23. Roman
TWENTY-THREE
Roman
I’m trying to accept Lucas being free to roam the house. It’s not a matter of fairness or justice. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about any of that. I do, however, give a shit about him, and me confining him was making him unhappy.
I don’t quite understand it, but it doesn’t matter. I need him to be happy. In fact, I don’t really need anything else.
But though I would like to fill my days with nothing but Lucas, I’m getting sucked back into the Constantine universe. It started with killing Liam Crowley. Taking out a member of a crime family always stirs up trouble.
It’s coming back to me, that kind of shit, mostly because Vitali has me sitting in on it. He met with Crowley’s son. It would’ve been easiest for Vitali to lie, but that’s not really his style. Anton would have lied, but Vitali had already seized control of this particular situation from our uncle. Vitali told Crowley’s son the truth, and he told him exactly how a war with the Constantines would play out.
There shouldn’t be trouble from that quarter, but the DiMaggios are another story. Before my capture, we were rivals. Now we’re enemies. Over the past four years, apparently, there have been attacks on both sides, captures and torture, territory disputes, and interruptions to business for everyone.
This used to be my life, and it’s starting to come back to me, but only in a weirdly compartmentalized way. It’s like, for short periods of time, if the environment is quiet enough, I can access that part of myself.
It doesn’t take much, though, for that access to get shut down. It’s always abrupt too, like I just snap back to some other form of myself. Sometimes I go completely still. Sometimes I break shit.
A few days ago when Vitali took me to our nightclub for the first time, I did okay for a while, then I suddenly walked out the door and into the street and I have no idea why.
I haven’t told Lucas about any of the incidents, but it always feels like he can tell anyway. Somehow, he always knows what I need, and he gives it to me.
I’m trying to give him what he needs too, but I’m not as good at recognizing it—especially when it conflicts with what I need.
I need him in spaces that I control. I’m trying to regard the entire house as such a space. I’ve gotten comfortable with the library. The gym and sauna are a work in progress, but I’m doing okay, mostly.
The fucking kitchen, however.
It’s like Grand Central Station, and Lucas loves being right in the middle of it.
The first time we ate breakfast there, it was just us, and though it was exhausting to have to watch two doors and four windows while Lucas explored every goddamn inch of the kitchen before deciding what he wanted to eat, I managed. It was important to him, and I did my fucking best.
The next time we ate in the kitchen, however, there were people . I only got through it because Lucas tolerated me being right on his heels and let me touch him the whole time.
But he’s been pushing for more leeway. He seems to like cooking, and I’ve found him in the kitchen alone several times looking up recipes on the phone I asked Sasha to get for him. I don’t like it, but he’s so fucking happy when there’s flour all over his hands and shirt and face.
So this evening when I return to the house and hear activity in the kitchen, I head that way expecting to find Lucas similarly engaged.
He is, in fact.
He’s standing at the island mixing up what I assume is cookie dough. That’s fine.
What isn’t fine is the fact that Quinn is also in the kitchen.
Quinn looks up from washing vegetables when I appear in the doorway. He stills when I growl at him.
“Roman,” Lucas calls.
I turn my attention to him but keep Quinn in the corner of my eye.
Lucas takes a deep breath. He knows he’s in trouble, but he speaks up anyway.
He says, “Quinn was already working in here when I arrived.”
I stalk toward Lucas. “And you came in here anyway.”
“Yes. It’s nice to be around other people sometimes. He hasn’t bothered me at all. He’ll barely speak to me.”
A new, ugly feeling moves through me. “But you’d like him to?”
“You’re taking this wrong,” he tells me, clearly sensing the shift in my anger.
Quinn turns off the water and moves like he’s about to depart. I send him a sharp look. “You don’t get to leave. Lucas wants you here.”
Quinn stills, wary but not afraid. I return my attention to Lucas and find that color has bloomed in his cheeks. He’s breathing harder.
I make my approach slow and predatory. I want him to understand what’s coming before it happens. I half expect him to run, but he doesn’t. Because he trusts me? Or because he wants this?
When I reach him, he shivers. I cage him against the counter. When I reach for the open jar of coconut oil and scoop some out, he sucks in a breath. If he wasn’t sure before, he is now.
I tug down his sweatpants, exposing both his luscious ass and his hard cock. So. He does want this.
It pisses me off.
