Page 68 of Beautiful Cruelty

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LACEY

What the fuck?What the fuck!

What the actual fuck!

My heart pounds against my chest as I stare at the array of glittering jewelry laid out before us. What thefuckhave I gotten myself into? I was only trying to get under his skin, to push back against his control.

Now look where that's landed me.

He can't be serious. Can he? But the determined glint in his storm-gray eyes tells me he doesn't joke about these things.

My eyes dart to his face, searching for any hint that this is just another power play. But his expression remains unreadable, those storm-gray eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.

Oh God. He's actually going to do it.

I should be horrified. And there's a part of my mind that is.

But then there's another part of my mind that stirs awake at the thought of his hands on me, fingers brushing against my nipples, the anticipation of the piercing needle prickling my sensitive flesh. Those same hands moving down to expose my clit.

It's so intimate, so close...

No! Stop it! Am I seriously getting turned on right now?

Think about the pain. Think about how much it'll hurt.

But somehow that only makes it worse. Because now I'm imagining him soothing the sting with a searing hot kiss, his breath hot against my skin...

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I should call his bluff. Tell him this has gone far enough. But my mouth won't form the words. Instead, I'm fixated on the careful precision he'd need, the attentive way he'd drink in the details of my body, and his touch—equal parts rough and gentle.

My thighs press together of their own accord, and I'm deeply aware of just howwetI am. If he notices… But I can't help it. Every time I try to talk myself down, my mind conjures new scenarios, each dirtier than the last.

Oh god.

There's a small, twisted part of me thatwantshim to do it. Wants to feel him mark me with these beautiful, dangerous pieces of jewelry. Wants to belong to?—

Nope. Not going there. This is just a game. Just like the marriage. Just like everything else.

So why can't I stop fantasizing?

"I can hear you thinking from here,zvyozdochka." Vadim leans close, his breath tickling my ear.

A shiver runs through me at his proximity. He smells intoxicating—spicy and masculine. His fingers start tracing lazy circles up my thigh, reminding me of what happened in the car and what we did when Aria had stepped away.

"I warned you that you were playing with fire." His voice drops lower. "And what did you say? That you wanted to get burned?"

I part my lips to fire back a retort, but quickly press them together. If I open my mouth now, I know exactly what sound will escape—and it won't be words.

The click of heels announces Aria's return. She carries a steel tray loaded with supplies: a piercing gun whose needle is gleaming under the lights, alcohol wipes, and a box of black latex gloves.

"Here you are, Mr. Stravinsky." She sets everything down on the glass table before us, her voice high and tight. "Will you be needing anything else?"

Vadim's lips curl into that dangerous smile. "Just privacy, thank you. Go talk to my driver Demyon, he'll finalize the purchase."

His eyes then turn towards mine again with a knowing look, as if he's giving me an opportunity to protest, to beg Aria to stay. My pulse races. This is it.

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