Page 13 of Dance of Defiance
And it’sdone a numberon me.
Which is…concerning, for two important reasons.
One—this is, or at leastshouldbe, a big one—is that I don’t go after straight guys. I don’t do the whole “down low” crap, I don’t do “I just want to experiment”, and Idefinitelydon’t do guys who make it abundantly clear how straight they are. Except there’s just one little problem with that argument in this case.
Roman Nikitin sure asshitain’t straight.
I mean, obviouslyhethinks he is. But I know what I heard when I had the fucker pinned to the ground.
A goddamnwhimper.
It might have been hidden, caged behind confusion and uncertainty. But it was there. And that’s not even getting into what Ifeltwhen slid down his body and my cock, swollen and leaking precum, throbbed against his.
…It fucking throbbed back.
Hard. Thick. And fuckingbig.
Straight guys don’t get rock hard when another man pins them to the ground. They don’t moan, either.
“We had company tonight.”
When I hear Vaughn's voice I blink away my lurid fantasies of Roman on his knees, hands bound behind his back and my cum painted on his lips.
“What?”
“An uninvited guest,” he says quietly, taking a sip of his drink and turning to look out the window at the stars over the Adirondacks.
“Oh?”
Vaughn nods. “One of our men was discovered after our guests left, tied up in a closet, missing his suit and mask. He’d been chloroformed.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I knew that I should be curious where the hell Roman got that too-tight but oh-so-hot uniform and the mask. But I was distracted by…well…him.
Him, and his telltale erection rubbing against mine.
“I had my people check the highway security cameras near here,” my brother continues. “We caught a few frames of a car heading back to the city with plates registered to the Nikitin family.”
My pulse skips as a whining sound fills my ears.
This would be thesecondreason it’s concerning that just one close physical encounter with Roman Nikitin has me so disjointed: his family and mine are about to be rivals in a race in which there’s only one winner.
“Did you notice anything off tonight? Anyone out of place?”
I take a moment, sipping the absurdly expensive scotch in my glass.
“Nope.”
Fucking hell, what am I doing?
“I was too busy babysitting Claudia Torvallés,” I shrug. “Who, by the way, shouldprobablysee someone about her drug use. That girl legitimately snorted more coke tonight than?—”
“Okay, thanks,” Vaughn grunts, cutting me off. His brow furrows as he turns to me. “Nothing else? I think we almost certainly had a Nikitin spy here tonight.”
I take a long pull from my drink. “Is that a problem?”
My brother smiles coldly, his mouth twisting devilishly up at the corners. “The opposite, actually. All part of the plan. I’m just mildly curious who Pavel sent tonight.” He shrugs and turns back to the windows. “Ah well.”
For a second, I almost tell him.
