by Lana Sky
I, for one, am willing to hope for as much.
Eventually, I bring myself to brush my hand along his forearm. “We should get ready for dinner,” I suggest, though a part of me wishes I could spend the night in his arms, just enjoying the vastness of his property.
As if to spoil the potential of that ever happening, we both turn as the sliding glass door is noisily wrenched open from the inside.
“I’m hungry,” Magda declares, her tone flat. She scans the waiting pool and the waterfront beyond with feigned disinterest. But her eyes linger over the bay, in particular, a rare gleam of hunger coloring her irises. Just as quickly, it vanishes, snuffed out with a surly pout. “I’m really hungry.”
“What would you like? Whatever you wish,” Vadim says, moving toward her.
She crosses her arms, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “The Robinsons never let me have pizza,” she says.
“Because of the carbohydrate content,” Vadim explains, following her into the kitchen. “We need to be careful about how much we consume and always make sure to cover our meals with enough insulin.”
“We?” She stares as he lifts his shirt, revealing the tubing of his pump. He uses it so rarely around me, I’ve almost forgotten the device’s existence.
“We,” he reiterates. “Luckily for us both, I know of a pizzeria that creates an amazing low carb pie. Name your toppings.”
She thoughtfully taps her chin. “Cheese and pepperoni.”
“Done.” He pulls a cell phone from his pocket and steps aside to phone in the order while I back into a corner and watch them both. There is something so beautiful in seeing them interact together, each cautious in their own right.
When he’s done on the phone, Vadim approaches the fridge and grabs a pitcher of orange juice. “Set the table?” he asks Magda.
She doesn’t agree out loud, but she gradually moves to the cupboard he indicates and accepts the three plates he gives her.
I don’t inch forward until the table is set, and Vadim is pouring three glasses of juice to place at each setting. “What else do you like in addition to pizza?” he asks her.
“Cake,” she says, and I get the sense she’s deliberately provoking him.
With an adept social grace, Vadim doesn’t even seem to notice the bait. “I know of a bakery as well that makes a delicious cake. What else?”
She proceeds to play a devious game of naming foods that are not diabetic-friendly, while he patiently counters each one with a sugar-free alternative. It’s as if he studied the list of foods a child may crave and ensured that he had a ready supply of options for her.
In fact, I’m sure that’s the case.
Finally bored, Magda proceeds to tap her slender fingers along the table. Noticing the act, Vadim asks, “Do you play any instruments?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Maybe.”
“I loved playing the piano when I was your age,” he says softly. “When I could find one.”
“The Robinsons didn’t have a piano.” She folds her arms, her chin jutting.
“I can get you one.” He makes it sound as simple as snapping his fingers. “And lessons, if you’d like.”
She mulls it over, and I half-expect her to refuse. I think a part of her wants to. But like him, she’s too curious, drawn to an opportunity to tackle something new. While Vadim chooses to research BDSM, she’ll warily accept his offer of musical training.
“Okay.”
“I’ll make the arrangements first thing in the morning.”
We sit in awkward silence until the pizza arrives, courtesy of a gruff Ena who manages up what I think might be a smile once he spots Magda. We eat together, saying nothing until finally, Magda sets her plate aside.
“I’m tired,” she says.
“Do you need someone to tuck you in?” Vadim starts to stand, but she shoots him a look so withering he falters.
“I’m not a baby,” she says, her nose in the air. She flounces from the room and up the stairs. Predictably, the door slams.
“Give her time,” I say, approaching Vadim from behind. I run my fingers over the muscles of his back, sliding around to his front. When I toy with the waistband of his pants, he sucks in a deep breath.
“Restraint is one skill we will both have to learn,” he says hoarsely.
“I know.” I nuzzle the back of his neck even as my fingers obediently withdraw. “Just know that I find you trying to be super dad incredibly sexy. I wish to do all sorts of naughty things to you when little ears are finally asleep.”
“Oh?” He turns to face me, an eyebrow raised. I shiver as he draws me close, letting my body mold against his. “What kinds of things?”
