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“Where did you go just then?” he asked. Above him, the sky had started to snow again.
Finally, I was getting cold.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back, completely weak and depleted. “To heaven, I think.”
Damien stuck his second finger into me, which I now took with ease. He scraped against the walls of my hole, pulling out a thick glob of his own cum. He held it up to my mouth, and I sucked the goo off his fingers, savoring every drop.
“Never tell anyone,” Damien said again.
“So long as you don’t leave me, Damien,” I replied.
I couldn’t lie.
I wanted him to stay.
“Let’s get you dressed, sweet heir Nikolai.” Damien stood up and began to hand me my clothes. He put his cock, massive even when flacid, back into his underwear and then zipped up his pants, which he’d never fully taken off.
Both of us were completely wet with melted snow. There was dirt all over my coat from when we tripped down the hill.
“So, this is where you used to read those fashion magazines instead of porn, huh?” I asked him.
“That’s right,” Damien replied. “Although, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to come back here and just think about a fashion magazine again. Not a chance.”
Damien leaned in and kissed me. Vanilla again. Ourselves, once again.
We began to walk back to the house, holding each other’s hand until we exited the forest and knew that the eyes of the world, or at least those from the manor, were on us once more.
Chapter 13
Nikolai
After we returned to the house, Mr. Ivanov insisted on washing our dirty clothes—completely bamboozled as to how they’d gotten so sullied— “Why, were you rolling around in a pig pen?” he asked—before giving us two bathrobes and making us each some tea and some chicken club sandwiches for lunch. I watched as Damien devoured his quickly, just as he had devoured me in the clearing in the woods.
I hated having to sit across the table from him. I wanted to sit next to him, or even better, on his lap as he ate. I wanted to kiss his neck and whisper sweet nothings. I wanted to tell him that I’d never felt like this before—that I’d never allowed myself to feel like this before.
Instead, we shot each other knowing glances and smiled at one another as we ate and Mr. Ivanov explained his background to me.
“My father was a butler and my grandfather before that, all the way back in the mother country,” he said, sipping on his own earl gray tea. “I enjoy the work, the orderliness, the way one quietly and modestly makes an entire manor such as your grandfather’s flow with ease—the meals, the cleaning, all of it. But your parents always wanted more for me,” he explained.
“Your mother asked me what I would want to learn if I could learn anything, and I told her I was interested in not only taking care of a house, but securing it as well. She enrolled me in a local night school for adults, paying for me to learn about security technologies, which then led to learning about cyber security, and then technology as a whole—really focusing especially on spyware, much to my professor’s chagrin and confusion.
“I continued working for your parents as a butler, but also set up our digital security system here at the manor. But the fun part, if I’m going to be honest, was learning not just how to protect from security breaches, but how to execute them myself.” Mr. Ivanov took another sip from his tea before, noticing that Damien had finished his sandwich, he passed Damien his own, which was still untouched. Damien thanked him, winked at me, and then practically inhaled it.
He’d certainly worked up an appetite back in the thicket.
“That’s just how your parents were,” Mr. Ivanov continued, watching Damien eat like a ravenous beast. “They just wanted the best for everyone around them. I can’t say your grandfather was the same as my father, but alas, he brought your mother into this world, and she changed my life.”
Then Mr. Ivanov turned towards me. “And you—what would you like to study if you could study anything?” I tried to peel my eyes away from Damien’s face, but it was painful to stop drinking in his looks. Despite being fed, in multiple ways, I was still so hungry for him.
It felt ridiculous. I loved it.
“I’m supposed to go to NYU to study politics,” I said to Mr. Ivanov.
“Why politics?” Mr. Ivanov asked.
“I think it’s the best way to make a change in this world,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound self-righteous or overly virtuous. “The world is…well, it’s shit. The wars and the famines and all of the hatred. I couldn’t continue on if I didn’t think I could make some sort of change.”
“Ah, so you really are just like your parents,” Mr. Ivanov said, putting his elbow down on the table and plopping his smiling face down into his hand. He was studying my own face and I knew he was searching for traces of them—my mother, my father, his saviors. “Don’t you know, running a mafiaispolitics?” “How so?” I asked.
