Corrupt (XXX Vadim Book 2): Club XXX Book 5

by Lana Sky

  “We’ll look for things together, then,” I suggest, rising to my feet. The real world lingers beyond this room, but I’m selfish. Childish, even. I’m desperate to extend this moment, and I cross over to him without a second’s hesitation, looping my arms around his neck from behind. “Tomorrow we’ll go out and buy some things for her in person. Do I still get my treat?”

  He stiffens, but then cups my hips, and any previous tension eases. “Remember when, during your explicit proposal of your demands in exchange for a piercing, that you requested a swing?”

  He makes it sound so harmless, but I squeal in utter debauched delight. It’s a relatively effortless gesture on his part, but it betrays an intent that leaves me giddy—more debauched kink. My eyes trace the contours of the rectangular base, and I slowly begin to recognize the makings of a sexual swing set. Just for me.

  “I love how you make my fantasies come true,” I murmur near his ear.

  He strokes down my hip, and I sense again that something unspoken is being transferred between us. Something hot and sensual that makes me back away.

  “Let me be your assistant?” I ask as he turns to face me.

  He smirks and directs me to a leather case containing silver tools. I perch beside it and hand him tools one by one at his request. I think he manages to work for a solid hour in peace before the pressure building between my legs becomes unbearable. Being with him is forcing me to rethink all the turn-ons I’d had before now.

  A man wearing only a dress shirt, screwing pieces of a sex swing together? Check.

  Said man glancing at me every few seconds with hooded, lusty eyes? Double check.

  And when he stands and rakes his fingers through a mane of curls glistening with sweat, I shrug off my own shirt and sidle up to him, easing a silver wrench from his grasp.

  “I want a demonstration,” I murmur, stroking my fingers along the partially built swing. Then I inch the same hand around to his abdomen and boldly stroke downward. “A taste of all the dirty things you plan to do to me on it?”

  In exasperation, he turns to me and captures my chin, his grin dangerous. “I’ll never finish at this rate,” he says, eyeing my front.

  I shamelessly display myself for him and cup one of my breasts, thumbing the nipple. “You could always say no,” I remind him.

  His eyes narrow as if he’s processing the idea. The next second, he’s stepping into me, his mouth finding mine, his hands gripping my hips. One harsh tug brings my pelvis against his.

  I take that response as a yes.

  Chapter Five

  I wake up dazed, lying on a hard surface. The floor? Beside me rests a warm, tempting body that I greedily nestle against even as my eyes open and blink to adjust to the dim light. Oh. I vaguely recognize the budding sex room, complete with the partially-built swing looming above.

  And beside me is Vadim, his cheek resting on the open manual and my heart practically melts. No man has ever looked sexier and I can’t resist stroking my fingers along his jaw until he opens his eyes.

  “Your playground will take months to achieve at this rate,” he says tiredly. I arch into him as his arms encircle me, drawing me closer.

  “Good,” I say with absolutely no regret. “In the meantime, we can build one for Magda—but I promise I won’t strip naked while you work on her swing set.”

  He chuckles at that, sounding skeptical. “When do you want to begin your search, oh expert?”

  I glance at the gray light coming in through the window and wiggle away from him, climbing to my feet. “Now.”

  I help him up and lead him into the shower where I risk a small delay to reward him for indulging me. Together we dress quickly—him in a plain black suit and I settle on a dress in a matching color—and, after a quick breakfast, we take the sports car into the city.

  I lean into him, stroking his arm while my brain plays some frantic warning about my own boundaries. My own deadline. My own red lines—I told him this would end soon. After Magda is settled, I need to leave. It will be best for everyone.

  “Having second thoughts?” Vadim asks as I pull away from him and focus my attention on the window nearest me.

  “H-Huh?” I look over, but he doesn’t appear anywhere near as distraught about us ending this as one might assume.

  “I assure you that I am not a good shopping companion,” he confesses. “Are you sure you can’t manage alone?”

