13. Vadim
13
VADIM
Queen Anne's tree-lined streets are still quiet by the time I return to Nathan's apartment. Lacey's purse lies where she dropped it, its content spilled out on the floor. Several notifications light up the screen of her phone—all from someone named Megan Huang. I make a mental note of the name before pocketing both items.
It doesn't take long for me to find her car and unlock it.
My suit jacket is sprawled across the backseat. When I look at it, all I can see in my head is the picture she sent me. Pale skin against dark fabric, her endless legs spread open, the way her fingers are splayed between them.
My cock stirs to life, recalling that she'd been pinned underneath me not too long ago. My fingers tighten on the car door until the metal bites into my skin.
Focus.
I snatch the jacket and fish through the pockets until I find my list. The paper feels crisp between my fingers as I tuck it into my breast pocket.
Back in the apartment, I conduct one final sweep. Nothing of note in the kitchen or living room. The bedroom yields no additional information beyond what I already discovered during my earlier search.
The gray sky rumbles overhead, portending the resumption of rain as I drive back toward Pankration. But my mind keeps drifting to Lacey, to the way she felt pressed against me when I caught her, and how her body arched into mine.
Upon return to my office, I plug Lacey's phone into my laptop, fingers dancing across the keyboard as I launch the decryption program. The screen flickers and a few minutes later, it grants me access.
No other messages save for the ones from Megan Huang. My jaw clenches as I read through them:
Where are you?
Call me when you get this
Seriously, what's going on?
Getting worried, sis.
That last one gets my attention. Sis? I thought her name was Lacey McKinney?
Opening up Google, I type in Megan's name and phone number. The first result is a social media manager working for the Seattle Voice podcast.
Why the hell is a social media manager for a podcast calling Lacey sis?
Just then, another text from Megan comes in.
Are you going to Dad's tonight?
Whatever Lacey's relationship with this Megan Huang is, I can't have her poking around. Slowly, I start composing a message:
Hey, can't make it to Dad's tonight. I need some time to process everything that's happened. Thinking about just getting away from it all for a few weeks. Get my head on straight.
Megan responds almost immediately.
Are you sure? Where are you staying these days?
Growling, I continue the conversation. Slowly, I weave a convincing sounding enough story about Lacey returning my suit, and then going on a trip to Paris by blowing up her honeymoon budget.
Technically all truths, which means if Megan starts poking around, she won't find anything out of place.
Finally, I get the text I need to see:
Okay. Have fun and stay safe! Don't forget to take lots of pictures!
I put the phone down. That's one less loose end.
I dial Demyon's number, and within minutes, he appears at my office door.
"Got something you need to see." I turn my laptop screen toward him, showing the journalist's profile picture from the Seattle Voice website. "Megan Huang."
Demyon leans in closer, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Not bad looking at all. You want me to bring her in for questioning?"
"No." I scroll through more photos of the dark-haired reporter. "I need information on her connections to Lacey McKinney. They appear to be sisters, but the last names don't match."
"Adoption maybe?" Demyon's eyebrows raise.
“Maybe. But I need you to confirm it.” I close the laptop. "Get me everything. Background, family connections, daily routines. But observe only. No contact."
"You're taking quite an interest in Lacey McKinney." Demyon's tone carries a hint of amusement. "For someone who says she’s only a means to an end.”
"Just get me the information." My voice leaves no room for discussion. "And Demyon. I mean it about keeping your distance. Watch, but don't engage."
"Crystal clear, boss." He nods and heads for the door. "I'll have something for you by tonight."
"One more thing," I say as he turns around at the door. "If she tries to come anywhere near Pankration, discourage her."
Once I'm alone again, I close out all the messages and navigate to Lacey's photo gallery.
The photos she took wearing my suit jacket. My breath catches as I scroll through them. Each one more daring than the last.
The early shots are tentative, almost shy—just her in my jacket, covering what needs to be covered. But as the sequence continues, her confidence grows. She lets the jacket fall open, revealing the curves of her breasts. Her lips are parted, caught between desire and uncertainty.
And then I see that familiar final photo.
She's spread across the bed, legs open, her thin fingers dipping into her pussy . The jacket has fallen completely open now, framing her body like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.
My breath quickens as I stare at the image. The way she's positioned herself, how she's looking at the camera—she knew exactly what she was doing. What it would do to me.
Slowly, I reach down, unzip my pants, and free my cock.
I stroke myself slowly as I flick through each picture. I imagine her sliding further up the bed in the photos until her back is against the headboard. In my mind, her eyes close as she slowly shrugs my suit jacket off her shoulders.
"Do you like stripping for me, zvyozdochka ?" I murmur, my voice thick with desire.
In my mind, I'm whispering dirty words of encouragement in her ear as I trail my fingers over her skin. I picture her biting her lip, a soft moan escaping as I circle her nipple, teasing it with my thumb.
"Do you like opening yourself up to me?"
In my fantasy, she nods, her eyes still closed as she arches into my touch. I imagine her breath quickening as I skim lower, my fingers dipping between her legs, finding her wet and ready for me.
"Admit it, you want me to do more than this." I growl, my cock throbbing in my hand as I stroke faster.
I imagine her surrendering to me, body opening further to my fingers circling her clit. In my mind, she cries out, body trembling as I bring her to the edge. I picture her legs wrapping around my waist as I plunge into her, claiming her as my own.
