by Lana Sky
“And you will.” He captures my hand and brings it to his cheek. “Just know that… I want this,” he confesses hoarsely. “More than anything. I want my daughter to be with me. I want to be a father to her. I want…”
“What changed within two years?” I ask gently.
He frowns and seems to shrug in the same instance. “She almost died,” he says. “Last year. She became very sick—an infection entered her bloodstream. You’ve heard of her condition? It makes any prolonged sickness far worse. She became septic and eventually required a machine just to breathe. For ten days, I spent every minute wondering if I’d lose her for good.”
“God…” I picture her frail, fragile appearance and shudder at the thought of her on a vent. I know firsthand how it feels to lose a child—even if I’ve never met my own—but I can’t imagine that level of torment. Thankfully. Swallowing hard, I struggle to form words. “That’s awful.” I squeeze his fingers tightly, unsure of what else to do. Or say. The only obvious course seems to be just listening—and I suspect that’s exactly what he needs. To talk.
“It was the first time I’d seen her in person,” he admits, staring ahead, his face blank. “I held her. Sang to her. I touched her cheeks… I watched her fight for her life. But the second she grew well enough to breathe on her own, I left her…” He sighs. “And I did not handle the guilt well.” A small, tired smile alludes to the tumult of emotions he only ever lets me get a glimpse of. “One could say I went off the deep end afterward. Only Ena could keep me from doing something foolish—” He frowns at the memory, and I don’t have the heart to explore that statement further. Sighing once more, he shifts, holding me more firmly against him. “When I finally came to my senses, I was resolved, however. I knew that I had made the right choice. I would continue to fund Magda’s education and expenses from afar, but I would keep my distance—it would be better for us both. And I did stay away. Even when events beyond my control forced me to return to this city, I stayed away from her.”
“Then what made you change your mind?”
“Maxim,” he says coldly. “I had spent months talking myself out of claiming my own child, and in the meantime, Maxim had taken six under his wing, none of them his. It was as if, once again, my ‘legitimate’ brother was flaunting that superiority right in my face.”
“So, you decided to officially adopt Magda?”
“I have no legal claim to her as it stands,” he says. “To give her the best life possible, I need to go through the proper channels and jump through whatever hoops the government insists I may. My resources can achieve many things, but, in this case, I cannot rely on them. And while I know that she is biologically mine, for obvious reasons, I cannot claim as much without proof and documentation. For both her sake and mine, this is the easiest way.”
“Is that why you wanted a fake wife?”
A lazy smile shapes his mouth for a fleeting moment. “I was interviewing mainly childcare workers,” he admits. “Entirely for Magda’s sake and not my personal enjoyment. It seems I settled on a candidate the complete opposite to what I initially thought.”
“I do have childcare experience,” I grudgingly point out.
“I lucked out then,” Vadim says, still running his fingers through my hair. “If you will stay, that is. I apologize for not being upfront before.”
“It’s not like you didn’t try,” I admit as I parse through my memories of the past few days. There were a handful of moments where he definitely tried to confess something important—and I had obliviously shrugged him off. “But if we are to do this, then no more secrets...”
Even if admitting them out loud stings like hell. Facing him, I force a serious note into my voice. “I need you to understand right now that I’m not sure if I’m really ready for a serious relationship with a child involved. No, actually, I know that I’m not—not that you are either. Magda is your main concern now.”
I nod along with my own logic. Laying out such boundaries now makes sense. Exposing myself to a man whose emotions run hot and cold is one thing. Opening myself up to a child, in the same way, isn’t fair to either of us.
“I understand,” he admits, but when I crane my neck back to observe his face, he’s frowning, as surly as ever even with his eyes half-closed.
“But we can still have sex,” I add, feeling no shame in making that demand. “At least until Magda is placed with you permanently. After that, we’re done. That is what is best for everyone.”
Mainly myself, and the struggle of reconciling my newfound lust with my own internal promises. My list. My rules. My creed.