“Well…” I stand on tiptoe and murmur a list of sordid, X-rated options into his ear. “And that’s to start.”
“You are insatiable.” He runs his fingers down my back as his eyes lower to mine. “And patient. And… I couldn’t do this without you.”
A part of me despairs at the fact that he actually seems to mean it. “Yes, you could,” I argue. It’s the truth. “She’s resistant to you, but that’s because you’re both so alike. In no time, you’ll have her madly in love with you. Just like—” I manage to physically stop myself from saying more by slamming my hand over my mouth.
His eyes narrow, and he snatches the fingers in question, drawing them away. Something between us shifts from sizzling lust to a smoldering heat I feel deep in my core.
“Madly in love,” he says as if tasting the words for the very first time. “Like?”
“Sir!”
We break apart as Ena storms into the kitchen, his expression sterner than ever. “Visitor,” he says to Vadim. “Mr. Hood. I let him in?”
I look at Vadim in awe as he seems to physically bite back a groan. Finally, he nods. “Yes. Let him in.”
Ena races off, and Vadim turns to me, cradling my cheek against his palm before I can pull away.
“Check on Magda for me?”
“Okay,” I concede without prying as to who this mysterious visitor might be. I can’t resist placing a soft kiss along his jaw—just one.
Upstairs, I find the door to Magda’s room ajar. True to her insistence on the fact, she isn’t a baby, more than capable of getting herself ready for bed. She’s already dressed in a pair of pajamas, her damp curls hanging down her shoulders as she moves about her room, dragging It by his floppy, reattached head. When she spots me staring, she eyes me without comment, glancing me up and down with a flick of her unnerving eyes.
“Goodnight,” I say, closing the door behind me as I reenter the hall.
“Wait.”
I return to find her rummaging through an end table for an object that she marches toward me and offers up without a word. A worn, wooden hairbrush.
Like a princess used to dolling out commands, she sits on her bed with her back to me.
“Braids?” I suggest as I dutifully approach her and smooth my fingers through her thick ringlets. Gosh, her hair is every bit as beautiful as her father’s. I brush through it all gently and arrange two plaits when she doesn’t offer up a complaint either way.
As soon as I finish the final braid, she lurches to her feet and snatches the brush. Then she climbs under the blankets, tucking It under her arm.
“Goodnight,” I murmur as I escape this time without a word from her.
A small smile shapes my mouth as I return downstairs. Before I remember that, I shouldn’t be doing things like tucking my one-night-too-many-stand’s daughter into bed. If anything, I should be putting distance between us.
And her father.
The man whose voice alone makes me quiver, even now as he speaks to someone else, his tone low and strained. “…I didn’t know until two years ago. For obvious reasons, it’s not something I’m eager to discuss.”
“That’s why you went off all that bloody time,” a man replies, his accent distinctly British. “I thought it might have been because your old partner died, but… You didn’t
think to ask for fucking help?”
“I thought it was best to keep her separate from me,” Vadim says. Even from this distance, I can picture his expression—tortured, guilty eyes, and a tight frown. My heart aches, and I long to run my fingers through his hair until his devious grin returns in full. “I’ve changed my mind since.”
“Why?” the other man demands. I think I recognize his voice—Milton.
A low sound issues from Vadim that could be a laugh from a normal man. “Why not? If Maxim can become father of the year, I can’t? My daughter is at least mine.”
“But how? Don’t tell me you knocked-up some woman and just left her. That’s not like you.”
Vadim’s silent for so long. Finally, he sighs. “Do you remember my last owner?” he asks, his tone gruff. “The one they called The Collector?”
“I remember him, the sick fuck,” Milton snarls. I imagine his handsome visage twisted with anger, his dark eyes narrowed. “I remember the rumors as well. Don’t tell me…”
“They’re true.” Vadim sounds so cold. So distant. A stranger. “He had that name for a reason. His collection. He always spoke of breeding his favorite toys, be them animals, or…”
I’m drawn forward three more steps before I have the sense to stop at the base of the staircase. Their voices must be coming from the study—I don’t see anyone in the foyer or the living room.
