5. Lacey
5
LACEY
Vadim's hand settles on my lower back, warm and steady, as he guides me through the crowd. Even through the cheap polyester of my uniform, every brush of his fingers sends sparks dancing across my skin.
At his table, crystal glasses catch the light and designer labels peek out from every sleeve and neckline. I sink into the chair Vadim pulls out, hyper-aware of how my Kohl's uniform stands out among their cocktail attire.
"Irina Savinovna, I'd like you to meet someone," Vadim says to a woman as soon as I sit down.
Through my catering shifts, I've seen plenty of beautiful women, but Irina is something else entirely. Her scarlet hair cascades down her back in perfect waves, catching the light like spun fire. Her emerald eyes sparkle with intelligence and warmth as she turns toward me, and her smile lights up her whole face. Even in a room full of models and actresses, she stands out—not just for her beauty, but for the genuine kindness in her expression.
"And who might this be?" She turns to me with keen interest.
"Lacey McKinney," I manage, trying not to fidget under her appraising gaze.
"Irina Vorobyov." Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise and she takes a delicate sip of wine.
"Vorobyov? As in… are you related to Savin?"
“I am. And if it weren't for this man right here." She gestures to Vadim. "Daddy's final collection would never have seen the light of day." She leans forward conspiratorially. "So tell me, how do you know the savior of my family?"
"Actually, it's kind of funny..." I glance at Vadim, who's watching me with that knowing smirk. "I accidentally took his dry cleaning instead of mine."
"You should see her work," Vadim cuts in smoothly. "She has quite the eye for composition and staging that gives everything an impeccably intimate sensuality."
My face burns as I catch his hidden meaning. I want to sink into my chair and disappear.
“Really?” Irina's eyes light up with interest. "Are you a photographer when you're not catering?"
"More of a designer, actually," I mumble, fiddling with the edge of my uniform.
"Vadim has always had excellent taste." Irina's hand slides across the table to rest on Vadim's forearm. "In fashion. In business. In everything really."
Something hot and uncomfortable twists in my stomach as I watch her perfectly manicured fingers stroke his sleeve. The way she's looking at him, all bedroom eyes and knowing smiles.
I grip my champagne glass tighter, surprised by the surge of jealousy coursing through me. What right do I have to feel this way?
Vadim's eyes flick to mine, and his lips curve up slightly. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Would you care to dance, Lacey?" He stands abruptly, holding out his hand to me.
"I can't." I gesture at my uniform. "I told you, five minutes max. I need to get back to work. If my boss finds out…"
His eyes gleam with amusement. "Who do you think is paying for this entire event?"
My mouth drops open.
"That's right, zvyozdochka ," he confirms, his hand still extended toward me. "Technically, I'm your boss this evening."
My heart thunders as Vadim guides me onto the dance floor. The weight of a hundred stares prickles across my skin—expensive dresses and perfectly coiffed hair swishing as heads turn to watch one of the caterers dancing with him .
"Everyone's staring," I whisper, shrinking into myself.
"Let them." His hand slides to my lower back, pulling me closer. "Look at me, zvyozdochka . And only me."
The first notes of a slow song fill the air. Vadim's other hand captures mine, and suddenly we're moving. His touch is firm but gentle as he leads me through the steps.
"That photo you sent," he murmurs against my ear, his voice thicker and rougher. "Do you know what it did to me?"
Heat floods my core, and I confess. "No."
"Seeing you spread open like that, wearing nothing but my jacket..." His thumb traces circles on my back. "I wanted to taste every inch of you."
I press closer and my breasts brushes against his chest through the thin fabric of my shirt. His cologne wraps around me, spicy and intoxicating, and makes my head swim with desire. The warmth of his body pours into mine, and I find myself craving more.
More of his touch. More of his whispers. More of him telling me how he wants to taste me.
But I don't want him to just taste.
I want him to devour.
The music swells around us as my mind races with possibilities. His hands are so warm, so steady against my back, and I can't stop thinking about what those fingers could do to me. How they'd feel sliding up my thighs, teasing me open.
"How would you do it?" The words slip out before I can stop them, breathy and eager. "Taste me, I mean."
"I'd start with your neck." His breath tickles my ear. "Right here." His thumb traces a spot just below my jaw that makes me shiver. "Then work my way down. Slowly. Until you're begging."
