Page 77 of Rough Exile


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Ilya eyed the phone where it lay on the dresser but jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Fine, then tell me this—why did you start fucking me if you don’t like men that way?”

He grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What were we supposed to do here alone, two grown men?” he said defensively. “Were we supposed to stay celibate? Sleep every night with our cocks in our fists, wishing there was a woman here to be a receptacle for our baser desires?”

“If satisfying your baser desires was your only reason for fucking me, there had to be other options. It’s not like money is short.”

“Of course, I considered bringing a whore or two here to see to our needs.”

“But you decided against it.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I’d developed a taste for you and your suffering and didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t have you if there were whores here to gossip.”

“You’re not worried Delilah will gossip?”

“Delilah is different. She was on that damned island. She understands how it is between us—and Americans aren’t as shocked by men choosing to fuck other men.” He glanced my way, then back to Ilya. “If Vas hadn’t finally summoned you home, I would have happily tormented you for the next few decades until one of us died.”

Ilya pressed his lips together. “Hurting me was enough for you? You never wanted more? You never wanted a relationship? Someone to love?”

“Love is a fantasy made up by women,” Bron protested, his clean-shaven face doing nothing to hide the red blush that stained his neck and cheeks. “Relationships only burn hot and bright until the newness singes off. If they last, they mature into companionship, shared jokes, and some affection. Haven’t I given you all that?”

“You don’t always have to make it hurt.”

Bron put his hands on his hips and looked at the ceiling as though it might provide them both with answers. “I knew this thing between us would have to be temporary. It was easier to leave it the way it was and not let feelings grow. I’m not a man who ever thought about men the way I think about you, so it was always easier to hide behind the lie I told myself—that I was only teaching you a lesson.”

“You’ve always resented being sent to take care of me.”

“At first, but not for a long time. How could I resent you after I got to know you? You’re my life.” He looked uncomfortable and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Tomorrow, we go to the mainland and back to the real world,” Ilya said with forced joviality. “You’re being set free from your prison. You can find a woman. Get remarried. Have a family.”

Bron grunted, but he didn’t look pleased at the prospect. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want from life now that you’ll have choices for the first time?”

“I should want to be part of my family, but they’re strangers to me.” Ilya’s mouth twisted. “I would rather we stay here.”

“He would never allow it.” Bron pulled off his shirt, and Ilya paused, his lips parted with a response that never made it out. It was like a wave of lust erased thoughts written in sand.

“Why are you getting undressed?” Ilya asked uneasily as Bron unbuckled his belt. He shivered.

“I’m done talking.”

Bron’s pants dropped, leaving him in only boxer briefs. His body was hard. Glorious. Covered in scars.

Now both Ilya and I were staring from the doorway.

“Take your fucking clothes off.”

“Both of us?” Ilya asked, incredulous.

Bron’s lips curled into a hard smile. He crossed the room to us and grabbed our hands, then led us in. In all the time I’d been here, Bron’s room had been completely off limits.

He stood us in the middle of the room, then turned one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat down. Although he was wearing a lot less than we were, I felt naked.

“Undress each other.”

Ilya frowned at him. “Why do I feel as though you’re trying to distract us from the conversation?”

“We cannot solve anything tonight. We need to visit Vas, see what happens, then decide from there.”

“If Ilya doesn’t care if he gets sent back here, then there’s no need for me to go, right? He doesn’t need a fake fiancée.”

“You’re coming. You’ll be Ilya’s elegant, appropriately affectionate future bride. Proving he’s a man is important if he wants to make his own choices.”

“And what if this man doesn’t want to strip at your whim?” Ilya folded his arms.

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