He doesn’t mention whether he agrees or not with that assessment. He’s silent for so long that it isn’t until I look back at him that I realize why—the poor man fell asleep.
Chapter Four
I wake up just as the sky is setting beneath the waterfront below. It’s evening already, though I still feel exhausted beneath a level of sex-drunk energy. Yawning, I disentangle myself from Vadim, and I have to pinch myself just to keep from watching him for hours. His two-day exile from bed resulted in poor sleep, apparently. He’s unconscious, his chest rising and falling in a slow, easy rhythm that shatters the guarded persona he so regularly presents to the world.
He’s mine like this—a dangerous thought I can’t seem to shake. Hoarding his beauty to myself, I take my time lightly stroking the panes of his chest, my mind racing ahead to all the dirty ways I could explore him further.
Eventually, his welfare takes precedence as my own stomach growls in hunger. Sighing, I leave the bed and tiptoe into the closet to steal one of his shirts, opting for more coverage than my lingerie in case I find Ena lurking downstairs. Then, I enter the kitchen to find it empty, and I fix up one of the freezer meals, dividing it among two plates. When I return upstairs, I’m juggling a bottle of orange juice for him and wine for me.
I move cautiously, only to trip over the threshold, and I wind up dropping my wine. It lands with a thud that could wake up the devil himself. Crestfallen, I look at the bed, and sure enough, Vadim is stirring, a lazy hum rumbling in his throat.
“Breakfast?” he wonders, sounding so darn husky my toes curl. His eyes are surprisingly mistrustful, suspicious even. Might I have laced his juice with poison, I imagine him thinking. Do I truly forgive him so easily?
I smirk to feed his paranoia, and a lazy grin shapes his mouth in response, his jaw softening.
“Dinner,” I correct, inching forward to set our plates on the bed. I lift a fork from his and stab at a piece of steaming meat. Then I shift onto my knees and crawl toward him. “Open.”
He does so with his own amused smirk, allowing me to feed him the first bite. I gape as he chews, and I rush to drag his plate closer and offer him something else.
“I love pampering you,” I murmur as he opens his mouth for more.
“I will turn you into a domestic yet,” he teases, making my heart skip. “First, I’ll get you addicted to my cock, and then I’ll have you trained to enjoy feeding me. You’ll be far too sprung to leave.”
He sounds so confident. Too confident, making the boast sound more like a promise than anything else.
“Is that so?” I scoot back and grab my own plate, sampling a few roasted veggies, leaving him to feed himself. “I’ll have you know that I don’t think I’d make a very good soccer mom.”
Something in my tone makes him shrug the blankets from his frame and stand. I stare as he stretches his bare limbs and pads into the bathroom. I follow him and wind up leaning against the doorway as he steps into the shower.
Cocking his head, he meets my gaze, his eyes flashing. “What was that you promised me once?” he wonders. “Something about sucking me off to show your gratitude…”
“Devil!” I grin wickedly and finger the buttons of my borrowed shirt. “Only if you ask me nicely.”
His gaze fixates on my mouth, and I shiver as his tongue traces his lower lip. “I would very much enjoy feeling your mouth o
n me.”
I’m naked within seconds, practically running toward him. The shower spray bastes us with gentle pressure as I follow him to the bench and drop to my knees. Our eyes meet and something unspoken shoots between us, as jolting as electricity.
I take him in without hesitation as he sinks his fingers through my hair, groaning in approval. Eager to push his reaction to the fullest, I grip the base of him, gasping as he thickens, straining against my touch.
The pleasure is so intense my eyes threaten to roll, but… A part of me panics with the increasing realization that watching him watch me is ten times more explosive than any impending orgasm. Our eyes meet again. I lick him. He jumps. I suck. His grip tightens, his eyelids fluttering.
So, I do it again.
And again.
His wall is down, his gaze open, and all I see is a man so beautiful it hurts, looking at me as though I’m a goddess. Desirable. Cherished.
And yet still kept at arm’s length.