  Oh. I brush my fingers along his forearm and squeeze the rock-hard muscle lurking beneath. “I need your strength,” I insist. “I plan to put your skills as a handyman to use.”

  “Handy, you say…” His upper lip quirks as he scans the road. “There are people I can hire for that.”

  “No.” I marvel at the authority my own voice packs. “I want you to do it. Some things we can make exceptions for, but you should have a hand in this.”

  He doesn’t respond but his eyes take on that far-away darkness. Desperate to change the subject, I lean down and fish through his briefcase until I find a blue folder containing a stack of neatly printed documents. I can tell even as I spread them over my lap that they have been well-perused before me. The edges are dented from what I suspect were a pair of slim fingers flipping through them over and over. Still, I feign ignorance as I spot a small but detailed list.

  “She likes blue,” I read, awed by that preference she unknowingly shares with the man beside me. “She enjoys reading. She likes to play chess. She enjoys—”

  “Swimming,” Vadim finishes before I can. “Playing in the park. Boats. Her favorite food is buttered toast. She also likes horses.” He speaks with such a confidence that I don’t even have to glance at the paper to know he’s memorized them by heart.

  And the fact that his home contains both a swimming pool and a stable, as well as a boathouse takes on a new meaning. One that leaves me stunned.

  “That’s why you picked that house,” I say, returning the papers to the briefcase. “I thought you wanted to be a dick to your brother, but it was for her.”

  His lips contort into a small, beautiful smile that reveals just how exhausted he is. How many nights has he lost worrying about this? Far too many I suspect.

  “I cannot be faulted if Maxim also has an interest in child friendly real-estate. Not to mention that I’ve owned…” He trails off, his jaw tight. “Contrary to Maxim’s egotistical view, my life does not entirely revolve around spiting him.”

  I recall the phone conversation I overheard last night, more disturbed than before. What trouble might be building between the brothers now?

  Today probably isn’t the best time to dig for answers on that subject, however.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” I say, gently steering the topic to safer waters. “But together, we’ll make it perfect for her. I promise.” I interlink my fingers with his free hand, squeezing tight. He risks taking his eyes from the road just long enough to eye our clasped hands.

  “Together…” He says the word as though it’s a novel concept. One he’s never applied to his life before and again I seethe in jealousy at whichever potential wife he may have picked. No one will help him like I will.

  But then you’ll leave him, a part of me snipes. You plan on skipping out as soon as you can, you heartless bitch.

  “Have you decided where to attack first, Ms. General?” Vadim wonders once we reach the city proper.

  I latch onto the distraction and tap my chin, humming thoughtfully. “No. But I did find a custom boutique online. Everything they sell looks insanely expensive yet beautifully crafted. Let’s start there.”

  He chuckles. “Let’s see if you can reach my expectations. With my accounts at your mercy, I should be nearing bankruptcy by the evening’s end. I hope you won’t disappoint.”

  “You’re on,” I declare, with upmost confidence.

  But something tells me that the stakes of this little venture may result in more than just his finances being at risk. Like my resolve for one.

  And my
boundaries, too.

  After a morning spent shopping, we have lunch and then take a detour to a high-rise that I recognize as one of his offices. Eingel Industries reads the name emblazoned on the corridors as he leads me inside.

  “I need to grab some legal documents,” he tells me. “I’ll be just a moment.”

  And yet, he didn’t have me wait in the car or come here himself. Could this be a reclusive billionaire’s attempt at transparency? My heart flutters, unsure of how to accept this deliberate turn of events.

  As a good thing, I decide.

  “I’ll wait out here,” I suggest, spotting a pair of glass doors that appear to lead into an enclosed courtyard. Vadim nods and sets off while I venture out into a small, beautiful garden brimming with carefully cultivated bushes and flower beds. A bubbling fountain ties the peaceful scenery together but when I spy a golden plaque my heart constricts as I read the simple phrase inscribed on it—Hiram Gorgoshev Memorial Garden.

  A family member of his? Given what little he’s revealed about his past, I’m not even sure if I should risk asking.