“He must have stored his samples in a place where they were spared from the purge. I’d thought I’d burned everything else to the fucking ground.”
“Samples?” Milton’s tone conveys enough horror for us both. “Fuck! Do you know who her mother is? And how could his samples… Maxim said she’s young. That bastard died over a decade ago.”
“I don’t know why or how she was born,” Vadim admits. “As for her mother… I do have one hunch. You might even remember her.”
“Another ‘favorite?’” Milton asks, hissing the term.
“Her name was Irina.” I’ve never heard Vadim’s tone so detached. Broken. “Magda has her eyes. If I would consider anyone an ally in that world, other than you… But most would not understand our relationship,” he adds. “With your convenient knowledge in psychiatry, I think you’d deem it something along the lines of… Unhealthy codependency with anti-social attributes.”
“Oh?”
“You know what it’s like,” Vadim says softly. “When you question your own humanity. When you crave validation and power so badly, you’ll do anything to find it? Confide in anyone.”
“I understand,” Milton says, his voice a rasp.
“Irina and I were more partners than anything else. In manipulation. Deception. Seduction. We made a game of it. Stealing tokens to prove who was the better player. Looking back, I think it was the only way we could survive. She disappeared before I gained my freedom,” he adds. “Whether she was killed or escaped, I never found out. But now I suspect she left on her own. Left me behind. To her, it would be just another part of the game.”
“And your child?” Milton presses. “Is she part of the ‘game’? Have you tried to find her, Irina? You cite my ‘psychiatric’ experience, which you gladly make use of. And yet, in all of our sessions, you’ve never mentioned her.”
“I don’t know,” Vadim says in a tone that makes something inside me throb. “If she is alive…she’s deliberately concealed herself from me. When I found Magda, she had no documentation. No birth certificate. It’s like she appeared out of nowhere, but the doctor who did her first examination claimed that she had been well-fed beforehand. Well-groomed and her vaccinations appeared to be up to date. The only abnormality was that her diabetes was dangerously uncontrolled.”
“Could she have been planted?” Milton wonders. “Where you would find her.”
“If Irina is her mother…” He trails off in that way he does when he’s mulling something over. Something puzzling like the prospect of me leaving, or a woman who may or may not be the mother of his child. “Why have I never mentioned her? We all had our ways of coping,” he adds softly. “She could see those around her as creatures to protect or toys just as easily. When she left, there was no point in dwelling on her. She would want me to dwell. And now? I don’t see her abandoning Magda without a reason.”
“A fucked up one from what it sounds like,” Milton hisses. “I have to ask. Was… Was she part of the trade, your girl?”
“No,” Vadim says, and I sense them both release sighs of relief. “Her examinations revealed no sign of abuse. She’s had a relatively normal upbringing. No matter her origin, I will protect her.”
“And you won’t be alone in that.” The heat in Milton’s tone challenges Vadim’s own assurance. “Milton sees me as a scared little boy he’s sworn to protect.” But duty is a very different animal from unquestionable loyalty. “Can I see her?” he asks.
“She’s sleeping,” Vadim says. “Maybe tomorrow. But she doesn’t know who I am for now. As far as she’s concerned, I’m her new foster placement.”
“Damn.” Milton whistles. “Do you plan on telling her?”
“Maybe. When the time is right.”
“And here I thought Maxim could be a secretive prick. He hides his women from me. You hide your children. What a friendship we all share.”
“You know I trust you more than anyone,” Vadim says, sounding closer. Advancing footsteps force me to scamper up the stairs just as the two men appear in the foyer, advancing toward the front door.
“And you deserve to meet her,” Vadim adds.
“And Maxim?” Milton draws up beside him, fingering the collar of his crisp, ebony suit. “I hear he didn’t make the best impression.”