My breath catches. The world spins a little, and I grip his shoulder tighter to steady myself. "I don't beg."
"Is that a challenge, zvyozdochka ?" The certainty in his voice makes my knees weak. "I promise that you'll be pleading for release before I'm done savoring your neck."
Images flash through my mind—his mouth trailing down my body, his hands pinning my wrists above my head while I arch beneath him. The weight of him pushing me into the mattress as he kisses his way along my body. The ease with which his big powerful hands part my legs. The searing heat of his breath against my soaking wet pussy.
"Your heart's racing," he murmurs, and I realize he can probably feel my pulse thundering against his palm. "Are you thinking about how I'd taste you?"
"Yes," I breathe.
"Tell me. Be specific."
Heat floods my face. "I'm imagining your mouth along my body. Your hands pinning me underneath you. And then you kissing your way down, spreading my legs, and eating me out until..." I bite my lip, unable to finish.
"Until you what?" His fingers press into my lower back, drawing me closer until there's barely space between us. "Say it."
"Until I come," I whisper, and feel him smile against my ear.
"Good girl."
Those two words send liquid fire straight to my core. I press my thighs together, trying to ease the ache building between them. His hand slides lower, stopping just above the curve of my ass, and I have to bite back a moan.
I shiver as his hand tightens on my back. My body tingles everywhere he touches, and my heart races at the promise in his motion. His scent—spicy and masculine—fills my nose until I'm dizzy with wanting him.
"What else would you do?" I ask.
"Let me show you."
"Oh!" The word tumbles from my throat as his thigh slides between my legs. My thighs clench reflexively, and all thoughts evaporate from my mind.
Get it together, Lacey. But it's hard to think straight when he's holding me like this, when his voice is doing sinful things to my insides. When all I can think about is how his hands would feel peeling away my cheap uniform, and how his lips would taste against mine.
"You're trembling," he murmurs.
"It's cold." The lie falls flat even to my own ears.
His low chuckle vibrates through me. "Is that why your cheeks are so flushed? Because you're cold?"
I bite my lip, trying to steady my racing pulse. But then his palm traces along my lower back, guiding me along his thigh until I'm riding the thick bands of muscle. Electricity shoots straight to my core, and my breath catches as memories of last night flood back.
I felt so bold sending that photo, imagining him seeing me spread open and wanting.
Now that here I am in his arms, and all that boldness has turned into desperate need.
I need his hands on me. His mouth against mine. His cock stretching me out as he fills me up.
Oh god.
"Tell me, zvyozdochka ." His hand slides lower and gives my ass a squeeze that sends a fresh burst of wetness surging between my legs. "Did you come last night while you were thinking about me?"
"Yes…" I whimper.
"Was it enough?"
The warmth of his body against mine makes it impossible for me to think. Every brush of his thigh sends sparks dancing up my spine, and I can barely string two thoughts together.
"No," I breathe. "It wasn't."
"What would make it enough?" His hand moves from my ass and up my leg, each touch making me shiver.
"I—" The words catch in my throat as his other hand cups my face. His thumb brushes across my bottom lip, and my heart skips.
"Yes?" His storm-gray eyes lock onto mine, filled with hunger and something darker that makes my pulse race faster.
"The real thing." I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "Your hands," I confess, pressing myself against him. "Your mouth."
His possessive grip tightens deliciously against me.
"Your co?—."
Before I can finish the word, he leans down and claims my mouth with his.
The kiss starts gentle, almost tentative, but quickly deepens into something hungry and demanding. His tongue sweeps inside, tasting of champagne and heat.
My fingers curl into his lapels as desire floods through me. Every brush of his tongue against mine sets my core ablaze with desire. His hand tightens on my back, crushing me against the hard planes of his chest until I can feel his heart thundering in time with mine.
I arch into him, wanting—no, needing—more. More of his touch, his taste, the way he makes me feel like I'm burning up from the inside out. The world spins away until there's nothing but the slide of his mouth on mine and the growing ache between my thighs.
A soft moan escapes my throat as his teeth graze my bottom lip. Heat pools low in my belly, and my hips rock instinctively against his thigh, seeking friction. I want his hands on my bare skin. I want him to strip away my uniform and touch me everywhere. I want him to take me right here and right now, and not stop until I shatter around his cock.
