Chapter 8 #2
A low chuckle rumbles out of him. He tips back, surveying the dining room with the air of a man who owns everything. “This is a nice place. Not as nice as Ashford House, but it works.”
I reach for my wine, desperate for a solid anchor point, but stop halfway when I discover an empty glass. When did that happen? Getting drunk in present company seems like a terrible idea.
Vanya clocks the gesture with unblinking eyes. “Want more, Beautiful?”
The word lands like a stone in a still lake. He tossed it out casually, as if stating a fact. As if being beautiful is just part of my existence.
Absurd.
He registers the way I flinch and raises his eyebrows.
“Ah.” Vanya hums softly with what must be mock sympathy. “No one’s ever called you beautiful.” He shakes his head, as if he can sum up my entire life by how easily people disappoint. “Most men are fools.”
“You have that right.” I tilt my chin up and glare to make my opinion of him perfectly clear.
I tuck him right in there with the rest of the men, covered in red marks.
Which is why I’ll never give him the book, regardless of what he does to me.
A man like him doesn’t deserve to get his hands on it, no matter what sad story he concocts next or how much blackmail fodder he gathers. I’m sure he’ll do something vile with the artifact, and I can’t allow that to happen.
I lied to get my job, but I had a reason, and I’m good at what I do. I won’t let him win.
Though part of me wonders what he’ll do if he doesn’t get his way.
A sensation somewhere between terror and lust swirls in my chest, shortening my breath.
Vanya flashes me a sly, secretive smile, like he’s watching a private joke unfold. Then he lifts his hand to my bun. Carefully, he works out the pins, one by one, just like he did in the library. He places each one on the table in a neat line like a row of trophies.
My hair falls over my shoulders, untamed after years of subjugation. The second time in a week—in years—it’s been down during the day.
He combs through the strands with his fingers, gentle at first, then rougher, separating and tugging until every nerve sings. My scalp lights up, and pleasure zings to places in my body long dormant except in my dreams.
He has the ability to revive parts of me I believed dead.
Vanya leans in, his breath ghosting over my ear, his accent thickening to velvet. “But I’m not blind. I see you, Paige. I see everything.”
His lips graze that hollow just beneath my ear, and heat pours through my skin.
I should draw away and freeze him out, but I can’t move. The fear tangles with darker urges in my belly now awakening from slumber.
And damn, it feels amazing to be seen. Wanted. Touched.
His free hand slides onto my knee, and I gasp as all my attention tunnels to that point of contact.
“I know what you’re scared of.”
Does he?
This is who I was, but not who I am. I’ll never make that same mistake again.
His other hand stays entwined in my hair, tightening just enough to pull my gaze back to his. At the electric sensation, the ache pools low in my abdomen. My jagged breath becomes uncontrollable, and I realize I’m already lost.
Vanya stares at me, gold flecks shimmering in his eyes. “I know what you want.” Every word is both a promise and a threat swaddled in silk.
His hand travels up my skirt, inch by inch, leaving my skin bare to the air. The tablecloth shields what he’s doing from view, but it can’t hide my overheated cheeks.
I manage a weak attempt to pull the skirt back down, but my body betrays me. Part of me wants this, yearns to burn up the dead years of safety and order in one Pyrrhic victory.
His fingers creep higher. “You want to be wild.”
My head spins as the ghost from my past rears her head again, my body transforming into a cacophony of need.
“Don’t you?” He spreads my thighs using only his fingers.
I let him. “Yes.”
Somehow, surrendering to him, giving up my resistance, is the least stressful thing I’ve done in my life.
I’m trembling, I’m hungry, and nothing’s stopping me from giving in. We have more privacy here than we had in the stacks at the library. Draped in these thick shadows, it’s unlikely anyone would recognize me. None of my coworkers can afford a place like this. Not even my boss.
“Come on. Show me.”
A shudder rips through me as he pushes my legs wider, lifting one over his thigh. I’m open and vulnerable as my hands clutch the edge of the tablecloth.
His hand dips to my underwear, slipping beneath the simple cotton barrier.
An avalanche of shock and desire cascades over me as he discovers how wet I am.
A dark, intimate noise sits in his throat, and his fingers begin to circle slowly, like he already understands what I crave.
