16. Mikhail #2
I spot Lev chatting with Gloria, leaning in close to whisper something in her ear that isn’t missing while his hand rests on her shoulder. His bald head catches the light. He finally shaved it all off instead of pretending those stress patches weren’t getting worse.
Gloria co-owns Yulian’s escort services, handles the business side while Yulian does whatever he does. She’s good at it too, better than most of us at running clean operations.
Lev can’t take his eyes off her, tracking every movement she makes. He thinks he’s being subtle, but he’s not. He completely forgets how to function whenever she’s around, turns into this awkward mess who can’t string two sentences together. We all give him crap about it constantly.
Calder sits on the couch with a bong, taking a deep hit before exhaling smoke into the air.
My brain keeps replaying him making someone eat their own eyeballs.
The wet popping sounds when he scooped them out, the screaming that dissolved into choking when he forced them into the guy’s mouth.
I should be more disturbed, but I found it fascinating.
Heading over, I drop onto the couch next to him, reaching for the bong. He passes it over, and I light it, inhaling deep and holding the smoke in my lungs before leaning back into the cushions and exhaling slowly.
“You good?” Calder asks, glancing at me.
“Da, I’m fine.”
“Where’s Daniil?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like we’re attached at the fucking hip,” I snap.
He mutters something under his breath and takes the bong back, lighting it again.
“I bet you ten bucks Lev’s taking Gloria home tonight,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth.
“Make it a hundred.”
He chuckles. “Deal.”
The same girl from earlier appears, her brown hair falling down to her waist. She grins down at me and drops onto the couch next to me, her thigh pressing against mine. There’s no space to move away, and I sigh, already knowing where this is going.
She leans across me slowly, looking at Calder and pointing to the bong. “Can I?”
He hands it over, and she leans back, taking a hit without breaking eye contact with me. “Want to shotgun?” she asks, smoke still in her lungs.
Hell no. No way in hell am I inhaling her smoke.
I try pushing up from the couch, but Calder catches my arm and pulls me back down. “Dude, just relax for once. Why are all of you always so wound up? It’s exhausting just watching you exist.”
“You’ve met our father,” I point out.
She shifts closer, her hand landing on my thigh, and then she leans in so her lips are next to my ear. “Want to get out of here?”
“No.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I roll my eyes. “Not interested.”
Her hand slides higher up my thigh. “You sure? I could make it worth your time.”
I grab her wrist and move her hand off me.
When I glance up, hazel eyes are already locked on mine from the other side of the packed room.
For a second, I’m convinced the drugs are playing tricks on me, that my brain’s conjuring him up because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all night, but no.
He’s real. He’s here. Standing there near the windows watching me with a look I can’t read.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts.
He doesn’t move at all. Just stands there staring while this girl’s hands slide across my arm, her fingers trailing slowly up. That overwhelming sweet perfume makes my stomach turn, and I bite the inside of my cheek until copper floods my mouth.
His face does something complicated, emotions flickering across it too fast to catch, before it goes completely blank.
He shakes his head once, slow and shaky, then wipes his hand down his face and turns toward the counter. He grabs a bottle of whiskey and drinks straight from it, but his eyes stay on mine the entire time. Never breaks contact.
He’s watching her touch me and doing nothing. Fine. If he doesn’t care, neither do I.
For once I want to see if he’ll chase me back instead of just pulling away every time I get close.
The air between us gets thick and suffocating, heavy with tension. Everyone else in the room blurs into background noise, and it’s just us staring at each other across the space.
He keeps drinking from that bottle, keeps staring, never looking away for even a second.
Her hands slide higher, nails scraping against my skin as they reach my neck. “Please,” she breathes against my ear, fingers going behind my neck and trying to pull me down toward her, and I don’t stop her, trying to pry some reaction out of him.
He lifts the bottle again and drinks slowly, deliberately, those hazel eyes cutting straight through me.
There’s something in his stare that feels like he’s daring me to do it.
Testing me. Pushing me to see how far I’ll go just to prove some kind of point.
The music shifts to “Ecstasy (super slowed)” by SUICIDAL-IDOL.
Her grip tightens on my neck, and she pulls harder, rising up trying to force her lips to mine, and I don’t stop her.
