26. Vadim
VADIM
I think about Sloane’s suggestion for two days before I admit she is right.
Not about everything. That would be intolerable.
Only about Mila.
My younger sister has spent so much of the last few years trying not to be noticed that the rest of us have learned to let her disappear, and somewhere along the way we began calling that kindness.
We tell ourselves she prefers quiet, that she dislikes attention, that giving her space is what she needs, but when Sloane looked at me across the breakfast table and said maybe Mila doesn’t ask because she expects nothing, the words stayed with me longer than I wanted them to.
So on Sunday morning, I tell Anton to have the dining room prepared. Nothing elaborate. Dinner. Cake. Flowers from the garden. The people Mila actually knows and trusts.
Marek stares at me as though I have announced plans to join the ballet. “You are throwing a birthday party.”
“A small one.”
“For Mila.”
“Yes.”
He looks toward Anton, who looks back at him with the same expression.
Iosef, sitting at the far end of the table with his laptop open, slowly stops typing. “This was Sloane’s idea.”
It’s not a question.
I pour coffee. “That is irrelevant.”
Marek smiles. “So yes.”
“Do you have something useful to contribute?”
“I’m still processing the fact that you are arranging cake while Petrov is actively trying to kill you.”
Anton finally speaks. “Are you sure this is the right time?”
“Yes.”
“Security will have to be doubled.”
“Then double it.”
“We have people tracing Hale, the agency breach, the altered payment, and whatever Petrov is planning next.”
“I’m aware.”
Marek leans back. “And yet you want relatives coming here.”
“Only close family.”
Anton watches me. “Still a risk.”
“This is my house.”
That ends the discussion, or at least it should.
Marek looks at Iosef. “You heard him. Petrov may be trying to murder us, but there will be cake.”
Iosef lifts one shoulder. “If I survive another shooting, I would prefer chocolate.”
Anton rubs a hand over his face.
I ignore all of them.
The truth is simpler than I want it to be. Mila deserves one evening that is not organized around what happened to her, what might happen next, or who needs to be kept safe from whom.
Sloane saw that before I did.
That part bothers me.
Not because she was right. Because she noticed something about my family after less than a week that I have managed not to confront for years.
By afternoon, the house is already different. There are flowers in the dining room, staff moving quietly through the halls, and an air of festivity filling the foyer.
Sloane finds out before I have a chance to tell her. I see her near the staircase, standing beside Camille with an expression of complete disbelief. When she notices me, she leaves Camille and walks directly toward me.
“You did it.”
“I did what?”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t the time to pretend.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Mila’s birthday.”
I look at her.
She smiles. The expression is so open that for a second I forget what we are discussing.
“You actually listened to me,” she says.
“I listen constantly.”
“You ignore constantly.”
“That’s different.”
She studies me with obvious amusement. “I’m impressed.”
“I will try to survive.”
Her smile changes slightly. Warmer.
That’s becoming dangerous too.
Later, when I send a dress to her room, I tell myself it’s because everyone will be dressed for dinner and she came here with almost nothing.
That explanation lasts approximately thirty seconds.
The truth is that I saw the dress two days ago when one of the stylists brought several options for Mila and Nadia, and I immediately imagined Sloane wearing it.
So I bought it.
I don’t tell her that.
I’m in my study before dinner when the door opens without a knock.
I look up. Then forget the report in front of me entirely.
Sloane stands in the doorway wearing the dress. It’s black, fitted close through the waist and hips, with a low neckline and thin straps that leave most of her shoulders bare. The fabric falls to mid-thigh and clings enough that there’s no ambiguity about the shape of her body beneath it.
She has left her hair down.
She closes the door behind her. “You bought this.”
“Yes.”
“It was on my bed.”
“I’m familiar with the delivery system.”
She walks farther into the room. “You could have told me.”
“I just did.”
Her eyes narrow.
Then she turns once, slowly, showing me the back. The dress dips low enough to expose almost all of it.
I stop pretending to read. “Sloane.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
She looks over her shoulder. “No.”
Liar.
I stand. She watches me approach. The room feels smaller with every step.
“You chose this on purpose,” she says.
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I rarely deny things worth doing.”
Her mouth curves. “Dangerous philosophy.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I stop behind her. My hands settle at her waist. The dress is smooth beneath my palms, but I can feel the warmth of her through it.
