Page 35 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
“You’re considering,” he remarks as if reading my mind. “Tell me what will put you over the edge.”
I grit my teeth, still contemplating the idea of running down to the front lobby and begging the concierge to find me any flight leaving within the hour to anywhere but here. If only his voice didn’t make the demand sound so damn tempting.
“I’ll need underwear,” I point out. “I mean, I would,ifI were staying—which I’m not.”
He nods. “Fair enough.”
“But not just any underwear… Lingerie. French-style from Atelier Noir. An assortment of course. Bras, panties, and full sets.” Gosh, I can barely keep the excited squeal from my voice. Designer to the rich and famous, the items from Atelier Noir are legendary in both style and price. I once made the mistake of looking up the cost of a bra and panty set I’d admired in a magazine and promptly fell into a weeklong despair at the price.
“Done,” he says. A devious part of me wants to drop an average price point of the garments and watch him squirm—but the longer I observe him, the more I suspect that he already knows the cost and then some. Either way, he’s prepared to pay it.
“You drop obscene amounts of money on your one-night stand, and yet you clam up the second she says anything nice about you.” I raise a skeptical eyebrow, crossing my legs.
“Clothing, money, and even lingerie is a physical exchange,” he explains, sounding like some stuffy professor—not that I had ever gone to one college class to know the difference. “Compliments, on the other hand? Praise? Those are delivered with only one goal in mind. Manipulation.” He’s staring off into space, no doubt glowering at the memory of all the prior women who dared to compliment him.
“So cynical!” I lean forward and eye him with renewed scrutiny. “I’ve changed my mind. You know what will make me stay? You praiseme.Something nice and personal—you’ve called me beautiful before,” I add before he can say as much. “But that doesn’t count.”
“Why not?”
I frown, uncomforted by the answer. “Because it’s not a real compliment,” I say. “It’s an assessment. You can call me beautiful, but it doesn’t require any personal engagement on your part. I want you to dig deep, Vadim. For instance…” Licking my lips, I sweep my gaze along him and settle over his waist. “I’ve told you that you have a beautiful cock, that I enjoy it—but have I told you why? It’s so damn good that I think you’ve adopted it as your primary personality. Dick.”
He chuckles, and I inhale at the genuine sound. “Praise. That is all it will take for you to stay?”
“Well, I do need new underwear.” I glance forlornly at the brand-new, priceless skirt I’m already in danger of ruining. Lately, sex has been on my brain more often than not—making up for lost time and all that—but never to this extent. Being around him has me in a perpetual state of arousal, and I hate myself. “But yes. Offer me a real, heartfelt compliment, and I’ll stay. Until Monday. After that, you’re allowing me the use of your private plane to go back to Cali so that you can’t ‘cancel’ any more commercial flights.”
He frowns, looking surlier than ever.
“I can start, if you want?” I say sweetly. “Watch and learn—I love your cock. I love how you fuck when you lose yourself in the moment. I love it when you slap me on the—”
“The things you say.” His frown deepens, his brow furrowing in aggravation. “Am I really to believe that you were a Sunday school teacher?”
“Amen,” I say solemnly. “But whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter to me. I don’t spend my life concerned with the intentions of others like you do.”
Minus, of course, those of the dangerous, enticing billionaire who toys with me like a bored owner tossing his hyper puppy a bone every now and again.
“Now give me what I want,” I prod. “Or I’ll go to the airport right now and find a pilot to screw.Thatwill get me a ride home, I’m sure—”
“Since you’re already dressed, we’ll do breakfast instead of dinner,” Vadim says. He shoves the covers back and stands.
And my brain short-circuits.
Unsurprisingly, he’s still naked, and my eyes feast upon his body when glimpsed in full. His cock is breathtaking, of course, stiff with morning wood—but his ass. Damn, his ass. I nearly groan out loud as he turns around and bends to pick up his discarded clothing from the floor.
“Is that agreement, I wonder?” he asks without turning around.
“H-Huh?” I blink, struck dumb. The man was crafted by the Devil himself. Slender and lean, the one part of him that isn’t solid muscle, is balanced on top of his muscular thighs. Plump and firm, it looks so damn squeezable that I have to clench my hands into fists just to stop from reaching out.
“I asked if you were going to be agreeable and join me for breakfast or if you were going to insist I jump through some kind of hoop first?” he says, turning to face me, his clothing slung over one arm.
Dick.
“Praise me,” I demand, rising to my feet as well. “Or I’m leaving. I mean it—”
“You…” He eyes me as if hunting for something he can find to compliment me on. When the seconds tick by, heat sears my cheeks.
“Well, don’t try too hard,” I snap. “You might give yourself an aneurysm—”
“Your smile is…decent,” he says finally. “Satisfied?”
