“Smooth talker,” I rasp. It’s alarming how he always manages to say the right thing. Even as my brain struggles to counter him with logic. The more he touches me, the less my fears make sense. The world narrows to this—him and me. My body heats, my hips writhing shamelessly to soothe the ache building between my legs. A heat that catches fire as my piercing remains rigid against swelling flesh, applying incredible pressure.
“Will you kick me out of your bed tonight as punishment for aggravating you?” he wonders. His lips find the crook of my throat, pressing there in a teasing kiss. Then a harder, teasing bite. “Or can I find some way to make it up to you?”
Damn…
“I think you’re heading in the right direction,” I gasp as his hands skim down my hips, finding my thighs. I spread my legs, encouraging him to travel lower. A gasp rips from my throat as his fingers slip between my legs, teasing the very edge of my piercing. My eyelids flutter, and I’m leaning into him, relying on his support just to stay upright.
“Mmm, my beauty. Don’t tell me you’ve neglected yourself while I’ve been gone?”
Neglected… My brain spins, dizzy at the thought of fingering myself thinking of him. I hadn’t. Why? “You didn’t leave your toy for me,” I confess. “I don’t like to tease myself when I know waiting for the real deal will feel so much better.”
He murmurs his approval, sliding a finger between my folds, tempting me with the promise of fullness. I spin around to face him, snatching at his collar. Logic can wait. He’s right—I need this. Him. All of him.
Desperate, I rub my hips shamelessly against his thigh, teasing a groan from his throat.
“Still so insatiable…” He guides me backward, letting me fall onto the mattress. I spread my legs for him, gasping as he cups me, encouraging me rock against his palm.
“You find pleasure in this?” he whispers as my eyes threaten to roll.
His voice does something to me, triggering an avalanche of emotions, too overwhelming to resist. My lips part, the truth spilling out before I can stop myself, “I find pleasure in you.”
“Prove it,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck, nipping intermittently with his teeth. “Show me how badly you crave this.”
He bucks his hips, letting his cock graze my inner thigh.
How much do I crave him? Enough to lose my mind. Enough to forget my boundaries.
Enough to lose myself.
Enough to drown.
Chapter Seventeen
I wake up utterly content. Rolling onto my back, I open my eyes to a room filled with sunshine and the pleasant weight of Vadim’s arm over my waist. I nestle into him, so relaxed that I almost miss the tiny figure standing at the end of our bed, watching us.
Puzzled, I blink, but the intruder doesn’t disappear. In fact…
As my brain wakes up, more of her expression comes into painfully sharp focus.
“M-Magda!” I lurch upright, clutching the sheet over my front. Beside me, Vadim stirs, still asleep. “What is it, honey?”
She frowns, crossing her arms over her nightgown, her glare accusatory. “You didn’t wake me up.”
“Huh?” I glance at the clock, surprised to find that it’s nearly noon. Though, after last night, it honestly is no shock. Even Vadim’s still out. Turning to Magda, I can’t escape a wave of guilt as every real-world concern comes slamming back to the forefront. Her supposed mother. Her father’s demands. The fact that I’m naked.
“Did you eat breakfast yet?” I ask her, clutching the sheet even tighter.
She shakes her head, and I scramble to the edge of the mattress. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll make you something to eat.”
The second she leaves, I dart into the bathroom and change in record time. When I scramble into Magda’s room, she’s still wearing her pajamas. After muscling her into the bathroom, I lay out a fresh set of clothing on her bed. Only then do I stop to realize what I’m doing.
Coddling her? Or maybe there’s a worse word for it in this context…
Mothering her.
Mrs. Robinson eat your heart out. It seems the busybody was wrong about Magdalene in more ways than one. Though…she was independent her first few days here, dressing without prompting. I sense this new insistence on having me assist her has nothing to do with laziness. Oh God, I think it’s deeper than that. More terrifying than that.
Did the Robinsons ever attempt to do this for her? Did the mother even try to tuck her in and lay out her clothing? Something tells me no. Am I making a huge mistake by letting her get accustomed to this? To me?
“I can’t wear that without pants,” Magda says from the doorway of her bathroom, seemingly amused by the fact that I’ve only placed a yellow cashmere sweater on her bed and nothing else. She giggles—a sound so rare and fleeting that I promptly squash my doubts and force a grin.
“Right you are, smarty pants. But let’s try a skirt today instead?” I pick out a tan tweed one and a baby blue headband. Once dressed, she hops onto the end of the bed, and I heed my cue, settling in to brush and braid her hair, securing it with a length of yellow ribbon.
Downstairs, I make her a bowl of cereal and warm up a piece of toast for Vadim, who stumbles downstairs not long after. I can tell that he showered, throwing on a pair of sweats in lieu of a suit. Looking beautifully dazed, he rakes his fingers through his damp hair, and once again, his thoughts are easier to read than ever. Like the fact that he’s alarmed for one, unnerved at having slept for so long.
“Your food, good sir.” I place a