She inhales. “You’re going to wrinkle it.”
“I will buy another.”
“That’s not the point.”
I lower my mouth to the side of her neck, and her argument disappears. I kiss slowly beneath her ear, then along the slope of her shoulder while my hands move over her hips.
She leans back against me.
That’s enough.
I slide one hand upward until my fingers close around her breast through the thin fabric. Her nipple hardens instantly.
“Vadim.”
“You came into my study looking like this.”
“I came to say thank you.”
“This is a terrible way to do that.”
She laughs softly. Then she presses her ass back against me, and my cock hardens immediately.
I tighten my grip on her waist. “Sloane.”
“What?”
“You are about to miss the party you demanded.”
“We have time.”
That’s the wrong thing to say.
I turn her toward the desk, bend her forward over the edge, and push the hem of the dress up over her hips. She’s wearing black underwear.
I drag one hand slowly over her ass. “You planned this.”
“I planned to wear underwear.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Her laugh breaks when I slide my fingers beneath the fabric and find her already wet.
“Fuck.”
I move my fingertips over her slowly, teasing her clit until she has to brace both hands against the desk.
“You are enjoying this too much,” she says.
“Yes.”
I pull the underwear down just enough.
She looks back at me. Her cheeks are flushed. Her breathing is already uneven.
I undo my trousers. The sound alone makes her thighs press closer together.
“Don’t tease me,” she says.
“You started this.”
“I wore a dress.”
“You knew exactly what it would do.”
I roll on a condom, then move behind her. The head of my cock presses against her entrance. She exhales as I hold her hip with one hand and slide the other around the front of her throat, not squeezing yet, only resting there while I push inside her slowly.
Her body tightens around me.
I stop halfway. “Okay?”
“Yes.”
I push deeper. She moans.
By the time I’m fully inside her, I have to stay still for several seconds because she’s so tight around me that moving immediately would end this faster than I want.
My hand at her throat tightens slightly. Her head tips back. I feel the response through her entire body.
“You like that.”
She turns her face just enough that I can see the corner of her mouth. “Maybe.”
I pull almost completely out. Then drive back in.
Her answer becomes a gasp.
I start slowly, controlling the pace with one hand on her hip and the other around her throat, feeling her breasts move beneath the dress every time my body presses against hers.
She reaches back and grips my thigh. “Harder.”
I obey. My hips drive into her with more force, the desk shifting faintly beneath her hands while she arches her back and takes every thrust.
The sight of her like this destroys whatever restraint I had left. Black dress pushed up around her waist. Hair falling over one shoulder. My hand wrapped around her throat while my cock disappears inside her.
I lean over her. My mouth finds the back of her neck.
She moans my name.
I tighten my fingers slightly, careful enough that she can breathe easily, but firm enough that she feels the pressure. Her pussy tightens around me.
“Fuck.”
I slide my free hand between her thighs. My fingers find her clit.
Her whole body jerks. “Vadim.”
I keep fucking her while rubbing her slowly, matching the motion to each thrust until her breathing turns ragged.
“Come.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re close.”
“Stop talking.”
I smile against her shoulder. Then circle her clit faster.
She comes hard enough that her knees almost buckle.
I catch her at the waist and hold her in place while her pussy clenches around my cock, every contraction pulling me closer until I lose control seconds later.
I come with my forehead against her shoulder and my hand still around her throat, holding her steady while both of us try to breathe.
For a while, neither of us moves.
Then she turns her head slightly. “We are definitely going to be late.”
I kiss the side of her neck. “This is my house.”
She laughs. “That excuse is doing a lot of work lately.”
I pull out carefully and straighten her dress for her, smoothing the fabric back over her hips.
She turns around and looks down at herself. “It’s wrinkled.”
“I told you I would buy another.”
She gives me a look. “I’m starting to think you create problems just so money can solve them.”
“Sometimes.”
She reaches up and fixes my collar. The gesture is so casual, so intimate, that it catches me more completely than the sex did.
I watch her fingers.
She notices. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That usually means something.”
I take her hand and kiss her knuckles once. Then let go. “Come. Before Marek decides the birthday party was an elaborate excuse for us to disappear.”
Sloane smiles. “You know he already thinks that.”
“He can think whatever he wants.”
She slips her arm through mine.
For one evening, I decide to believe that’s true.