Page 53 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
In silence, he opens a cupboard and withdraws two glasses and a familiar bottle of wine. As the food warms, he returns to the table and pours two glasses.
I take a seat across from him and promptly drain over half of my glass in one go. The moment the buzz creeps to my brain, I forget all about my discomfort.
“Why aren’t you married?” I ask him, folding my arms before me. “For real?”
He looks away and slips his hand into his pocket.Zap!I nearly lunge from my seat as waves of pleasure rip through my core in a relentless, pulsating rhythm. I lose track of everything, trying not to scream as it goes on and on… When it finally relents, I slump against the table, breathless, my chest heaving, nipples erect to the point of pain.
And the bastard is standing before the oven, removing the steaming container. “Food’s done,” he says. “I hope you have an appetite.”
I gape as he divides the food between two plates and places one before me. Smiling, he sits on the opposite end of the table and casually slices off a piece of chicken.
“Don’t let the food go cold,” he scolds.
I eat warily, constantly on edge. My mother once tried fence training her Pomeranian with a shock collar, and in this moment, I feel for the poor thing. Only more wine can soothe my nerves.
“Dinner with your brother is in two days,” I point out, sounding breathless. “What happens after that?”
He shrugs and chews on a bit of vegetables. “I have many talents, but I’m afraid that seeing into the future isn’t one of them.”
My upper lip quirks even as real irritation sears through my nerves. Bastard. “It looks like you’re learning to have a sense of humor, at least.”
He smiles, one of those rare, authentic grins. Again, I can’t shake the sense that whatever happened today changed him. Shook something loose in him that leaves him sitting languidly, clearing his plate for the first time since I’ve been with him. Maybe it was going to the stables? I let him show me something special to him.
And now I only want more. Another sip of wine firmly shoves me from borderline tipsy into drunk territory, giving me the courage to probe him despite the risk of sexual torture.
“If I wanted to stay after the dinner, what would you bribe me with?”
I’m boasting, of course. There’s no way I’m actually considering it. Not even as his eyes cut up to mine, darkly suspicious.
“What would you want?”
“Hmm…” I mull it over, making him wait. “Tell me whatmerdemeans,” I say, picking a harmless target first.
Those dark eyes fixate on me mercilessly. “It could be translated as ‘shit,’” he finally admits, taking another bite of his food—seconds. “An expression of frustration, you might say.”
And one he seems to love spilling around me. I puff up, oddly pleased to have pushed him to such a breaking point. Cursing doesn’t seem like his go-to vice. I’ve made him utilize it.
“What aboutta gueule?” I ask, no doubt butchering the phrase he’d hissed at me while in the club.
“It means ‘shut up.’ Is that all you want?” he prods before I can retort, his tone mocking. “Translations?”
“No.” I meet his gaze and lick my lips. “You buy me a horse as magnificent as Zzazza so that we can have an honest race between us to settle who the better rider is, once and for all. I have a feeling you’ll be the one to‘ta gueule.’”
He laughs, his eyes sparkling. “If such a creature existed, I would have no trouble procuring him for you.”
“When did you get her?” I ask, presumably another easy topic.
But I’m wrong.
His face falls, his wall erected in a heartbeat. “When I was lost,” he says softly. “On the verge of death. She…she brought me back to life.”
“Oh.” I want to ask him more. I bounce in my seat, weighing the risk. Screw it. I start to, “Tell me—”
“We should head to bed.” He stands and grabs our plates and—sadly—wine glasses and places them in the sink.
“I’ll help.” I grudgingly rise and cross over to assist.
Bzzzz.I howl and grasp the counter, my legs turning to jelly as searing pleasure builds, fed by incredible friction. No matter how tightly I clamp my legs, it builds. Builds. It’s almost too much, going on for too long. Pleasure turns sharp, honed to a painful, aching need, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching into my panties just to find some relief.
