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“Can I shower before we head out, Roman?”
“But of course,” Roman said. “I believe you know there is a private ensuite bathroom in your room.”
“Yes, thank you,” I replied.
Chapter 9
Nikolai
When I returned to my room, I noticed a large fluffy towel and the fresh set of clothes Mr. Ivanov had set out for me on the bed, which he’d also made up for me. There was a white button down shirt and a black suit, black socks and even silver cufflinks, just like the ones my father used to wear to work.
Back when I thought he worked at a used car dealership. I guess he did still technically own the dealership, even if it was just a front for…the mafia.
I walked into the bathroom, which enveloped a sense of timeless splendor, with marble-clad surfaces that captured the essence of aristocratic refinement. The freestanding bathtub, poised on sturdy feet, promised luxurious relaxation, while a glass-enclosed shower embraced a fusion of modern convenience and classical charm, adorned with brass fittings.
It was only in that moment that I had the thought—my parents were fuckingrich.
Wait, maybeIwas fucking rich. Wasn’t this mine to inherit?
Maybe I didn’t need to become a doctor to have enough money to remodel Grandpa’s dilapidated house.
WAIT! Why wouldn’t Grandpa just come and live here? I was already getting adjusted to this whole mafia thing. Maybe Grandpa could too, although I guess it runs through my blood and not his.
I took my clothes off and hung them on a brass hook on the door.
I looked at myself in the mirror again, just as I had the day before back home. Or at my old home with Grandpa, perhaps I should say.
I’m sure I was imagining it, but didn’t I look different already? My biceps and shoulders were still slim, but weren’t they looking a bit more defined? Was my jaw perhaps a bit more manly and squared? Weren’t my pecs popping out even just a centimeter further forward? I felt taller, even, somehow, I don’t know…
Maybe learning that my parents were mafia Dons, or Pakhans as I believed the Russians called them, was beginning to affect me. Maybe I was just starting to feel a bit stronger, a bit more like I could stand on my own two feet and finally move forward with my life without so much pain.
And maybe that would include letting Damien in. I’d seen the way he was looking at me. His eyes gleamed with something that went beyond just wanting me to survive as some sort of favor to my parents, who he seemed to love. He had that look in his eyes some of the guys from Grindr had just before we hooked up—I never was with anyone over 19—but I could see a burning hunger in their faces that Damien sported in his eyes as well.
I never even let those guys tell me their names. I wanted to forget them as easily as I met them.
I turned the shower on and let it fall onto my hands as I waited for the water to warm. I looked at the pink skin on my palms and remembered the first time they’d touched Damien’s, back in the car, when he’d blindfolded me and told me to trust him. He wrapped his rough calloused hand around mine. I closed my eyes and felt the same surge of excitement flow through me, like a wave coursing from my chest through my scalp upward, and then from my torso downward to my dick, which I could feel beginning to thicken and grow.
The water was warm.
I stood my body beneath it, allowing its heat to wash over me and swallow me whole, wrapping me in a warmth that soothed me but not quite as much as Damien’s touch. I thought of his dark black eyes—I’d never seen eyes that shade, black like the olives my father used to place in his martinis. But what drew me to him most were his lips, which were somewhere between the bloodred of rhubarb and the delicate pink of roses—the same pink roses I remembered Mom filling vases with around the house. Clearly the woman loved her roses.
Back to Damien.
My dick was fully erect at this point. I grabbed it around its base and felt my balls, toying with them a bit and examining the size of things now that I was a real man. I slipped the finger of my right hand down my taint, feeling just a whisper of my hole as the skin began to indent.
Those lips. I wanted to feel them swallow my mouth whole, to bite my neck, to envelop my ears, his thick and manly tongue wetting me, my body reacting with the excitement of a desert experiencing its first rain in years.
I began to stroke my dick, thinking back to the car, of when Damien had blindfolded me so that I would not yet know where we were going, or even how to get to the manor. Not having this information must have somehow been a precaution taken for my safety.
“Driver, pull over,”I imagined Damien saying. I imagined the driver doing as he was told, pulling the car over into some small little street in a small American town just outside of the city.“Leave us alone in here,”I imagined Damien instructing the driver.The driver exits and leaves us alone.
I’m still blindfolded and in my seat belt.
“What are we doing?” I ask Damien, who I can hear taking off his seatbelt.
“You’re going to be doing nothing, sweet Nikolai,” I imagine him saying. “Nothing but letting me do exactly as I want.”
Before I know it, Damien is straddling me. He’s kissing me so hard I run out of breath, but I don’t dare stop him. I am here at his disposal. He presses his large, muscular chest against my boyish torso and it nearly crushes me, pushing me against the leather seat. My blindfold still intact, I can’t see a thing but I can feel the shape of a gun in pressing into my thigh, something he was carrying in his left pocket. He pulls back and yanks my mouth open with his fingers—I stick my tongue out as if I’m at the doctor and he’s asking to see my tonsils. I hear Damien make small noises with the saliva in his mouth before he spits it into mine.