His tongue sweeps deeper, dominating the kiss until my knees go weak. One hand slides down to squeeze my ass while the other tangles in my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access. The dual sensations make me whimper into his mouth.
"Ms. McKinney!" Reality suddenly comes crashing back as I turn to find my boss Allison glaring at me, arms crossed and face contorted in anger.
"A word?"
Oh God.
I'm at work. In my uniform. Dancing with a guest. Kissing a guest.
Breaking every rule that I can possibly break.
My cheeks burn as I disentangle myself from Vadim, already missing the warmth of his lips and his touch. The cool spring air now feels positively freezing, and I force myself to stand straighter.
Allison's eyebrows arch higher with each passing second.
"Ms. McKinney is dancing with me." There's an edge to Vadim's voice, and his tone hardens just enough to sound almost threatening.
"And Ms. McKinney is working for me." Allison's lips press into a thin line. "She needs to get back to doing what she's being paid to do. Not whatever this is!"
"I hired your company for this event."
"And we appreciate your business, Mr. Stravinsky. But you don't get to do whatever you like with my employees."
His jaw tightens. "Name your price."
"Excuse me?"
"For the company. Name it."
That doesn't deter Allison one bit as she glares at me. "The company isn't for sale."
"Everything has a price."
"Not. This."
My stomach twists as I look between them. Allison's expression makes one thing clear: stay with Vadim, and lose my job. And as tempting as Vadim is, I can't lose this source of income.
Especially not now.
"Well, Ms. McKinney?" Allison's words carry the weight of an ultimatum.
I meet Vadim's storm-gray eyes, seeing the hunger and the promise of pleasure. But behind that is something else—a flash of possessiveness that makes me shiver.
"I need to get back to work," I whisper. "I'm sorry."
"Stay." His hand catches mine, thumb brushing over my knuckles. "You don't need to listen to her."
"That's not how this works," I reply, even though everything in me wants to melt back into his arms. "You have the luxury to bend and break the rules whenever you want, and do whatever you want, but not me. I need this job. For a lot of different reasons."
Allison clears her throat pointedly.
Vadim's eyes narrow, but he releases my hand. "We're not finished here, zvyozdochka . I will find you later."
The promise in his voice makes me shiver. I hurry after Allison, feeling Vadim's gaze burning into my back with every step.
For a tantalizing second, I dare imagine myself telling Allison that I don't give a shit about this job and running back into Vadim’s arms.
But then I think about Dad, about the piles of dishes in the kitchen, about Freddy coming by every other day to steal something else, and about the way Nathan looked while he was fucking Caroline.
I can't.
I can't throw away my life just for a single reckless night of passion with Vadim Stravinsky.
No matter how much I want to.
I scrub another plate clean, letting Allison's words wash over me like the scalding water. Something about propriety, about knowing my place, about how lucky I am to still have this job.
"I pay you to serve food and drinks to guests," she hisses. "And that's all I expect you to do, Ms. McKinney. So you can forget about getting paid for the time you spent entertaining Mr. Stravinsky."
My hands tighten on the sponge. Every dollar counts, especially with Dad's care and bills piling up, and my engagement to Nathan down the toilet.
Arguing with Allison will only make it worse, so I focus on a particularly stubborn spot of dried sauce.
The prep kitchen is quiet except for the clink of dishes and Allison's endless stream of criticism. Through the walls, I can barely hear the muffled music from the event. Each note twists something in my chest as I remember how it felt to dance in Vadim's arms.
How it felt to kiss him.
How it felt to fantasize about what else we might've done if we hadn't been interrupted.
By the time Allison finally releases me from my duties, the parking lot is empty save for my car and hers. I glance down at my phone screen as I get in, the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the roof of my car.
No messages, no calls, nothing.
I pull up Vadim's contact info and start typing: I'm sorry about earlier...
No, that sounds too desperate.
Heyyy...
Nope.
I wish...
Ugh! No.
I shove my phone back in my purse and get into my car. But when I adjust my rearview mirror and see his suit hanging on the backseat, I can’t help sighing bitterly.
What was I thinking? Of course he moved on the second I left. He's probably with Irina right now, those perfect red curls bouncing across his pillow while he's kissing her the same way he kissed me.
My eyes sting as tears start welling, and I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. I will not cry over another man who saw me as nothing but a temporary distraction.
I won't .
But as I start the car, and turn on the wipers, a tear slides down my cheek anyway.