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He knew there was little he could do to help his friend, but it still didn’t feel right to leave him while James clearly wasn’t holding up well after the messy breakup with his fuck-buddy/best friend/pseudo-brother/soulmate.
He had told himself “filthy-rich Russian tycoons” didn’t equal “Russian mafia.” Well, clearly he’d been wrong in this case.
“I’m saying I can’t control them around the kid,” he replied with a grimace. “No matter what I threaten them with, when they get bored or drunk, they want to have fun. And the boy looks…” Vlad licked his lip. “No homo, but he looks fucking beautiful all beaten up and bruised.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy murmured. Sir. Roman left the room, trying to ignore the way that little English word pleased something in him.
Luke knew BDSM didn’t always involve sex or even whips and chains; sometimes it was a little more complicated than that. The truth was, last night’s punishment and what happened afterward had felt far more intense and intimate than the kinky sadomasochistic sex he’d engaged in with Alan.
Roman made all his ex-boyfriends seem like saints in comparison. His exes were just assholes; they weren’t even in the same league as Roman, who actually did things like kidnap people—and probably things far worse than that.
His dark eyes were wide and beautiful, and his lips looked soft and very pink. It was irritating. Everything about the boy irritated him: the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he fucking breathed.
He couldn’t be that stupid to think he was safe with this man, regardless of the fantastic dicking he’d gotten last night.
Luke had always had a bit of a thing for fit older men, assholes, authority figures, men who looked like they could crush you and not break into a sweat—and Roman was all of those things.
“Are you threatening me?” Luke said with a grin. Roman’s eyes lingered on his smiling mouth for a second. “Not at the moment.”
“Maybe I’m not evil,” Roman murmured, carding his fingers through Luke’s hair. “Maybe I’m just misunderstood.”
By the time he could think again, Roman had removed his fingers and had his muscular arms crossed under his head, a picture of masculine nonchalance and cool confidence, bordering on smugness.
“You said you needed me. What for?” His voice was quiet, but it sounded harsh and sharp in the utter silence of the room.
He’s all wrong for you, he reminded himself. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He’s no Prince Charming. If anything, he’s the villain.
And the truth was, he wanted only his curly-haired English boy.
He looked very young, very endearing, and very ridiculous—not exactly a combination Roman normally found attractive. He couldn’t look away.
But, as far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a man good enough to lick this precious boy’s boots. The world was full of selfish assholes like him. At least Roman was an asshole who could protect him and take care of him.
“I’m a big boy. I can live without my mother’s approval. But I doubt she will care as long as I provide her with a brood of grandchildren. Besides, she’s about as intimidating as a wet sponge. She’s a nagging, spoiled lady with a penchant for pretty things.” Smirking, he pinched Luke’s cheek. “You’ll get along just fine.”
