Page 6 of Corrupt: XXX Vadim 2
Chapter Three
It shouldn’t be so hard to maintain my anger toward him. Within the space of a few minutes, my thoughts have turned from“make him pay”to…“listen to him, you stubborn bitch.”Fighting to regain my resolve, I shower and change into a sinfully revealing negligee and a barely visible thong that by some miracle doesn’t snag on my healing piercing. Both make for impenetrable armor in this silent war, and when I strut back into the hallway, I’m determined to win the last battle at all costs.
And I nearly run into Vadim. But he’s…different. It’s as if the pleading man from downstairs transformed into a stranger in an instant. A disinterested stranger. His eyes skim over me with barely any notice as he promptly enters a nearby room.
And I nearly trip as my head whips around, tracking him.What the hell?
The room is the same one he pierced me in, I see as I follow him, driven by sadistic curiosity. What could distract him from his groveling?
Redecorating, it seems. The leather chaise is now against one of the walls, the medical instruments vanished. One of those heavy boxes lies open in the center of the room while Vadim rummages through it, apparently assembling something. It’s large and black made of wood. A table?
Square-shaped and about waist-high, it contains a divot with a soft cushion covered in red fabric and two silver fixtures on either side. A detail so unusual, I find myself inching forward just to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks.
Nope.The closer I come, the easier it is to identify those objects, positioned upright, made of silver rings—manacles.
And something inside me is brutally savaged by a wave of jealousy so fierce I sway.
“Preparing for your new fake wife?” I ask nastily, grasping for any form of retaliation.
He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he peers at a white booklet that I assume must be instructions. Then he adjusts something at the end of the odd platform with a silver wrench. He’s changed, stripping his suit for the white dress shirt and slacks. The look, paired with his current task, makes something inside me quiver, my throat dampening.Damn.He makes a buttoned-up Mr. Handyman look sexy.
But I’m not fooled.
To prove as much, I stomp loudly downstairs and steal one of Ena’s meals from the freezer. I eat while scowling and contemplate taking one of his fancy sports cars and attempting once more to send the poor man into bankruptcy.
Instead, I find myself bounding right back upstairs and towing the boundary of that mysterious room. He’s still here, assembling yet another unknown wooden structure. Sweat glistens on his brow, and he’s left the first few buttons of his shirt undone, exposing the scar along his throat. He looks so intent on his task, he doesn’t seem to notice me until I strut boldly to the platform.
Up close, I start to get an inkling of what it might be, and my heart skips a beat. The red cushion is the ideal size and width to comfort a woman’s torso if, say she happened to be leaning across it—and those manacles are in the perfect position to capture her wrists and keep her immobile.
Like some sexy, taboo pillory.
My heart sinks, poisoned by yet even more jealousy. I swear, my vision goes green. I can’t help myself. Like any scorned creature, I attempt to go right for his jugular.
“Nice to see that your research into kink won’t end with me,” I say coldly, placing my hand down within his line of sight. I can’t stop myself from fingering the curve of one of the manacles as burning hot envy unfurls in my chest. So much for his supposed ignorance when it comes to kink. He seems to be well prepared to welcome his next conquest and indulge her fully. “I hope your new fake wife is a prude—”
He snatches my wrist before I can truly process the action. With an easy display of strength, he flattens my palm against the platform.Clink. The manacle encircles my wrist and stunned, I tug, surprised when it doesn’t budge.
“What the hell?”
He grabs my other wrist and secures it within the other manacle just as quickly. Then he backs away from the platform entirely, escaping my limited view. Panic sends my heartbeat racing as I crane my neck, desperate to track his movements.
“What the hell are you doing? Vadim!” My voice rings out, trembling with a hint of uncertainty. “Vadim!”
Within seconds, he reappears directly across from me, dragging a black stool behind him. Calmly, he sits, placing his hands on either knee. Our gazes meet, and a tendril of unease races down my spine. I’m suddenly aware of my new piercing, grazing my clit, enhancing the burning sting I’ve barely grown accustomed to. But it’s anything but painful. Stubbornly, I strive to ignore the sensation in favor of baring my teeth at him.
“Get me out of this!”
He cocks his head to the side and leans back on his stool. I sense that he’s waiting for something—like a dog trainer waiting for the naughty mutt to remember one command or the other.
“You fucking bastard!” I strain at my binds, hissing in exasperation. “Let. Me. Go!”
Something unreadable flashes through his dark eyes, and I stiffen, falling silent. A subtle softening of his jaw is my reward, and I watch, riveted as he lifts one of his hands and lowers it to his fly.
With envious dexterity, he has it open in seconds, palming his cock.Holy crap.He moves slowly in firm, deliberate strokes that have him hardening in a shocking display that leaves me gasping.
“W-What are you doing?” I try to sound angry, but awe laces my tone instead.Shit. Shit. Shit.Iwantto seethe, and rage, and scream.
But he is impressive even from this angle. His piercing stands erect, swallowed by the swelling flesh until the rounded ends of the barbell are all that remain visible.