  I’m instantly aware the second he steps out to join me. It’s as if the entire atmosphere shifts. Thickens. Mellows.

  A lazy smile is already playing on my lips even before I feel his hands on my waist as he comes up behind me. “My accounts are settled,” he murmurs against the nape of my neck. “You may continue to spend as you please.”

  My brain reels at that, considering that—together, based mainly on his input—we’ve already spent a small fortune on enough furniture and small knick knacks to please any seven-year-old.

  “I’ll turn you into a shopaholic yet,” I declare, spinning around to face him. He looks so freaking pretty in the pale, overcast daylight. Like a fallen angel finally remembering to unfurl his wings after an eternity of damnation. Hopeful.

  I hate myself for daring to mention, “This garden… It’s beautiful.”

  He shoots me an odd look, an eyebrow raised. “Do you think she’d want one like it?” Before I can reply he slips an arm around my shoulders and steers me back through the building, out to the car.

  “A garden would be a nice touch,” I say, letting the subject drop.

  As we pull away from the building, his eyes linger on it, and for a split second, his expression slips. Raw pain distorts his features and I want to kick myself for ever bringing up the subject.

  Whoever Hiram Gorgoshev was to him, I suspect he doesn’t think on him with quite the same hostility he utilizes toward his brother or his past.

  But he isn’t ready to talk about him either, and I can’t help but wonder why.

  Chapter Six

  “A little to the left,” I command while leaning against a wall of newly purchased pillows, all still wrapped within their plastic packaging. Before me stands Vadim, musing over the correct placement for a scenic portrait.

  “Here?” he asks, moving the ivory frame slightly to the left.

  “Maybe to the right,” I say, but I’m admittedly not staring at the painting but something far more enticing just a few feet below. I’m caught when he turns around and catches me gawking.

  “Are you referring to the painting or my ass?”

  “Both,” I confess sheepishly. “You’re sexy when in interior designer mode—the room looks beautiful.”

  And it should—the combined effort of over twenty hours of work, building and painting with a night spent sleeping on the floor to boot. The space he had chosen for Magda was originally beautiful with a perfect view of the water and the surrounding property—though utterly bare. At its core were the basics for a girl’s dream bedroom, however. A bay window, complete with a window seat, conjures the image of a father reading bedtime stories, and the bed we picked out is made of a luxurious pale wood.

  “I would have died for a room like this,” I tell him, meaning every word.

  “Would you have?” A grin ignites his wary expression, battling the exhaustion and streaks of baby blue paint still speckling his cheeks. I suck in a breath, horrified. My sore piercing—thank God it isn’t infected or damaged despite my throwing the healing instructions to the wind—throbs in a delicious tempo in tune to my racing heartbeat. “You’re going to rock the single father trope.”

  “Single?” He tilts his head, stroking his chin with fingers reddened from assembling furniture for hours on end. Something feral seeps into his gaze, eating away at the playful demeanor until… God, he looks too damn serious.

  I jump as he pivots, setting the picture aside, and advances toward me, his gaze crackling. The faster I move, the wider his strides become until he’s gained on me. With the tip of his finger, he tilts my chin back, forcing eye contact.

  “Single is not something I foresee for myself,” he murmurs, stroking my jaw in a devastating, toe-curling swipe. “Not anymore.”

  “Haha.” I inhale sharply and take a small step back. “Planning on another wife so soon? At least let us have our fake divorce first,” I say, attempting a joke. It falls flat—my voice is a hoarse whisper, and Vadim doesn’t laugh.

  “Not quite…” He advances again, ruthlessly pinning me against the wall, until I have no choice but to quiver against him. His gaze is too damn intense, demanding in a way that makes my hips arch despite my protests, my pulse thready.

  “No new wife. No new woman—” his sly, devious grin makes me exhale sharply, contrasting with the way he sweeps his touch down to my throat, each fingertip radiating possession. All the while, his gaze remains honed, sharper than ever. Determined. “I think I have denied myself of happiness for too long. I think I’d like to renegotiate our options.”

