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“Oh, no? Then what would you call it? Even you can’t be that delusional.”

I collared him, shoving him up against the wall behind his back. My muscles strained with the force of my anger, my frustration. “This. Never. Happened.”

“But it did, Stas.” That fucking tongue ring of his held me mesmerized. It’d felt amazing rubbing against my hole, but now it mocked me. “And guess what? From your own mouth, you loved every minute of it.”

I shook him, slamming him back into the wall. “You tell anyone about what happened tonight, and⁠—”

“And what? You won’t let me come all over your ass again? Won’t let me tongue fuck you into an orgasm next time?”

He smirked, and I grabbed him by the throat this time, squeezing until he realized how serious I was. He pulled at my hand, but I only squeezed harder.

“This is not a fucking joke.”

Yuriy rammed his fist into my gut with the force of a sledgehammer. My diaphragm seized, lungs emptying in a violent rush as I doubled over. I staggered backward, gasping, while he massaged his throat, each ragged breath he took rough like sandpaper.

“You’re such an ungrateful asshole. You know that?” he snarled, voice raw and sharp as steel. His cobalt eyes had gone arctic, pupils contracting to pinpoints of rage. “I fought for you tonight, gave you an orgasm, and what the fuck do you do? Try to kill me?” He wrenched his head from side to side with an audible crack, a vein pulsing at his temple. “The next time you wrap your hands around my neck, you’d better be riding my dick, or I won’t be so nice about it.”

“If this gets out⁠—”

“For fuck’s sake, Stas, you think I want the world knowing I had my tongue buried in your ass? Which one of us would be treated worse by our men for it?”

His harsh words were like a douse of cold water on my heated body, making me recoil. Because he was right. The implications were hugely more damaging for him than for me.

“We have an understanding, then.”

Yuriy didn’t answer. Shaking his head, he walked past me through the door leading to his bedroom, sending a sidelong glance my way that was impossible to interpret. But there was something in his gaze, something volatile. Like he hated himself for what he’d done as much as I did for allowing it.

I should pack my bags and leave. How could I spend the next two weeks under the same roof with him, sharing the same bathroom, after what had just happened?

9

YURIY

Sleep wasn’t happening.

I’d been lying in bed for close to two hours, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the image of Stas’s face still burned into the back of my eyelids: red, furious, conflicted. My throat ached where he’d grabbed me, and I still tasted him and myself, faint and bitter, on my tongue.

Regret wasn’t my thing. Never had been. But tonight had come close.

I always flirted with Stas because it made him uncomfortable, and I loved to see him squirm, but my tongue had no business being in that pakhan’s ass. If anyone from my family found out about it, I was done for. I was already skating on thin ice to maintain my place as head of the family.

They all knew I was bi. Many didn’t like it but had learned to tolerate it. Sleeping with men was different from eating the ass of a man who’d killed quite a few of our people.

Stas worried about his reputation. Cute. He had no idea how thin the ice under my feet was. Back home, half my men were probably already listening to Tolik’s bullshit about a no-confidence vote. By the time I returned, the chair might not even have my name on it anymore.

With a curse, I threw off the blanket and swung my legs out of bed. The clock read 2:14 a.m. My body buzzed, restless, too wired to sit still. Chicago wasn’t the only thing on my mind. I kept replaying what had happened in the bathroom and hearing Stas’s moans. His hole had felt so fucking tight around my tongue. Fucking him would be even better.

I padded downstairs barefoot, listening out for signs of wakefulness from anyone else. Zasha and Yelena had made me feel comfortable enough to grab a Coke from the fridge without asking. I popped the tab and let the hiss fill the silence. The cold fizz bit my tongue, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in my chest.

If I had my phone, I could watch some porn. If I had to force Stas to replace it tomorrow, then I would. Although it was kind of nice not to have to deal with my family’s aggravating calls. Maybe I would wait for a day or two before insisting he replaced it.

The house was dark except for the soft glow spilling from the back porch. Since the warmth of the house wasn’t working, I might as well sit outside and freeze some sense into myself.

Careful not to wake anyone up, I cracked the back door open.

“…no, I can’t put up with him anymore.”

Stas stood to the far right of the porch, phone to his ear. Unlike me, he’d thrown on a coat before stepping out. His voice carried enough for me to hear the tone, low, deliberate, that particular brand of Russian that meant business.