous release. Fiery heat spills against my lower back, and my eyes flutter as my brain rockets to cloud nine all over again.

  When I finally regain my senses, I’m no longer bound. His fingers trace patterns up and down my arms as his grated voice sinks into my ear.

  “So good,” he praises. “So beautiful when you come for me… So beautiful.”

  I face him on jellied legs. Our lips meet. Teeth gnashing, tongues grappling for leverage. I’m in his arms before I know it, grinding against him without a damn for my healing piercing.

  “N-No!” Seemingly with difficultly, he pulls back and shoves his hand between us, preventing me from further stimulation. Then he snatches my waist, lifting me into his arms completely.

  Dazed, I go limp as he carries me into the master bedroom and then the bath, and finally into the shower. He strips us both of our remaining clothing. Then, one-handed, he programs the water and sets me on the bench, blocking me in with his body to keep me seated.

  “Let me clean you off, beautiful,” he demands, as the water lashes down.

  But I rub my legs together shamelessly, imploring him. “I want more.” I barely recognize my voice, rasping with lust. Never in my life have I so wantonly craved anything else. More. More pain mixed with pleasure. More teasing. Taunting. Everything.

  I’m drugged on a kink I never knew existed. And deep down beyond the ecstasy, I know I should be terrified that he holds the keys to it all.

  “You’ll have more than enough when I’m through with you.” He chuckles and sinks to his knees before me, brandishing a cloth and a bottle of soap. I shiver as he pries my legs apart and inspects me, frowning. “But not tonight,” he adds sternly. “You need rest. Now stay still so that I can clean you.”

  A pout tugs on my lower lip, but I’m quickly distracted by his touch as he guides the cloth carefully over my aching frame. It’s dizzying how seamlessly he can go from spanking me, to bathing my limbs with the utmost care.

  Almost as quickly as I can go from hating him, to practically purring in his arms. In my right mind, I’d be more alarmed by that, I think.

  As it i
s, I go languid beneath his ministrations, and watching him is almost enough to make up for the lack of stimulation. When he’s done, he tosses the rag aside, shuts off the water, and returns with an armful of towels that he bundles me in.

  Minutes later, we land on the bed, and I eagerly snuggle into him, nuzzling against his chest. “I’m sorry for being such a horrible bitch,” I confess, my tone surly.

  He sighs, wrapping me in his arms, pulling me close. “You weren’t completely horrible.”

  “Hey!” I playfully slap his chest only to copy his sigh as I eye him through my lashes. His serious expression remains unchanged, even as he strokes through my damp hair. I find myself observing him in full, from the pale skin of his chest to the jagged shape of his scar. I reach out, brushing my finger along the edge of it. It’s so long, stretching from his ear down to his collar bone.

  I can’t even begin to imagine what might have caused it. An accident? Something more violent?

  Without offering up an explanation, he lets my finger dance along his skin, but from the set of his jaw alone, I know instinctively not to ask him about it. Not yet, at least. Instead, I turn my attention to something a bit more imminent.

  “It’s a good thing that you’re building a playground just for me,” I point out softly. Now those mysterious boxes in that room have a newer significance. “But you need to build one for Magda.”

  He stiffens, inhaling sharply. I’m finding that it’s getting slightly easier to read him. I can peg this reaction to one cause in particular.

  “You don’t want to talk about her,” I surmise. “Not yet.”

  “No...” He shakes his head, his expression tense. “I will. But this… It is painful for me. I just need time.”

  “At least you’re being honest with me.” I reinforce the praise by brushing my fingers down his chest. “That’s all I’m asking for. You don’t need to tell me everything—but I need to know something.”