“When do I get my day of special deliveries?”
“You’ve gotten them,” he says cryptically, his gaze unreadable. “If you are a good girl, I’ll let you unwrap them.”
In the absence of prying eyes, I kiss him, groaning as his lips part against mine, and his tongue matches my own thrust for thrust. It feels so good, stealing these moments with him. I shamelessly tease the erection hardening beneath his slacks, but with a groan, he backs away.
“I would have you on the ground,” he swears in a tone that makes my toes curl. “Naked beneath me. But—”
“With our luck, Magda would come skipping in,” I finish for him. “I understand, Mr. Dad.”
Chuckling, he takes my hand, and we return to the house together. Up above, a smattering of dark clouds thickens, promising a storm—the first drops of which start to fall the second we escape into the kitchen.
Magda’s plate is missing from the three on the table, and Vadim and I eat in silence. He’s brooding again, I suspect, stressing over her reaction to him. A reaction that confuses me the more I think about it. Apart from Maxim, Magda had been…challenging, fitting the term Ms. Anderson used, but when it comes to Vadim, it’s as if she deliberately stops herself every time she starts to soften toward him.
Like she’s refusing to soften toward him. Curious as to why, I place my dirty plate in the sink and head for the stairs. “I’ll check on her.”
In the hall, a strange haunting tune teases my ears, drifting from Magda’s room. That foreign lullaby.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, finding her slumped on her bed while tossing the hapless It into the air. “Did you learn that at school? What language is that?”
She frowns and lets the bear fall onto the bedspread. “No.” Rolling onto her knees, she eyes me warily as if deciding something on the spot. “Will you play with me?” Her defensive tone makes me suspect that it’s a request she’s used to having denied.
The Robinsons and their ineptitude strike again.
“Of course.” I sink onto the bed beside her and kick out my legs. “What will we play?”
“Tea party,” she says innocently. “I’ll be the queen, and you’ll be my loyal subject.” She looks me dead in the eye as she adds. “And I’m going to poison you.”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Magda shrieks in indignation, her cheeks pink. But her lips twitch, fighting a grin she ultimately succumbs to as I writhe, still in the midst of my “death throes.”
“I am dead,” I tell her mournfully. “Or maybe I’m not? Maybe I’ll…” I shoot to my feet and lunge, my fingers drawn, aiming for her armpits. “I’ll stage a coup and decide I’m the new queen!”
“N-No!” she exclaims between giggles. “You can’t!”
We collapse into a heap, laughing hysterically before I even register how odd that fact is. She’s laughing, batting at my hands as I tickle her ruthlessly. It’s such a strange, unexpected moment. I can’t explain what it feels like.
My shock must match Vadim’s as he appears breathless in the doorway, presumably assuming the worst from Magda’s high-pitched shrieks. “Are… Is everything okay?” he asks, his hair mussed, his suit ruffled.
Just like that, Magda falls silent and sits upright, her frown firmly in place. “I’m tired,” she says.
Sure enough, the sky is darkening. We’ve spent almost a full day already though it feels like snippets of time.
“I’ve made dinner,” Vadim says softly.
We follow him downstairs, and Magda makes a show of picking at the food on her plate, though in the end, she eats a majority of it. Then she heads back up to her room with Vadim and I hot on her heels.
“Do you want me to brush your hair?” I ask her, unable to resist tugging on the end of one curl as she climbs onto her bed.
She seems to hesitate. Then she shakes her head, her eyes on Vadim. “I’m not a baby.”
“Okay.” I stand and join Vadim, closing her door behind me.
“We’ll be here if you need us,” he says.
I can’t stand his tormented expression as we head to the bedroom. Literally. The only way to salvage my selfish pain is to close the door, lock it, and boldly strip my dress as he watches. I saunter to him slowly as he backs up toward the bed and sits on the edge, waiting for me.
I straddle him and kiss him as deeply as I craved to in the stable. When he relaxes, I slide my hand down between us and grip the erection throbbing inside his slacks, freeing it. Sinking to my knees, I worship him, taking him into my mouth as deep as I can.
I relish in his groans and the reverent way he strokes my hair even while on the verge of pleasure. I’m so drugged on the moment, that I’m tempted to break my one last rule. Drawing back from him, I breathe against the pulsating head of his cock, watching his piercing jump.
“I could stay…”
Mayday. Too far! I look up in horrified anticipation of how he’ll react. Gloriously. Like I said, the most beautiful, magical words in existence. Eyes glowing, he fists his fingers through my hair, guiding me up so that our lips meet.
“Again,” he commands against my mouth in a tone radiating authority. “Tell me I can have you.”
Too dangerous. Too…wrong. Right? We barely know each other. A few short weeks can’t be enough time to breach such a raw, intimate boundary.
Not even if he’s begging and desperate, his hollow eyes open, craving affection no matter how small. In this moment, I can’t deny him. Not of a lie. Not anything.
“I’ll stay,” I whisper, brushing my lips over his once. The phrases he demanded I repeat while manacled on the bed return to the forefront of my mind, ample fodder to feed his pleasure. “You can have me. I desire you. You deserve—”
He shifts, trapping me beneath him, and
