Page 9 of Corrupt: XXX Vadim 2
But I rub my legs together shamelessly, imploring him. “I want more.” I barely recognize my voice, rasping with lust. Never in my life have I so wantonly craved anything else.More.More pain mixed with pleasure. More teasing. Taunting.Everything.
I’m drugged on a kink I never knew existed. And deep down beyond the ecstasy, I know I should be terrified that he holds the keys to it all.
“You’ll have more than enough when I’m through with you.” He chuckles and sinks to his knees before me, brandishing a cloth and a bottle of soap. I shiver as he pries my legs apart and inspects me, frowning. “But not tonight,” he adds sternly. “You need rest. Now stay still so that I can clean you.”
A pout tugs on my lower lip, but I’m quickly distracted by his touch as he guides the cloth carefully over my aching frame. It’s dizzying how seamlessly he can go from spanking me, to bathing my limbs with the utmost care.
Almost as quickly as I can go from hating him, to practically purring in his arms. In my right mind, I’d be more alarmed by that, I think.
As it is, I go languid beneath his ministrations, and watching him is almost enough to make up for the lack of stimulation. When he’s done, he tosses the rag aside, shuts off the water, and returns with an armful of towels that he bundles me in.
Minutes later, we land on the bed, and I eagerly snuggle into him, nuzzling against his chest. “I’m sorry for being such a horrible bitch,” I confess, my tone surly.
He sighs, wrapping me in his arms, pulling me close. “You weren’t completely horrible.”
“Hey!” I playfully slap his chest only to copy his sigh as I eye him through my lashes. His serious expression remains unchanged, even as he strokes through my damp hair. I find myself observing him in full, from the pale skin of his chest to the jagged shape of his scar. I reach out, brushing my finger along the edge of it. It’s so long, stretching from his ear down to his collar bone.
I can’t even begin to imagine what might have caused it. An accident? Something more violent?
Without offering up an explanation, he lets my finger dance along his skin, but from the set of his jaw alone, I know instinctively not to ask him about it. Not yet, at least. Instead, I turn my attention to something a bit more imminent.
“It’s a good thing that you’re building a playground just for me,” I point out softly. Now those mysterious boxes in that room have a newer significance. “But you need to build one for Magda.”
He stiffens, inhaling sharply. I’m finding that it’s getting slightly easier to read him. I can peg this reaction to one cause in particular.
“You don’t want to talk about her,” I surmise. “Not yet.”
“No...” He shakes his head, his expression tense. “I will. But this… It is painful for me. I just need time.”
“At least you’re being honest with me.” I reinforce the praise by brushing my fingers down his chest. “That’s all I’m asking for. You don’t need to tell me everything—but I need to knowsomething.”
“And you will.” He captures my hand and brings it to his cheek. “Just know that… I want this,” he confesses hoarsely. “More than anything. I want my daughter to be with me. I want to be a father to her. I want…”
“What changed within two years?” I ask gently.
He frowns and seems to shrug in the same instance. “She almost died,” he says. “Last year. She became very sick—an infection entered her bloodstream. You’ve heard of her condition? It makes any prolonged sickness far worse. She became septic and eventually required a machine just to breathe. For ten days, I spent every minute wondering if I’d lose her for good.”
“God…” I picture her frail, fragile appearance and shudder at the thought of her on a vent. I know firsthand how it feels to lose a child—even if I’ve never met my own—but I can’t imagine that level of torment. Thankfully. Swallowing hard, I struggle to form words. “That’s awful.” I squeeze his fingers tightly, unsure of what else to do. Or say. The only obvious course seems to be just listening—and I suspect that’s exactly what he needs. To talk.
“It was the first time I’d seen her in person,” he admits, staring ahead, his face blank. “I held her. Sang to her. I touched her cheeks… I watched her fight for her life. But the second she grew well enough to breathe on her own, I left her…” He sighs. “And I did not handle the guilt well.” A small, tired smile alludes to the tumult of emotions he only ever lets me get a glimpse of. “One could say I went off the deep end afterward. Only Ena could keep me from doing something foolish—” He frowns at the memory, and I don’t have the heart to explore that statement further. Sighing once more, he shifts, holding me more firmly against him. “When I finally came to my senses, I was resolved, however. Iknewthat I had made the right choice. I would continue to fund Magda’s education and expenses from afar, but I would keep my distance—it would be better for us both. And I did stay away. Even when events beyond my control forced me to return to this city, I stayed away from her.”
“Then what made you change your mind?”
“Maxim,” he says coldly. “I had spent months talking myself out of claiming my own child, and in the meantime, Maxim had taken six under his wing, none of them his. It was as if, once again, my ‘legitimate’ brother was flaunting that superiority right in my face.”
“So, you decided to officially adopt Magda?”
“I have no legal claim to her as it stands,” he says. “To give her the best life possible, I need to go through the proper channels and jump through whatever hoops the government insists I may. My resources can achieve many things, but, in this case, I cannot rely on them. And while I know that she is biologically mine, for obvious reasons, I cannot claim as much without proof and documentation. For both her sake and mine, this is the easiest way.”
“Is that why you wanted a fake wife?”
A lazy smile shapes his mouth for a fleeting moment. “I was interviewing mainly childcare workers,” he admits. “Entirely for Magda’s sake and not my personal enjoyment. It seems I settled on a candidate the complete opposite to what I initially thought.”
“I do have childcare experience,” I grudgingly point out.
“I lucked out then,” Vadim says, still running his fingers through my hair. “If you will stay, that is. I apologize for not being upfront before.”
“It’s not like you didn’t try,” I admit as I parse through my memories of the past few days. There were a handful of moments where he definitely tried to confess something important—and I had obliviously shrugged him off. “But if we are to do this, then no more secrets...”
Even if admitting them out loud stings like hell. Facing him, I force a serious note into my voice. “I need you to understand right now that I’m not sure if I’m really ready for a serious relationship with a child involved. No, actually, I know that I’m not—not that you are either. Magda is your main concern now.”
I nod along with my own logic. Laying out such boundaries now makes sense. Exposing myself to a man whose emotions run hot and cold is one thing. Opening myself up to a child, in the same way, isn’t fair to either of us.
“I understand,” he admits, but when I crane my neck back to observe his face, he’s frowning, as surly as ever even with his eyes half-closed.
“But we can still have sex,” I add, feeling no shame in making that demand. “At least until Magda is placed with you permanently. After that, we’re done. That is what is best for everyone.”
Mainly myself, and the struggle of reconciling my newfound lust with my own internal promises. My list. My rules. My creed.
He doesn’t mention whether he agrees or not with that assessment. He’s silent for so long that it isn’t until I look back at him that I realize why—the poor man fell asleep.