“He won’t be coming anywhere near her,” Vadim says coldly. “I tried with him. But he’s proven more than once—he isn’t worth the time. As far as Magda is concerned, he’s a violent stranger who barged into her home and scared the hell out of her.”
Milton frowns. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t mean to scare her.”
“The fact that he’s saying as much through you and not in person is all I need to know.” Vadim’s gaze darkens, closed-off. “He will never see her again.”
Milton shrugs as Vadim opens the front door. “I hope you change your mind,” he says before stepping out into the darkness. “That little girl needs all of the family she can get. You know better than anyone else that one can’t be too picky when it comes to that subject.”
He leaves, and Vadim closes the door after him, sighing. Rather than escape before he catches me eavesdropping, I take a moment to ogle him. His shoulders are rigid, his profile the picture of brooding unease. As I watch, his constricted expression softens as his lips part, his voice rasping, “My beauty,” he calls to me despite my hiding place. “So cunning. So sly. How much did you hear?”
I step around the corner and descend the stairs, my chin jutting in defiance. “Enough to know I deserve to be punished.” I force a smile, praying that I seem nonchalant enough to have missed the trigger points of his conversation. Like the mysterious Irina who shares Magda’s electric-blue eyes. Naughty questions persist on the fringes of my brain anyway. Such as, did he love her? Is he hoping she’ll return?
I could ask him.
I should…
But I can’t.
His gaze is far too guarded, and I don’t have the heart to shatter my ruse. I saunter to him instead and grab his tie, stroking the fabric suggestively.
“Should I be spanked for my insolence?” I wonder, making my voice low enough so that it won’t carry upstairs. “Or do I deserve a harsher chastisement?”
Vadim cinches my waist in both hands, yanking me closer. I finger his collar while his mouth finds my ear, nibbling at the lobe. “You deserve the world,” he growls in a tone that makes my head spin. So insistent. So confident in that regard.
A world of his making. A sinful, kinky paradise in which I’m at his mercy—helpless as he pulls me down the hall and into his study, taking care not to make to
o much noise. I smother a moan as he strips me, leaving the façade of his perfect fake wife on the floor before he spreads me over his desk and doles out my punishment.
I nearly scream as he latches his mouth above my piercing, thrusting with his tongue until I’m incoherent. This is true torture—having to stay silent amid the tumult of pleasure he gives me. Ruthlessly, he gives it. Over and over until I’m wracked with sobs as tears stream down my face in my quest to smother all noise.
I praise him with drawn nails raking through his hair instead. With orgasms that leave him groaning in their wake. Limp and panting, all I can do is lie helplessly as he stands and frees his cock from the confines of his slacks.
I take him deep on the first thrust, hissing in pleasure, my eyelids fluttering. I don’t know if it’s the location, or the tension that comes from sneaking around but I come damn near instantly, and he isn’t far behind, snatching me to him as he spills inside me.
We come back to clinging to any part of each other we can reach. As my breathing returns to normal, I find his ear, my voice a whisper.
“I feel sufficiently punished,” I tell him.
He chuckles and draws back to stare down on me with those haunting, brooding eyes. “Enough to repent?” he wonders, stroking the hair from my face. “For ever wanting to leave me?”
I nod even as a part of me warns me to back down. Avoid. Salvage our one fragile boundary. “I believe your torturous methods are making progress with this prisoner,” I confess despite myself. “For better or for worse.”
“Better,” he insists, drawing me into his arms while scanning the floor for our scattered clothing. “This is better.”
And he sounds so damn confident.
I almost believe him.
Chapter Ten
I blink my eyes open, unsure of what drew me awake in the first place. I’m on the bed, I think, judging from the softness beneath me. Weak sunlight pours in through the window, illuminating the empty space beside me—Vadim is gone.
Sighing, I slump against a pillow, stroking the silken sheets he’d laid on beside me. Kinky sex is a drug unto itself, but I don’t think anything tops being held by him. Falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat while his breaths ruffle my hair. This man will be the end of me, in a way Jim could only dream.