I slide my fingers between Lucas’s ass cheeks to lube his hole briefly before spearing my fingers into it. I scissor him open. Though he cries out, he also pushes back onto my hand. When I unzip my pants and grab my stiff cock to slick it, Lucas leans against the counter.
He pants as my dick presses between his ass cheeks. He moans as I start to penetrate him. He opens for me as I push inside. It feels good, but I’m mostly focused on things around me. Lucas, who’s giving himself so completely to this. Quinn, who glances at us now and then. The doorways, just in case.
When I start fucking Lucas, it’s more purpose than pleasure. But pleasure creeps in anyway as Lucas moans and clenches on me.
I wrap my hand around his neck and pull him upright against me while I continue to assault his ass with deep thrusts.
“You like that he’s watching?” I grit out by Lucas’s ear.
When all I get is a moan, I growl, furious, and fuck him harder until he’s making desperate little sounds, writhing, and bracing one foot on the side of the island. His cock is leaking profusely, and when I ram into his prostate again, cum leaps from it.
The sight has me biting hard on his shoulder and jackhammering into his ass. More ropes of cum leap from his flushed dick, and it’s too much. I shout and bury myself deeper inside him, shooting my load into his ass. I strain upward as my cock kicks through the hard, angry release. It must be kicking against his prostate because he leaks more with every pulse, spilling now down the hard length of his dick while he moans and spasms against me.
I’m still so damn angry that I squeeze his throat, but it only makes him shudder.
I growl against him, “If you wanna be around other men, you’ll do it with my cum in your ass—so you remember who you belong to.”
I don’t know what I expect in response to that but certainly not what I get—which is Lucas turning his face toward me and making a soft, submissive, contented sound. It confuses me.
I loosen my grip on Lucas’s throat. As I pull out of his ass, his foot drops from the side of the island. He turns my way and huddles up against me.
My anger trips over itself as I close my arms around him and hold him there. I don’t understand, but I can’t help softening to him. I pet his hair.
There’s a towel on the island. I snag it and use it clean the excess oil from Lucas’s ass. My ministrations have some of my cum leaking from his hole, but I leave it. I meant what I said. I want it there. I reach between us and gently clean his dick before pulling up his sweatpants.
I tuck my cock away, zip and button my pants. Lucas is hovering at my side now, hanging onto my waistband. It soothes a little more of my anger, but I’m still confused. By his actions. By my own too.
This is the first time I’ve felt … jealous.
My possession of Lucas has always been in a sort of vacuum. Any threats were external. I’ve never even thought about him wanting something—some one —other than me. The idea enraged me.
And yet … I feel like I’m missing something. I feel like, maybe, I’ve misunderstood.
Movement catches my eye. It catches Lucas’s too, and we both look across the kitchen to where Quinn, with his back to us, is leaning down, forearms on the counter. He’s breathing hard, clearly trying to calm down.
Lucas looks up at me with a small, satisfied smile. “That wasn’t very nice,” he tells me.
I huff. “As long as he gets it now.”
Quinn grumbles, head still down, “It’s not like I didn’t get it before.”
I give Lucas a warning look. “As long as you get it now.”
A mischievous look comes into Lucas’s eyes. His fingers continue to play along my waistband. “I don’t know. You might have to teach me that lesson again.”
I maneuver him until his back is against the counter. Planting my hands on either side of him, I cage him there. I lean down until my face is inches from his.
I ask in a low, threatening voice, “Is that what you wanted, to make me jealous?”
Lucas’s lips part. His blue eyes are still dark from arousal. “If I say yes, will you fuck me again?”
“Jesus Christ,” Quinn mutters from across the kitchen. Without looking at us, he turns and walks quickly toward the doorway. His cock is visibly hard in his pants, but I’ve made my point with him, so I let him go.
I return my attention to Lucas. “Tell me the truth. Were you in here with him to make me jealous, or because you wanted him?”
Now Lucas looks annoyed. “Neither. I was in here to make cookies. Other people live in this house, Roman. I’m going to interact with them. Please don’t make them afraid to interact with me. Unless I’m your prisoner?”
I scowl at him, not liking that. “You’re not my prisoner, but you are mine. You need to understand that.”
Lucas tilts his head, offering me his throat, showing me that he does understand. I lower my face to his neck, where I nibble and suck. But while I’m marking him, his hand curls around the back of my neck, holding me there, letting me know that while he belongs to me, I belong to him too.