I grunt, my cock pulsing in my hand as I imagine how good it’ll feel to fill her, to mark her as mine. A single savage word rises in my mind like liturgy, and repeats again and again and again.
Mine.
With a final stroke, I spill all over my hand, my body shuddering with release as I imagine her nails digging into my back, her legs squeezing me to keep me inside, and her breath turning quick and sharp as she comes apart in my arms.
I lean back in my chair, my breath ragged as I stare at the phone screen. Slowly, I become aware of my surroundings again—the quiet of my office, and the faint scent of my cum.
I reach for a handkerchief, and clean myself up.
I knock and enter Lacey's room, finding her perched on the edge of the bed. Her ankle is propped up on a pillow.
"Your belongings." I hold out her purse and phone.
She takes them carefully, her fingers brushing mine.
"Did you hack my phone?" Her fingers tighten around the device and her voice is steady without a hint of accusation, like she's stating a plain fact.
"Yes." There's no point hiding the truth from her.
"And what did you find?"
"A very concerned sister who now knows you’ve returned what belongs to me, and who now believes that you're going to be spending quite some time in Paris."
"You had no right doing that." Her jaw drops. "Lying to her!"
"What part of what I said is a lie?" I ask. "Go ahead and read the messages yourself. Every one of them is the technical truth of what happened after our paths crossed at the Vorobyov event."
"I'll be the one to judge that." Her eyes narrow slightly. "What else did you find?"
"Your photos. All of them."
Her breath catches, and a delicious flush spreads across her cheeks. The way she shifts on the bed, even with her injured ankle, draws my attention to her legs. Her fingers tighten on the phone as if she could somehow delete those photos through sheer force of will.
But it's too late now. I've seen them all.
There's something else in her reactions. A slight parting of her lips, her pupils dilating just a fraction. She's embarrassed, yes, but there's unmistakable desire there too.
The same desire I saw in those photos.
Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and the movement sends a shiver of desire up my spine. Unable to resist, I reach out and tuck a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, and move my hand to cup her chin.
It's taking every bit of restraint in me to not go further, to not act on the urge of making my fantasy a reality.
"Did you like them?" she whispers against my palm.
I meet her gaze, tracing her lower lip with my thumb. "Very much so."
"What else did you do?" There's a challenge in her voice now.
"I looked at them very carefully." My admission is heavy between us. "And I touched myself imagining you recreating these photos, one by one, until I came all over my hand."
Her breath catches. It's the only reaction I manage to elicit from her.
"Was it enough?" she whispers.
"No." I step closer, mesmerized by her big innocent eyes. My hand slowly moves from her chin until it grips the back of her head, and my pants start to tent.
Lacey's eyes dart down for just a quick second, and her breathing quickens. "What would make it enough?"
With a start, I realize she's doing to me what I was doing to her at the Vorobyov event. She isn't just teasing me, but forcing me to confess.
To admit that I want this as much as her, perhaps even more.
To exert her power over me, even though she's my prisoner.
Clever girl.
"I want the real thing," I admit.
The fabric of my pants feels uncomfortably tight, and my cock is screaming to be let out of its restraint. My fingers tighten ever so slightly against the back of her head.
It would be so easy to bring her face forward.
Lacey's stare doesn't leave mine as her hand rises. Blood pounds at my ears, against my throat, and through my cock in anticipation.
But she doesn't reach for my pants. Instead, her delicate fingers find the tip of my tie and gives it a light stroke.
"The real thing." She tilts her head. "Do you think you deserve it?"
I lean in, close enough to feel her breath on my lips. "Don't you want to find out?"
Her fingers curl around my tie, tugging me closer. Just as I feel the heat of her body rising up towards mine, and just as I can practically taste her lips, the door suddenly swings open.
"I have some crutches and ice for you, dear," Lenka announces as she walks in, and stops short in surprise when she sees me. "Oh! Vadim Petrovich! I wasn't expecting you in here."
I pull back, straightening my tie where Lacey's fingers had curled around it. My heart hammers against my ribs as I try to steady my breathing. " Spasibo , Lenka Feliksovna."
"Of course, Vadim Petrovich." Lenka sets the crutches against the wall and places the ice pack next to Lacey. Her knowing look pierces right through me.
Without waiting for either one of them to respond, I walk out of the room, raking my fingers through my hair as I try and put as much distance between myself and Lacey as I can.
What the fuck am I doing?
I haven't lost control like this.
Not in a long time.
But as I walk away, I can't help think about the way Lacey challenged me so effortlessly, and the way she turned my own game against me with such ease.
She has real power over me, whether she realizes it or not.
Or perhaps because she realizes it.
I need to remember why I brought her here. This isn't about attraction or desire: it's about my war against Kirsan. Gaining access to that cathedral is all that matters.
This is strictly business.
But even as I tell myself this, I know I'm lying.
Because the truth is, I like the way my body responds to her presence. I like how easily she cracked my careful facade of control with just her eyes and a few whispered words.
I want to be next to her again. I want to feel my blood singing in my veins as I pull her into my arms. And I want to feel her breath—hot and needy—catching in her throat against my ear as she impales herself against me.
And more than anything, I need to feel her body take me in—warm and deep and desperate—until there's nothing left between us at all.