Page 5 of Conquer
He barks out a harsh laugh, pacing the length of the windows. “Sorry,” he echoes, eyeing his hands as they curl and uncurl into fists. “You spend my money. Mother my daughter though you tease the idea of leaving when it suits you. Fuck me senseless. And yet, you won’t marry me. You refuse to.”
I gasp, stunned. “That’s a bit of a low blow,” I croak. A surprisingly painful one too. I place my hand over the center of my chest, startled by a real actual ache throbbing there. “Demanding a woman marry you after barely a month is a bit unprecedented. Especially when you won’t tell me why—”
“You know I would do anything for you.” He makes it sound like a crime on my part. Something awful and corrupting that I did to him. This.I made him break down his wall. I forced him to let me in. Let me see those dark, twisted parts of himself no one else ever has.
But from where I’m standing, he’s not the one clutching at his literal heart, feeling it swell too big to fit in his chest.
“Tell me what you want, and you will have it,” he demands. His voice, though softer, still resonates like thunder, radiating more conviction than I think I’ve heard from him until now. In so many ways, he reminds me of his brother. Where they lack in physical similarities, this is what they must share—a ruthless intensity when it comes to what they want.
No matter who stands in their way.
Something in me breaks in the face of this emotion, and I sway, forced to slump onto the end of the bed, too drained to stay standing.
“My money?” he prods, stepping forward. “You have it. My home? You have it. My—”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I confess in a whisper. As his expression falls, I race to add, “I mean, not physically. I don’t want a transactional relationship with you. I want… Time. I just needtime.”
More time to heal from Jim. Time to think. Time to feel like being with him is my decision and not a product of hastiness or desperation—it shocks me to realize how much I truly want that—a natural progression with him. Nothing forced or faked.
I want this to be real.
“Just give me time.” I gather the nerve to meet his expression and suck in a hopeful breath. His eyes are still narrowed, his jaw clenched—but that awful, bitter suspicion is gone, replaced by a hunger I’m too tired to deny. I raise my hands to the straps of my dress, guiding them down my shoulders as he tracks every bared bit of flesh with an expression that makes my toes curl. “Can you do that for me? Just give me time.”
He doesn’t answer. With one monstrous lunge on his part, I’m in his arms, swept toward the center of the bed. He strips my sodden clothing, groping the flesh underneath. I react to him wantonly, letting him drown my logical brain in friction and touching and heat.
But even as our lips meet, I sense that unspoken figure looming between us, growing harder to ignore with every surging beat of my pulse.Irina.
Irina. Irina. Irina!
Though I seem to be the only one in this bed haunted by her.
Vadim groans, sinking his fingers into my hair as he manipulates me beneath him—legs splayed, hips pinned against his. Gone is his usual restraint—he enters me with a commanding thrust, going so deep we both cry out.Holy hell.There isn’t even time for my body to adjust to him before he rocks his hips, taking me whether I’m ready or not. Hungrily.
Recklessly.
His piercing batters my inner walls, his size straining my limits. It’s a sensation almost verging on uncomfortable—and he moves in a way that makes me suspect, with a hint of alarm, that’s just what he wants. To force me to focus on him, taking him fully. Lulled by his rhythm, my thoughts dissipate. Then reform, still fixated on that beautiful, mysterious blond.
But it’s as if he knows the second my attention shifts from him. Growling, he reaches between us, his thumb grazing my clit, teasing me with the weight of my piercing.
I feel my head tip back, my eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure builds with every stroke.
More. More. More.
A burst of wetness eases his next stroke. The next… But that’s where all similarities to carefree, normal sex end. The second he shifts, gripping my chin, his eyes boring into mine with more ferocity than his cock, I know…
This is something more.
Claiming.
Owning.
Dominating.
He slows his pace, making me arch into him, my eyes rolling, breaths feathering. I almost can’t bear to meet his gaze like this, head-on. He looks at me so hauntingly. It’s…insane.
Like I’m a lifeline he’s clinging to, strengthening his grip with every thrust. Every startled moan he wrenches from my chest. Helpless, my knees curl around his waist, dragging him in despite the urgings of my brain to stop this. Resist. Fight.
But I can’t.
He has me. All I can do is hold on, groaning as the pleasure builds and builds, and he times his movements with calculated, piercing thrusts. My orgasm is punishing—a wave that hits like a freight train, slamming into me before I realize it.
To savor his victory, his lips capture my startled cry, his body bucking against me as he strives toward his own release. All the while, he strokes me, cradles me to him. Cherishes me.
It’s an intimacy I’ve never known. Not with any other man. Not even within myself during my deepest moments of self-reflection.
It’s torture in its truest, rawest, most debasing form.
A pain I can’t deny or escape.
A pleasure that will undo me.