Suddenly the bottle hits the floor so hard and loud that half the room turns to look.
Daniil’s not walking through the crowd, he’s bulldozing his way through it, shoving people aside without caring who they are or how hard they fall. Coming straight at me fast and furious. I catch the glint of the pocket knife he’s pulling from his jeans, and adrenaline floods my system.
I shove the girl off me hard and haul myself up from the couch, crossing the distance between us in seconds. Grabbing his wrists before he can do something stupid, I wrestle the knife out of his grip and shove it into my own pocket.
Then I grip his shoulders tight and steer him toward the door, pushing him through the apartment and past people who barely have time to move.
We push past security guards and stumble out the door, nearly tripping over each other. I scan the hallway desperately for anywhere private, spot the stairwell sign glowing at the end, and pull him toward it.
Pulling the door open, I drag him inside and let it slam shut behind us with a heavy click that echoes down the concrete stairs. The music from the party thuds through the walls.
Glancing down the empty stairwell, I listen hard for any sound of people coming up or down. Nothing. Completely empty.
I turn around to face him, ready to demand what the hell he’s doing here, but before I can get a single word out, he grabs my shirt and jumps. His legs wrap around my waist, and his tongue shoves into my mouth, desperate and demanding.
My hands catch his thighs, gripping them tight, and I slam him back against the wall hard enough to knock the air out of us. A groan rips out of me as his tongue slides against mine, messy and urgent and perfect. His hands come up to cup my face, holding me there like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.
Pressing him harder into the wall, I devour him because I’ve been starving for him. My tongue tangles with his, tasting him, claiming him, trying to get closer even though there’s no space left between us.
His fingers dig into my skin and pull, and I grind against him desperate for any friction I can get. He makes this sound in the back of his throat, needy and raw, and it goes straight to my cock.
“Danya, wait,” I say against his lips, barely pulling back.
He kisses me again, harder this time, cutting off my question. His nails scratch against my scalp, and I moan, can’t help it. The withdrawal of being away from him is hitting me all at once. My cock aches against my zipper, and every thrust against him makes me groan.
“Fuck me,” he breathes against my lips.
I pull back, every shred of control threatening to snap. “We don’t have lube. We can’t—”
He digs frantically into his pocket, pulls out two lube packets, and throws them at me.
Easing him down until his feet touch the ground, I shove my pants down to free my cock and drag his down with them, not giving a fuck that we’re in a stairwell where anyone could walk in and catch us.
I spin him around and press him face-first against the wall, then grab one of the lube packets that dropped to the floor.
Tearing it open with my teeth, I slick up my fingers and reach between his legs, pushing one finger into him without any warning. He groans at the intrusion and pushes back onto it, greedy for me. His body opens up around my finger, and I work it deeper, the tight heat of him clenching around me.
We have to be quick before someone stumbles in looking for a bathroom or a quiet corner, but fuck, I want to take my time with him, to hear every desperate sound he makes when I stretch him open.
I add a second finger, and he gasps, his forehead pressed against the cold concrete.
The stretch makes him tense for a second before he relaxes into it, rocking back to take more.
I scissor my fingers inside him, working him open, and when I crook them to brush against that spot inside him, he whimpers and spreads his legs wider.
“Just fuck me, it’ll be fine,” he pants, looking back at me with wild eyes. “I can take it, Misha. Please. I need you inside me now. I like it when it hurts.”
Cursing under my breath, I pull my fingers out, and he whines at the loss, his hole clenching around nothing. I squeeze lube onto my cock and stroke myself to spread it. Music thumps through the walls, voices echo from the party and the floor below us. Anyone could open that door.
I lift him up and carry him to the railing, forcing him to bend over it so his upper body hangs over the drop to the floors below.
My hand grips his waist, and I hoist him up to match my height, lining myself up with his hole.
The position leaves him completely at my mercy, his feet barely touching the ground.
Thrusting into him in one brutal push, he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he grips the metal railing so tight his knuckles go white.
The tight heat of him wraps around my cock, and I have to pause for a second, or I’ll lose it right there.
He’s so tight, and the drag of him around me makes my thighs shake.