Chapter 20
ROMAN
He’s fucking insane.
My pulse thuds heavily, my skin tingling as I re-read the text that’s just popped up on my phone.
Val
I’ve been dreaming about your cock.
I’ve had girls sext me before—nudes, flirty messages, whatever. It’s part of the game, and I play it when it comes up, even if I feel that I’m—I'll admit it—forcing it a little.
It’s something I’ve been trying to come to a reckoning with as this…thing with Val becomes more and more difficult to ignore, or write off, or pretend was just a biological reaction, or me being drunk, or any other patently stupid excuse.
The truth is, when he touches me or even looks at me the way he does…I like it.
A lot.
I like it so much that it’s all I want, and all I think about later, after he’s gone or I’ve pushed him away and stormed off like an angsty teenager trying to “figure myself out”.
I’m twenty-nine fucking years old. I shouldn’t be “figuring out” anything. I should know who I am by now. I goddamn did, before that asshole barged into my life.
But now I’m stuck with this…thing lurking in the back of my mind that stares back at me when I look in the mirror, whispering “queer” or “pidoraz” into my ear.
You’re a sissy.
You’re weak.
You’re not fit to lead the Bratva with a perversion like yours corrupting your thoughts.
Be a fucking MAN.
And even when the voice in my head isn’t trying to tear me apart from the inside—when it grows tired of going scorched-earth on me—it’s still there, whispering quietly as I try and fall asleep.
Are you gay?
Well…ARE you?
And I never have an answer. Not a yes. But not a no, either.
I don’t know.
My phone dings again. I glance at it, and my face instantly heats when I see the new text.
Val
My dick misses you, wreckage.
Fucking hell. I should hate that nickname. Except…I don’t.
“Because you wreck me.”
No one’s ever had a nickname for me. I mean, I’ve had girls call me babe, or sexy, or whatever. But those never sent little flutters of heat through my chest, or triggered a slithering, coiling sensation deep inside.
My phone dings again, and this time, my jaw hits the floor.
Val
See? ;-)
The image fills my phone screen, and I feel raw need tug at me.
It’s a picture of his dick.
His very erect, thick, fucking huge dick.
Actually, “dick” isn't really the right word.
Val has a fucking cock.
And when my first thought after that is “and a goddamn beautiful one, too”, the thing inside me snarls and points, laughing.
Me
Why did you send me that
Val
Ideally, to turn you on
Val
How’d I do :D
I bite my lip, my pulse skipping erratically.
Me
Not so great. It does nothing for me.
Val
You’re so cute when you lie
I carefully ignore how much I’m grinning like an idiot as I type back.
Me
Sorry. Wasted on me.
Val
Doesn’t turn you on at all…
Me
Nope.
Val
How about now?
Jesus.
The next image that comes through is another shot of his cock.
But this time, he’s holding the camera a little further away, so I can also see his grooved abs, those fucking v-lines diving down his hips, his tattoos…
and the fact that his other hand is wrapped around the base of his dick, squeezing.
A tantalizing drop of white precum beads at the head.
And my cock immediately twitches.
Thickens. Grows. Starts to fucking tent the front of my pants.
Me
Still nothing.
Val
lol, liar.
Another picture comes through. He’s lying in a bed, though obviously not a hospital bed, and I can see exposed brick, high factory windows, and beam ceilings beyond the immediate foreground image of his cock.
Me
You’re out of the hospital?!
Val
Fuck, THAT is your takeaway from that pic?
I grin.
Val
Nice dodge, BTW. Any physical response of the dick variety from that last one?
Me
Lemme check. No, sorry.
Christ, I think I'm flirting.
Val
Final offer
This time, it’s a video. I’d love to say that I “almost don’t hit play” or that I “put the phone down and only come back once I’ve built up my courage.”
The truth is, I don’t think I could have hit the play button faster.
And holy. Fuck.
On screen, Val is groaning in a deeply masculine, sexy-as-fuck way as he strokes his gorgeous cock.
His big, tattooed hand squeezes the base, with so fucking much of his cock still sticking out.
Precum leaks freely from his swollen head, slowly dripping down his twitching cock.
He slides his hand down to cup his big, heavy balls, and when his cock pulses and more precum seeps from his crown, there’s no pretending the sound that escapes from my throat is anything but a needy fucking moan.
Val
well?
I shift in my seat as my huge erection throbs against my thigh.
Me
Nada. Sorry.
Val
prove it.
I blink.
Me
What?
Val
Fucking prove it. If my dick doesn’t do it for you, take a picture of yours showing me how totally not rock-hard it is right now. Then I’ll know you’re not gay.
Me
lol sending you a dick pic to prove I’m not gay makes ZERO sense.
