Page 33 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
His eyes cloud over, stormy and distant. “And you are still so affectionate after a glass or two of wine,” he remarks, his annoyance palpable.
“Why do you hate when I praise you?” I drain the rest of my glass and set it aside. Then I prop my chin on my fist and observe him critically. “Every time I say anything nice about you, you get so surly and mean.”
“What is praise, and what is…leverage?” he counters.
“Ah, I get it.” I roll my eyes knowingly. “The big bad rich, handsome billionaire has become so jaded to compliments and the schmoozing of others. He can no longer trust who truly wants him or his money. Am I correct?”
He nods in capitulation. “Though it is not always money.”
“Hmm.” I stroke my chin, mulling over the sheer depths of his paranoia. To live as such with a body like his. It must be hell. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but typically when a woman climaxes on your cock while screaming about how good you feel, she most likely means it.”
It’s the wine making me so tactless. But why stop now? I fumble for the bottle and add pointedly, “Since I’m never going to see you again after tomorrow, allow me to get it all out now. I love how you look. So sexy but so understated, requiring a second glance to register the full effect. And—” I try to pour myself a fresh glass and wind up spilling more wine onto myself than anything. Sighing, he’s forced to assist me, manipulating the bottle with his much steadier touch. In triumph, I take another sip and settle against a mound of displaced pillows. “I love your mouth. I love your eyes, especially—I never know what you’re thinking. I love when you spank me…” I trail off as I notice him staring far more intently than before. “And, I love your voice. I really love your cock. It’s perfection. And Iloveyour piercing—”
“Enough to copy me?” he wonders, swiping his finger along my belly.
I reflexively clamp my knees together at first. Then, emboldened by another sip of wine, I spread them, revealing every inch of the flesh in question. At the back of my mind, I marvel at how comfortable I feel in front of him. I panic at it. I felt dirty in anything less than a conservative negligee around Jim. He made me feel as if his lust was my sin. But Vadim?
He makes lust feel as heady as alcohol, mine alone to enjoy. To get drunk on.
And it feels so good to get drunk.
“You would pierce this?” he wonders, eyeing my anatomy skeptically.
“I would,” I boast. “For a price.”
He frowns, unimpressed. “You would mutilate yourself just to please another?”
“Oh, I’ve been curious about it,” I admit with a shrug. “I’ve heard it can make you orgasm like that—” I snap my fingers for emphasis. “But I’m so horny that I could make myself come while thinking about a wet paper bag. But you? I have a hunch that you wouldloveto see me pierced.”
Not that he ever would because I’m leaving in the morning. He knows I’m going. Even as his eyes take on a thoughtful, dangerous gleam, he knows it…
“I’d let you have a say in every part of it,” I add, casually sipping more wine while playing with fire. “The size. Placement. I’d even let you pick the metal—”
“Silver,” he says absently. “Of the highest quality. And you seem perfectly suited for a VCH.”
“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow and run my tongue along the rim of my glass. So much for his aversion to kink. He sounds fairly knowledgeable in this arena all of a sudden—too knowledgeable. A part of me can’t help wondering if clitoral piercings is a subject he regularly tackles with his one-night stands. Or just me. For instance, if he only started researching the topic not long after our very first meeting when I drunkenly expressed interest in it? A dangerous thought that requires another tasting of wine to wash it down.
“What’s a VCH?” I ask, turning to a much less risky topic.
“A vertical clitoral hood piercing,” he says, his gaze flashing and devious once more. “It’s well known for increasing stimulation during sex.”
I suck in a breath, intrigued. But then I remember the caveat making this entire conversation moot. “What a shame that I’m leaving tomorrow—” In six hours, to be exact, judging from the flashing numbers on the console by the TV. “If only you were nicer to me. We could have had so much fun.” In very real disappointment, I down the rest of my glass in one go.
“Hypothetically speaking, what would your price be?”
“Hmm.” I cast him an appraising glance, though I already know my answer. I’ve been thinking of it obsessively ever since the first damn time he slapped my ass. Even now, I’m growing wet at the prospect of it and just how much I’ll be denied when it comes to him and sex. Therefore, I have no guilt in blurting out the truth. “My price? That would beyou, Mr. Vadim. I’d want you to—”
Both of his eyebrows go up in shock as I proceed to lay out a detailed list of all of my fantasies when it comes to kink. All. Of. Them. Bondage. Being pilloried. Much more “chastisement.” I mention the one time I briefly considered nipple clamping but chickened out. Orgies. Exhibition. Being blindfolded and gagged. And then a whole list of items so X-rated I immediately block them from my memory the second I utter them.
By the time I finish, Vadim actually looks shocked. Not merely amused. Shook.
Score two for Tiffy.Utterly pleased with myself, I lean back further against the cushions supporting me, displaying the breasts that I just admitted I’d wanted clamped, teased, and tormented.
“We would have to wait to do the really fun stuff until after the piercing healed, of course,” I add, taking this ball and running far with it. “That could take… I don’t know—”
“Four to eight weeks,” he supplies. “About the same length of time it would take to special order the apparatuses you so cleverly described. Even if I paid the rush fee.”
Again, he sounds far too knowledgeable on the subject. Even I know when to back down at the last minute.