Still, it’s beyond anything newly-divorced Tiffy could have imagined just a few days ago.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed, and put all of my focus into pleasuring him, feeding off the throaty groans that broadcast his enjoyment. Deeper. Rasps. Grunts. I worship him, teasing him with as much of my throat as I dare.
And in the end, I relish his release, drinking him down—every last drop.
It’s too good. Panting, I rest my face against his knee, seeking out the comfort of his touch. The sensation of his fingers over my heated flesh feels too damn soothing. A salve I’ve gone my whole life without needing, healing a pain I never realized ached until this moment.
Dangerous thoughts, Tiffy. With difficultly, I pull away.
“I will forever live in regret of denying myself this,” he says. I look up to find him leaning back against the wall of the shower stall, his hair mused, his expression shifting amid another earth-shattering revelation. His fingers graze my cheek reverently, smoothing back my damp hair, and I can’t resist settling against him again. “I love the way you suck my cock.”
I feel myself blush as my tongue chases every remainder of him from my lips. “Careful, Mr. Vadim. That almost sounds like praise.”
He laughs, stroking me absently, his expression utterly content. “Take it as you will, Ms. Connors. I look forward to indulging your other fantasies.”
“Oh?” I perk up, my brain skipping ahead. “Such as?”
He chuckles deeply and cradles my jaw, urging me to meet his gaze again. “I will show you,” he promises. “I will build you your playground as you call it. But in return? You lend me your expertise.”
I raise an eyebrow and rise up to straddle him, inching as close to him as I can. His arms encircle me, forming a cocoon of warmth against the shower spray. “My expertise in what?”
“Children,” he says simply. His mouth settles in the crook of my shoulder, nipping. Sucking. “You help me with Magdalene,” he commands in between teasing nibbles. “Help me make this place a true home for her—” At least he has insight into his current anti-child décor. “Do this for me, and I will ensure that you are sufficiently sprung.”
My toes curl.
“And if I refuse?”
His hand slides boldly between my legs, and I inhale, my thoughts spinning. “You won’t,” he smugly surmises, barely grazing my piercing. “My money may not impress you, but I know what does. You’ve just had your first dose of the day,” he reminds me as my face heats further. “I will keep you well supplied. As long as you help me. Anything else can be discussed at a later date. I just need you to promise me this.”
I stroke his chest, more touched by his confession than I care to admit out loud. When the man engages in his limited pillow talk, my senses combust. But when he’s open? Something in my heart starts to bleed, and I’m worried that it’s not entirely a bad feeling.
“I’ll help you,” I tell him, smoothing my fingers across his rock-hard pec. “I’ll help you with your daughter.”
He captures my chin, tilting it so that our lips meet fiercely. I moan into the kiss, arching against him, frowning when he pulls back.
“What’s wrong?”
“First, I need your help with something else,” he tells me, brushing his lips across my jaw in a series of featherlight touches that make my eyelids flutter. “Something marginally less important, but still requiring urgent attention.”
I frown, confused. “What?”
That grin. It’s so quick and devastating in its prowess. A flash of white teeth paired with a hint of mischief in those dark eyes. I’m dumbstruck.
“Come.” He stands, pulling me along with him even though we’re both naked. My involuntary shiver must be what makes him take a detour to the closet where he snatches one of his shirts from its hanger and dresses me in it. “I think I prefer this to…”
He breaks off, his throat clenching, and I beam in triumph and finger the tip of his starched collar. On me, the shirt strains over my breasts, and I have a feeling he can see my nipples protruding against the material.
New sexy outfit idea? Check, check, check.
“Oh, Mr. Vadim. Are you saying that you like to see me in your clothing?” I twirl for his benefit and relish in his savoring moan.
“Witch!” He grabs my wrist and spins me around to face him. Ravenous, his eyes rake over me, settling on my chest. He can definitely see my nipples judging from his appreciative swallow. “I think I love you in my clothing,” he confesses, his voice rasping.