Val
Fine. Whatever. Busted. I honestly just wanted you to show me your gorgeous cock again.
A heated throb teases through me, making my dick twitch and pulse against my thigh.
Val
Relax, wreckage. Zero part of me thinks you would ever actually send me something like that.
But I was thinking about it…
Val
So… Call off your sham marriage yet?
Me
Is that a serious question?
Val
Mm…kind of? You don’t want to marry her, she doesn’t want to marry you. I fail to see why either of you would go through with this.
Val
And let's not forget that you get hard and achy for DICK.
Heat sizzles through me.
Me
It’s obviously more complicated than that, and no, I haven’t.
Val
All good. I did tell you not to worry about it. I’ve got it handled.
My shoulders tense.
Me
Why do I feel like I need to tell you not to do anything crazy
Val
lol I'm gonna go with because you’ve met me?
I slowly scroll back through our conversation. My gaze lingers on the pics, and when I replay the video, my erection bulges painfully in my pants.
Christ, the fuck is wrong with me.
Val
I lose your interest over there?
Me
No. Sorry.
Me
Your place looks really nice.
Val
Thanks. It’s new. I’ve barely stocked the fridge, but it’s home.
The exchange goes silent for a few seconds, until…
Val
Come over and see it.
Val smirks when he opens the door. “Well, well, well…”
Fucking hell. Why does that sound like both a taunt and a come on?
Yes, I came over. I told myself it was his comment about not even having a stocked fridge. That I’m just…I dunno…a good neighbor or some shit.
“A friend”.
Right.
Because I always take a shower, shave, and try five different outfits before going over to my friends’ places.
“Don’t read anything into it,” I grunt, pushing past him into the stunning apartment. I heft the grocery bags. “Just brought you some shit.”
“Aww, and they say chivalry is dead.”
I ignore the way his gaze sizzles over me as I look around the huge open space and head toward the kitchen area, built under a lofted living room.
Val immediately starts pawing through the bags after I set them down.
He grins as he holds up a package of tortillas, some shredded cheese, steak marinating in adobo, avocados…
“You brought me burrito fixings?!”
I grin, shrugging. “Burritos are awesome.”
“Agreed,” he nods, setting the food down and rifling through more bags. He gives me a look as he pulls out a large bottle of vodka.
I shrug again. “What? Didn’t know what you did and didn’t have.”
“Yes,” Val smirks. “Wouldn’t want to be without a bottle of vodka to wash down my hardcore pain meds. That seems…safe.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t know if—”
“You were worried I might not have booze at my house…”
My jaw grinds as I glance at him. “Something you want to say?”
He shrugs. “Plenty, but you won’t want to hear it.”
“Try me.”
Val eyes me a moment. “Fine, fuck it. You drink a lot.”
“I’m Russian.”
He cocks a brow. “Is that your answer?”
“Did you have a question?”
He exhales, sighing. “Clearly not something you want to discuss.”
“I don’t know what there is to discuss. I enjoy having a drink. Shoot me.”
“I think the issue might be that you don’t just enjoy having a drink.”
“You know, I could just take my shit and go,” I growl.
“I’d rather you didn't.”
My face heats at the earnest, straightforward way he says it.
“Any more comments, then?”
Val smiles, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good for now.”
“Awesome.”
I help him put away the groceries. Then I turn to check out his place properly. It's…really nice.
“This apartment is sick, by the way.”
Val grins as he leans against the fridge, wincing a little when he crosses his arms over his chest. “I know, right?”
“Vaughn?”
His face sours instantly. “I don’t take handouts.”
“Oh, I—” I stumble over my words. “I wasn’t insinuating—”
“You kinda were.”
I smile as I look down. “I just…like, this place is out of reach on a dancer’s salary, right?” I raise my head, eyes dragging to his. “So, your brother…”
“Pays me a salary to do occasional work for him,” Val says crisply.
I think back to that night at Vaughn’s mountain retreat, where Val appeared to be…I don’t know. One of the guards? One of the Obsidian Syndicate men?
“What sort of work?”
He rolls his eyes with a lazy grin. “Don’t lecture me, Roman. I know how your family keeps the lights on.”
“I’m just curious,” I say quickly.
“Relax, I’m not gonna be a hitman anytime soon,” he winks. “Don’t worry your pretty head, wreckage.”
Fucking fuck.
Why is that name growing on me?
Val grabs the last few cans of beans off the counter and turns to open a cupboard above the fridge. Then he winces loudly, his face twisting in pain.
“Fuck.”
Before I even realize it, I’ve crossed the kitchen to him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just…” He scowls and suddenly pulls off his shirt, right in front of me.
His gorgeous, sculpted shoulders flex and the tattoos down his arms ripple as he lifts them and glances at the bandage around his middle.