Page 7 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
A metal barbell goes right through the crown, topped on either end by a round beadjustlarge enough to seem more tempting than intimidating. It’s so deliciously sinful. So kinky.
I almost can’t handle it.
“A modified Prince Albert,” he explains in response to my unanswered question. “And no, it won’t hurt you. That seems to be commonly asked in this situation.”
By pansy fools, I decide. My only driving thought is curiosity as to how he’ll feel inside me. “I’ve thought about getting pierced before,” I tell him absently—a secret I’ve never spilled to anyone. Ever. “It’s so pretty.”
This is the extent of my vocabulary at this moment. Because all I really want to do is taste him. Part my lips around him. See how deep down I can let him go. Things I have never thought about a bodily appendage before—not even Jim’s.
My eyelids get heavy, and I lick my lower lip, mulling over an angle of attack.
“I wonder what you taste like,” I whisper, and I swear I see him jerk, a web of veins becoming more pronounced throughout his length. The reaction sends up a ping of alarm—does he not want me to suck him off?
“Up.” He crooks a finger beneath my nose, startling me with the authority in his voice. My gaze darts to him, and I nearly sigh in relief when I catch that slow, lazy grin shaping his mouth. Not anger this time. “I’ve shown you mine,” he explains. “Now you show me yours.”
“Oh!” My brain switches gears, happily turning to something that might excite me almost as much as fellating him. Exhibiting myself for him. I lurch to my feet so quickly that I trip, and he has to grip my waist to steady me.
“Easy does it.” His voice… It’s so pretty when heard up close. His baritone inspires shivers that dance down my spine and shimmy in my belly. So very nice. I lean against him, straining on tiptoe to bring my nose near the crook of his shoulder. He stiffens again, but lets me inhale a whiff of him.
And it’s like someone lights a match right between my legs. A noise rips from me I’ve never heard myself make before, and I wiggle free from him just enough to tug at the skirt of my dress.
“Allow me.” He spins me around and finds the zipper nestled within my freshly blown-out hair. One tug and the fabric gives enough for me to scramble from it. I barely get my arm free of a single spaghetti-strap sleeve when a sudden tension on my hair makes me stiffen, my lips parting, spine arched. He’s grabbed a handful, it seems, using his grasp to control my movements.
Like some sexy sort of leash.
“Stop,” he commands in a voice so rasping my bones quiver as if made of jelly. “Allow me.”
With effort, I force my hands to my side, painfully aware of his presence. My lungs ache, infected by his heady scent. His fingers are so, so soft, tracing a path from my shoulder, down the center of my back to find the zipper again.
“You have beautiful skin,” he praises, sounding surprised by the fact. But his fingers brush a raised scar along my lower back, and I’m the one cringing from him this time.
“Beautiful? I’ve just had amazing surgeons,” I insist. “It’s from a boating accident and was nowhere near as painful as it looks.”
But that’s a dangerous topic, far too serious for my brain to comprehend.
“I have even better tits,” I tell him, jutting my chest. “Not surgically enhanced, mind you.”
He chuckles, and I relax into him again. Taking the hint, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric of my dress, discovering the secret that I’m not wearing a bra underneath. Or underwear.
A devious idea sneaks into my brain, and I’m too reckless to resist. As my dress falls low enough to expose the top of my butt, I inch into him just a fraction. Enough to catch his startled grunt.
“Again, I’m waffling on whether or not you truly are an escort,” he grates. Gosh, I love the sound of his voice. It’s like music. Sexy, disorienting music so unique it transcends any genre. “It seems you’ve come more than prepared.”
“I’m just super horny,” I confess, my breaths quickening. Something about him inspires honesty from me I’d never explore around anyone else. “Supersuperhorny.”
The sexy voice is back, practically vibrating from my throat. His slow-moving fingers finally reach my belly, and I can no longer be patient.
“I’d love for you to touch me,” I whisper, grinding on him more. The pathetic amount of friction is like gasoline to my sex-starved brain. I want more. More more more.
“And yet another strike in the ‘not an escort’ column,” he muses. “You, pretty girl, are far too disobedient.”
“Disobedient.” I toy with the word between my tongue and giggle at how silly it sounds—considering that the opposite term had been my sole defining attribute for the better part of the past decade. The good obedient housewife. Good, obedient Tiffy. Subservient, oh so likable and so depressed, she contemplated suicide at least once per week—screw obedience.
“I’ve upset you.” Vadim snatches on my hips, turning me to face him. His dark eyes skim over me, but a part of me buzzes faintly in alarm. His expression doesn’t match the concern in his voice one damn bit. He looks too…excited. Like discovering my ticks is a fun, thrilling game.
So I rake my fingers down the front of his chest and lower my gaze to his cock. It’s slightly more erect, thicker than before, those veins even more pronounced. He’s aroused by this. Giddy triumph surges straight to my brain. I’d clap my hands if they weren’t too busy relishing the feel of him. So sturdy. So very solid.
“I want you to finger me, please,” I tell him, barely able to keep my eyes open. “Pretty please. I’ve been dying for it.”