And I’m more aware of my piercing than ever, hovering dangerously close to my clit. So on fire, it’s nearly unbearable.
“But, you may be too distracting.” He slides his fingers beneath my collar in search of the topmost button and swiftly undoes it. Then another. Another. Soon, the garment is hanging open, exposing my torso, and some of the heat in his gaze simmers to a liquid lust that makes me sway. “Much better,” he declares before finding a shirt of his own.
I follow him from the room and into that infamous space the next door down. My breath catches as I spot the pillory, and my brain loses track of everything but the prospect of doing it again. For longer. With more spanking. More intensity. More.
“Finish your homework admirably, and I will reward you,” Vadim says thickly as if reading my mind.
“Homework?”
“Furniture,” he declares. “For her room…” Without explaining further, he crosses over to that corner of stacked boxes and easily lifts a massive one from the nearest row. He brings it to the center of the room and places it down. Wiping his hands, he nods to a section of the room I hadn’t noticed until now.
“My laptop is there,” he says, indicating a small, neatly arranged collection of items. A pillow. A folded blanket. A laptop. A stack of clothing. My throat constricts as I pad closer and recognize the small corner as where he must have stayed during his exile from the master bed—in addition to his study—though I suspect his laptop and briefcase saw much more use than the pillow and blanket did.
“You can use it to do your research,” he adds.
Nodding, I grab the laptop and obediently bring it toward him as he opens a box with a silver knife. He logs me in and opens up a browser before returning back to his main task. I peek over his shoulder and watch on excitedly while he rummages through a carefully packed arrangement of black wood.
“Another toy?” I wonder, a thrill in my voice.
“Attend to your assignment, Ms. Connors,” he scolds, eyeing me from over his shoulder. “And, I will attend to mine.”
Challenge accepted. I hunker down with his laptop and try to decide where to begin. I don’t feel the need to ask him for direction, at least. He wants me to help him prepare the house for Magda. Predictably, I do a cursory search for girl’s bedroom ideas only to find myself distracted as Vadim rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and casually lifts massive piece of wood, after massive piece from the box and begins to assemble them using the white instruction manual as a guide.
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The man has skill. He works methodically, utilizing his hands in a graceful display to manipulate the various pieces and screw or hammer them together. My cheeks flame as he looks up and catches me spying.
“Ten minutes in and you haven’t spent millions? I’m disappointed, Ms. Connors,” he chides playfully.
I scoff. “Watch me.”
I return to the screen, peering through an endless array of furniture listings and design styles. I’m observing a promising pastel color scheme when something flashes across the screen. An email alert? I frown as I scan the subject heading.
“You speak Russian?” I ask, vaguely recognizing the unfamiliar shapes of the Cyrillic alphabet from a brief lesson on the Bolshevik revolution in high school.
“What?” Vadim looks up sharply, setting his tools aside. He grabs the laptop from me and quickly scans the contents of the email. Whatever he reads makes him curse, and he slams the computer shut, turning on his heel. “I’ll be back,” he says in a tone that warns me not to follow.
Seconds later, I hear his voice drift from the bedroom. He must be on a phone call. “You want to play peacemaker?” he demands in a scathing tone. “Keep your dog on his leash. I’ve restrained myself where he is concerned because you asked. I’ve gone to your dinners, and played your game, but if he dares to play his games with me, I’ll end this war for good. I’m warning you both, Milton—” he pauses as if allowing the person on the other end to reply. Whatever they say makes him laugh. “It seems that someone’s been digging around my holdings in Moscow,” he adds. “Who else but Maxim? Unlike him, I’ve kept my enemies in check. How much more am I supposed to sacrifice to keep little Maxi sated? Rest assured, I’ll give him a friendly warning to keep his distance. Adieu.”
He must hang up, because he’s entering the room a heartbeat later, his expression haggard. Spotting me, he clenches his jaw and returns to his scattered tools.
“Change your mind?” he asks as he snatches up two long pieces of wood and secures them to a rectangular base. “You can still use my computer—”
