Page 34 of Vengeful Vows

“I—”

I lose the chance to get out another word.

As quickly as Rafael snuck up on me, he points out Ark’s office like I’m unaware of the floor plan of his apartment before he races into the den to tell his guests it is time to eat.

They’re nowhere near as apprehensive as I am. They gather their coats almost immediately and file out of the apartment until only two people are left—Ark and me.

I contemplate leaving as well, but I’ve yet to do what I set out to achieve fifty minutes ago, and it would be rude to leave Ark in the lurch as to where his guests went.

I’ll tell him of Rafael’s plan, hand him back the dress I’m praying hasn’t been poorly crinkled enough to require dry cleaning, and then leave. It is the polite thing to do, the right thing to do, and the very thing I don’t want to do.

Ark’s guests are out of my league, but when Ark was eyeballing my arrival, it was nice to pretend I was in the top one percent of the country.

Elite is too tame of a word to describe Ark’s friends. They’re top tier in all the rankings—looks, personality, social status, and wealth.

The reminder slows my steps toward Ark’s office, their lack of briskness not a contributor to the wailing of my heart when I rap my knuckles against his office door.

“Ark?”

I knock again, louder this time. Rafael mentioned shampoo and self-care in one sentence. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I am reasonably sure that was code for Ark being in the shower. With all the showers in this apartment designed the same way, he won’t be able to hear my knocks.

When my request for entrance is denied with silence, I press my ear to the door and listen for any signs of life.

I get that and so much more.

I hear my new boss moan my name—twice.

13

ARKADIY

As flashes of Mara’s gorgeous face roll through my head like a movie, I squeeze my eyes shut and tighten my grip on my cock. I couldn’t find Mara’s shampoo; it wasn’t where I left it, but I don’t need it to bring myself to climax. Having her here, under the same roof as me, is all the incentive I need.

In a way, my plan is as brilliant as it is dangerous. I get to help Mara by giving her a steady, stable income, and her presence will ensure I keep my hands to myself—literally—which will keep both Fyodor and media-hungry harlots like Veronika off my back.

My unexpected brilliance sees me stroking my cock faster. It reacts as if it is Mara’s fingers circling my shaft, jacking me off like she is hungry for my cum.

I’m seconds from release and moaning like there aren’t a dozen guests in my den, drinking my liquor and partying like I took the lead in the polls instead of a dive.

The fact I’m stroking my cock instead of mulling over votes still a year from being cast is already lurid, but doing it here, in a bathroom, blows my mind.

Only a week ago, if you had asked me about the possibility of me getting myself off, I would have deemed it impossible. My fear of touch isn’t solely fixated on strangers. It is, as a whole, for both strangers and me.

Yet here I am, stroking my dick for the second time today, in a shower of all places.

My shock should have my cock sitting limp against my thigh. It shouldn’t be rocking in and out of my fist at a pace quick enough for release to be imminent. But since my focus is on her, the woman with eyes that seemingly can see through to my soul, my balls pull in close to my body as my cock pulsates with want.

Mara’s scent, pert tits, and fuckable body feature heavily over the next several minutes. I think about how she looked up at me when my hand slid inside her panties and how she moaned my name when my thumb found her clit. I think about her smell and how I used her shampoo as bodywash for days to ensure I didn’t lose it.

“Fuck.”

I’m right there, on the brink of release, picturing how she’ll moan my name when I take her bare for the first time.

It won’t be with a stutter.

Her voice will be crystal clear and without fear.

“Oh…”

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