  “N-No.” I shake my head, attempting to turn away. “I told you. This won’t work—”

  “You did.” He captures my cheek against his palm, urging me to face him again. “But I suggest we renegotiate those terms. In fact… I insist upon it.”

  “No!” I sound exasperated, and again I try to escape from around him—but he shifts to block me at every turn.

  “Vadim.” My heartbeat falters as I brace my hand over his chest. “Please don’t,” I croak. “Please. I don’t want to ruin this.”

  He blinks, and just like that, he flips his internal switch. He’s neutral again, the fire gone. All I sense from him now is ice-cold calm. “As you wish.”

  He returns to the wall and picks up the frame, relentlessly hammering it into place within seconds. I watch him, wary for reasons I can’t explain. His insistence isn’t what unnerves me. It’s my own—and fear of things not working out isn’t what makes me want to run far in the opposite direction. No… I find myself stroking the fake ring on my finger as I grapple with the truth—I’m terrified by how good things could be. So good. And I don’t know if I can face the disappointment if that fantasy never comes to fruition.

  My time with Jim taught me that relationships, for the most part, always fall apart.

  I’m so lost within myself that I barely notice when Vadim leaves the room for good. It isn’t until I find myself searching for him that I finally register his absence. Alone, I stand and pace the room, marveling at the small touches that his money alone couldn’t buy.

  For one, he mixed two shades of blue to find the perfect hue to accent the wall above her bed. He found trinkets and books to fill her shelves, picked out without my input. Each detail reveals the depth of a devotion I doubt even he is truly aware of.

  He wants his daughter with him. He craves her happiness. And I can’t come in between them before they even have the chance to connect.

  Right?

  To distract myself from pondering the answer, I gather up the loose pieces of trash strewn across the room. Then I unwrap the pillows and dress them in the crisp, baby blue sheets we picked out together at a boutique downtown. I adorn the bed with them and add a matching comforter and ivory woven throw blanket.

  All in all, it’s a room any little girl would love.

  Left with nothing else to do, I have no choice
but to face the world beyond this room. And the conversation I sense lies in wait the second I do. Warily, I creep down the hall toward the bedroom. There, I find Vadim standing in the center of the space, his face in his hands, his back to me. Seeing him in torment makes me ache in ways I never have. Like my heart is on fire, and only his nearness can put it out. To do so, I’ll risk bending my own rules, just a little. I can’t help it.

  “Let’s forget what we said,” I suggest, approaching him. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t—”

  He spins around, capturing my wrists, drawing me close. A shudder runs through me as our lips connect, tongues meeting hesitantly. Closing my eyes, I sink into the kiss, letting him overpower me with forceful, deep strokes. Too forceful. Devouring. I’m dizzy when he pulls back, and I blink my eyes open, gasping for breath.

  He’s flipped that internal switch again, suddenly ablaze with an array of emotions too obscure to name outright.

  “You’ve ruined everything,” he tells me, his eyes darker than ever. Furious. Resigned. Terrifying. As I stiffen, he caresses my jaw, his expression pained. “You give me a taste of what it could be like… How could I not want more?”

  “Huh?”

  He leans in without explanation, taking my mouth with a ferocity that leaves me breathless. I cling to him, buffeted back as he surges forward. Without warning, he shoves me down, forcing me onto my back.

  I look up at him, dazed, my throat tightening as he reaches for his pants, easily tugging them open. Fire shoots through me, and my brain goes blank as my legs spread apart. Only a frantic warning at the back of my mind makes me gasp out, “Wait—”

  “You feel it, don’t you?” he inquires with that smug confidence as he rips his pants down his legs and frees his cock from the boxers beneath. My teeth seize my bottom lip at the sight. He’s erect, his piercing gleaming, precum wetting the pulsating crown.

  So beautiful.

  And dangerous. I recognize that look in his eye. That cold, calculating expression. The same one he sported after tormenting me with the silver toy and locking me in the pillory.