Maybe he does.
Maybe he learned that when he learned my favorite drink and my parents’ names.
Old instincts—idle for years—start to betray me.
My body shifts closer, desperate for friction. My traitorous hips tip up, and I brace my arms on the table in silent consent. Meanwhile, I do my best to maintain an expression that hides the fact that my companion is fingering me under the table.
Which somehow heightens the hotness of the situation.
The heel of his hand presses against my clit as his fingers slip into my pussy in pulsing waves.
The chef is flambéing now, the crowd spellbound by the leaping flames. The waitstaff flow in, standing ready before lines of plates. No one even spares us a glance.
Vanya continues his ministrations like he’s some sort of sex god. He doesn’t coax. He controls. His fingers dance in time with his palm, stroking my G-spot like he knows the precise location as the heel grinds heavily on my clit.
“That’s it.” His whisper is barely audible. “Let go, Paige. Stop fighting the feeling.”
Let go? Holy hell, if I do that, I’m going to soak the booth.
I’m split in half by the table, the nervous, quiet archivist above and the ravenous, wild girl below. The two halves of me coexist in some twisted new reality.
I’ve never felt more alive. More exposed.
More aroused.
Julian appears with the first course in a blur of color and arrangement that’s lost on me as my eyes go unfocused.
A stranger towers right above me. A man who’d see what kind of state I’m in if he leaned over the table the slightest bit more.
Still, Vanya’s fingers don’t slow for a second. The pleasure doesn’t fade.
Even more damning, I don’t slam my legs closed out of embarrassment. Instead, I rock against his hand, careful not to knock the table.
Vanya thanks Julian, and I scrape up a smile, hoping I don’t appear too shattered.
“Enjoy.”
I barely hear Julian leave.
Enjoy? See, he thinks I should too.
Oh god, that’s not what he meant.
Regardless… I buck against Vanya’s hand again, my hips chasing his touch without conscious thought.
“You’re close.” He licks his lips, greedily watching my expression. His mouth grazes my ear, causing my skin to buzz. “I can feel it. You’re on the edge.”
He’s right. Amid this unbearable tension, my body a live wire, I can’t breathe, think, or stop wanting. If I could, I might just jump his bones in front of everyone. But his hand has me locked into my seat and clutching the booth for dear life.
“Please.” I’ve no idea if I’m asking for mercy or begging for more. “Please, Vanya…” I’m teetering on the precipice. Ready to let go with one more stroke.
“Find me the book.” His fingers vanish without warning, leaving me empty and desperate. “And I’ll let you come.”
Bastard.
My clenched, aching body goes into shock. Not again.
“I’ll find it.” I almost sob, the loss a physical ache. “I promise. Just… please…”
He flashes me a feline smile, all teeth and silent threat.
His fingers slide back in, circling faster this time. A brutal wave of overwhelming pleasure crests over me.
I bite down on a moan so hard that I taste blood. When my orgasm hits mere seconds later, I’m defenseless.
I shatter, my thighs gripping his hand as everything else dissolves and I ride out the waves. I grind my teeth, thwarting the cry that almost breaks free.
“Good girl.” He pats my pussy as he sips his wine, as if nothing in the world is out of place. Then he shifts my panties back to where they should be.
The soaked fabric clings to my still-throbbing flesh.
I exhale a long, unsteady breath. “I’ll look tomorrow.” I’m still trembling, hollowed out, every shield gone. He’s stripped me down to my core after cataloguing every secret.
Yet he looks just as put-together as when we first walked in.
“I know you will. And once you find it, we’ll…celebrate again.” When he picks up a morsel of food, his fingers still glisten. With his eyes locked on mine, he sucks them clean. “Now eat your dinner. The night is just beginning.”
I look at the plate in front of me featuring cuisine arranged like an art exhibit. My stomach’s in knots, but I lift my fork and start anyway. A condemned woman should be allowed to enjoy her last meal.
The performance goes on because that’s what this is, a game show where he sets the rules and I move when prompted. I’m just another chess piece.
The worst part isn’t what he’s done. It’s the voice inside my head, the wild girl who’s awake and famished and ready for the next course.