Page 31 of Corrupt: XXX Vadim 2
“She’s sleeping,” Vadim says. “Maybe tomorrow. But she doesn’t know who I am for now. As far as she’s concerned, I’m her new foster placement.”
“Damn.” Milton whistles. “Do you plan on telling her?”
“Maybe. When the time is right.”
“And here I thought Maxim could be a secretive prick. He hides his women from me. You hide your children. What a friendship we all share.”
“You know I trust you more than anyone,” Vadim says, sounding closer. Advancing footsteps force me to scamper up the stairs just as the two men appear in the foyer, advancing toward the front door.
“And you deserve to meet her,” Vadim adds.
“And Maxim?” Milton draws up beside him, fingering the collar of his crisp, ebony suit. “I hear he didn’t make the best impression.”
“Hewon’t be coming anywhere near her,” Vadim says coldly. “I tried with him. But he’s proven more than once—he isn’t worth the time. As far as Magda is concerned, he’s a violent stranger who barged into her home and scared the hell out of her.”
Milton frowns. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t mean to scare her.”
“The fact that he’s saying as much through you and not in person is all I need to know.” Vadim’s gaze darkens, closed-off. “He will never see her again.”
Milton shrugs as Vadim opens the front door. “I hope you change your mind,” he says before stepping out into the darkness. “That little girl needs all of the family she can get. You know better than anyone else that one can’t be too picky when it comes to that subject.”
He leaves, and Vadim closes the door after him, sighing. Rather than escape before he catches me eavesdropping, I take a moment to ogle him. His shoulders are rigid, his profile the picture of brooding unease. As I watch, his constricted expression softens as his lips part, his voice rasping, “My beauty,” he calls to me despite my hiding place. “So cunning. So sly. How much did you hear?”
I step around the corner and descend the stairs, my chin jutting in defiance. “Enough to know I deserve to be punished.” I force a smile, praying that I seem nonchalant enough to have missed the trigger points of his conversation. Like the mysterious Irina who shares Magda’s electric-blue eyes. Naughty questions persist on the fringes of my brain anyway. Such as,did he love her? Is he hoping she’ll return?
I could ask him.
I should…
But I can’t.
His gaze is far too guarded, and I don’t have the heart to shatter my ruse. I saunter to him instead and grab his tie, stroking the fabric suggestively.
“Should I be spanked for my insolence?” I wonder, making my voice low enough so that it won’t carry upstairs. “Or do I deserve a harsher chastisement?”
Vadim cinches my waist in both hands, yanking me closer. I finger his collar while his mouth finds my ear, nibbling at the lobe. “You deserve the world,” he growls in a tone that makes my head spin. So insistent. So confident in that regard.
A world of his making. A sinful, kinky paradise in which I’m at his mercy—helpless as he pulls me down the hall and into his study, taking care not to make too much noise. I smother a moan as he strips me, leaving the façade of his perfect fake wife on the floor before he spreads me over his desk and doles out my punishment.
I nearly scream as he latches his mouth above my piercing, thrusting with his tongue until I’m incoherent. This is true torture—having to stay silent amid the tumult of pleasure he gives me. Ruthlessly, he gives it. Over and over until I’m wracked with sobs as tears stream down my face in my quest to smother all noise.
I praise him with drawn nails raking through his hair instead. With orgasms that leave him groaning in their wake. Limp and panting, all I can do is lie helplessly as he stands and frees his cock from the confines of his slacks.
I take him deep on the first thrust, hissing in pleasure, my eyelids fluttering. I don’t know if it’s the location, or the tension that comes from sneaking around but I come damn near instantly, and he isn’t far behind, snatching me to him as he spills inside me.
We come back to clinging to any part of each other we can reach. As my breathing returns to normal, I find his ear, my voice a whisper.
“I feel sufficiently punished,” I tell him.
He chuckles and draws back to stare down on me with those haunting, brooding eyes. “Enough to repent?” he wonders, stroking the hair from my face. “For ever wanting to leave me?”
I nod even as a part of me warns me to back down. Avoid. Salvage our one fragile boundary. “I believe your torturous methods are making progress with this prisoner,” I confess despite myself. “For better or for worse.”
“Better,” he insists, drawing me into his arms while scanning the floor for our scattered clothing. “This is better.”
And he sounds so damn confident.
I almost believe him.
