“You hurt me?” He laughs again, this sound more beautiful than the first. “I think I can suffer whatever pain you can dish out, as long as you perform your unique way of currying favor afterward.”
“Ah.” I lift my lips, pleased that he seems to enjoy my “ways” as much as I do. “And just to think, a few days ago, I had to fight you to let me suck your cock.”
“A foolish man, then,” he concedes. “Such a fool. But he is thankfully in the past. Stay with me, and I will learn plenty of ways to both pleasure you and explore the use of your mouth.”
He pulls me closer, holding me so tight it’s just to the point of painful. For some reason, it’s easier to write off his words as boasts made in the heat of the moment. Nothing more. Even as his gaze burns with searing intensity…
He’s bluffing.
“Promise?” I say, testing that assumption despite my better judgment.
“I will,” he declares as if to shatter that hope. “No promise necessary.”
I wake up to the sensation of peace, unlike any other. One so deep and so encompassing that I assume I’m dreaming at first. No one’s arms could possibly feel this safe. This warm. This comforting.
I open my eyes, expecting a fantasy realm of unicorns and ponies and other fantastical dreamworld things. Instead, I find a man so beautiful he can’t be real. My heart despairs until he opens his dark eyes, and his expression matches mine. Fearful with diminishing hope. There’s no way this can be real.
I snuggle into him, attempting to extend this moment for as long as I can only for him to stiffen. Gradually, his frown softens, his eyes losing their unease. I shiver as his fingers part my hair, smoothing through the strands as he sighs, utterly relaxed.
This may not be a dream, after all.
“Morning.”
I moan at the sound of his voice, husky with sleep. “Morning,” I whisper in response.
So yes, this is real. Vadim, holding me against him, our bodies still slick with sweat, the bedsheets twisted around us. Pale dawn light bathes his skin in a soft glow, making him seem more ethereal than ever. My beautiful, tormented angel so convinced he doesn’t deserve happiness.
He has to take it.
All of last night comes crashing back in one go. My ultimatum. His sensual, torturous response. Something in my expression must change because he stiffens, betraying breathtaking concern. Horror, even.
And I do nothing to reassure him. Slowly, I brace my hand against his chest and push back, wincing as my body throbs with a mixture of lingering lust and bone-shattering exhaustion.
“I’ll never forgive you,” I tell him, my voice breaking. “Never.”
His throat constricts as he reaches for me, stroking my cheek. “I’m sorry. Are you in pain?”
I snatch his hand, wrenching it from my face. Then I manipulate the digits until the longest finger is extended, and I eagerly brush it with my lips, stroking my tongue across the tip. He looks horribly confused, this beautiful man, torn between arousal and alarm.
I deign to put him out of his misery and suck on the very tip of his finger just once.
“How dare you keep that toy all to yourself,” I scold him, still too weak to put real effort into my mocking tone. “I’m starting to think I should demand you come clean about all of your new custom goodies.”
He chuckles and gingerly slips his finger from my lips, drawing me closer. “I plan to keep you well satisfied on the real thing,” he says, and sure enough, I sense him hardening against my belly. “That substitute shall only be deployed in emergencies.”
“You see my potential leaving as an emergency?” I question, my voice soft.
He brushes my jaw, his lips firmly closed. “You’re shaking,” he finally declares, eyeing the length of me with a frown. “It seems another round of pampering is in order.”
He shrugs the sheets from his body and stands. A heartbeat later, I’m in his arms as he heads for the bathroom. When we pass the window, I eye the morning sky and remember our unofficial deadline.
“Today is the last day before she comes,” I declare. “I guess my playground will have to go under lock and key.”
If he hears me, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he drapes me carefully over the bench in the shower and proceeds to clean me off with more care than should be possible. After my few relationships—mainly with Jim—it blows my mind that someone can treat another person with such reverence. I feel like an idol worshipped by him. Revered by him.
And for a second, I can forget my rules—just for a second.
Determined, he bathes every inch of me with utmost gentleness. I’m riveted just watching him inspect me, awed by every part of me.
“You make me feel so beautiful,” I murmur as he wipes the lather from my limbs and bundles me in a towel. “I love the way you—”
“My beauty, so full of compliments,” he says while carrying me back into the bedroom. “You’re inflating my ego. I’ve spent years fighting to keep it in check.”
Rebelliously, I reach up, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “You deserve praise,” I say, meaning every word. Perhaps that suspicion is what drives him to doubt the motives of those around him, even if they obviously care. “I give you permission to be as cocky as you want.”
He makes a thoughtful sound in his throat as he settles me on the bed. He switched out the sheets, I realize, replacing them with a fresh set. “Cocky enough to think I can claim you?” he counters.
I sway as our gazes connect. It should be illegal for someone to look so…ravenous. And yet in the same breath, utterly restrained—all that tension tethered to a hair-trigger.
“Tell me you want me,” I whisper, toying with that dangerous, fragile line.
With a feral expression, he snaps it. “I crave you.”
To prove it,
