Page 11 of Conquer
“Okay.” She nods in agreement, clutching her riding helmet to her chest.
“I’ll get it ready. You go get washed up,oui?”
“Okay!” She dutifully sets off, and I don’t even realize I’m following after her until his voice reaches me, a cautious rasp.
“Tiffany…”
“I should help her get ready,” I say, practically running for the stairs. Magda looks surprised when I enter her room, but like the princess she is, she promptly points to her closet.
“I want to wear my pink pajamas,” she declares, and like a good servant, I rush to obey.
As she showers, I lay out the clothing on her bed. The moment she reappears, I make a show of fussing over her, helping her towel dry her hair and braid it.
“You took a very steamy shower, you lobster,” I tease, running my hand over her scalp. “You’re still boiling.”
“Can you teach me to swim tomorrow?” she asks, her eyelids heavy.
“Sure,” I say, oddly touched by the request. At least someone wants me around. “As long as it’s not too cold out. Maybe we can go out on the boat, too?”
She holds out her tiny hand, raising her pinky. “Promise?”
Chuckling, I curl my own pinky around hers. “Promise. Now let’s go eat.”
Clutching the newly restored It to her chest, she bounds downstairs for dinner.
But I don’t follow right away. Instead, I retreat into the bedroom and strip my own clothing. Then I enter the shower and linger until the water runs cold, and my shivering serves as a cover for my own silent sobs.
Get a grip, Tiffy,I try to tell myself.You’re a bad bitch, remember?Stop second-guessing yourself!
But that’s all I seem capable of doing while in the realm of Vadim Gorgoshev. Second-guessing. Fearing. Doubting. Questioning.
Something that can feel this damn good, and yet hurt this damn much… It can’t be real, can it? Let alone healthy?
I haven’t decided by the time I finally leave the shower and slip into a robe. The second I take a step over the threshold to the bedroom, however, I stop short, my gaze fixated on the creature watching me from the edge of the bed.
He’s stripped his shirt, wearing just his slacks, his hair mussed like it is only when he’s been tearing through it ruthlessly. Dark, his eyes track my every movement, hunting me with a predator’s intensity as I tentatively take a step. Then another.
Still holding my gaze, he rises to his feet. His eyes blaze anger, but as they trace the low neckline of my robe, the lids lower, his lips parting. My heart hammers in response, and I don’t shy away from his gaze, even with the tension simmering between us.
Lust is the one language we speak that transcends all others, and I’m so desperate for a connection…
It’s like I lose control over my body. Myself.
With Jim, sex was always used as leverage. Or as a reward, if I’d jumped through various hoops and pleased him enough to deign indulging me in the moment.
With Vadim, sex is wild. Untamable. Communication. It is the only way I seem to be able to understand him. In groping, hungry touches the second I come close enough. In a fierce, mind-melding kiss that renders me defenseless against him.
Hungrily, he grasps my hips, twisting around to shove me onto the bed. His gaze intent, he mounts the mattress after me. Hooking his fingers beneath my hips, he flips me onto my back, easing my legs apart before I can protest. This angle robs me of any leverage, forcing me to buck into him. Chase him. Crave him.
I shiver as he enters me, thrusting deep, taking what he can and battering down any resistance I may think to put up. His chest cages me in, his hands crushing me flat, controlling the pace. Angle. Everything. Mindless, I rock against him, letting him stretch me to my limits. Take me beyond them. Leave me quaking on the edge of sanity and then watch me fall.
This isn’t over, I sense, even as we both gasp out in relief. Just a reprieve. A truce.
The real war is only beginning, and when he finally withdraws from me, spent, he collapses with his back to me, his shoulders rigid.
I go limp, panting against the sheets, my thoughts scattered, body still burning alight. If I had the strength to move, I would. Run far, far away—put distance between us any way I can.
Physically at least, because emotionally, we might as well be on different planets.
