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“How does it feel to know that a homo gave you a boner, straight guy?”
Growing up, he’d been very far from being smoldering and mysterious. He’d been a total geek as a kid, preferring quiet evenings with a book to hanging out with friends that he didn’t have.
His gaze snapped back to the tall blond man leaning against the wall. There was something familiar about him... The man turned his head a little and Sebastian sucked a breath in. Shit. It was him. The homophobic prick he’d sucked off in Moscow.
“What’s a nice straight man like you doing at a place like this?” he said, leaning against the wall next to the other man.
What were the odds of Luke knowing the guy who’d sucked him off in Moscow? Pretty good, actually, now that he thought about it. Luke and Sebastian both belonged to the privileged London elite. Of course they knew each other.
Vlad fucking hated morning people. He didn’t trust them.
The guy reminded him of Snow White—if Show White were six feet tall and male.
As far as Melinda Sumner was concerned, tea fixed everything.
“His ass is huge,” Vlad said. “He has chicken legs.”
“That’s awfully convenient. You’re forgetting I’m in a relationship with a Russian. Roman plays the foreigner card when it suits him, too. Come on, spill.”
He should have stayed close to Luke and waited for news from Roman instead of stalking Sebastian Sumner. Stalking was probably too soft a word. He was being a total creep. Because breaking into someone’s flat and watching them sleep was pretty damn creepy, even by his pretty low standards.
He could no longer deny he had liked watching Sebastian, liked looking at him, as if Sebastian was a beautiful piece of art.
“You’re saying you want no-strings-attached sex. You basically want to fuck me out of your system.”
“This is kind of unexpected. I expected you to be too deep in denial to even admit you were attracted to me. I definitely didn’t expect to have a serious, adult talk with you that didn’t end in insults.” Vlad smiled back. “The night is still young.”
Antonio Bonaventura was a tall, dark-haired man with olive skin, very white teeth, and a charming smile. Vlad disliked him immediately.
“You will tell the Italian he can’t touch you anymore,” Vlad said. Sebastian’s eyes cleared a little. “I will? And why would I do that?” Vlad opened his mouth and closed it. He said gruffly, “Because he tastes disgusting and your mouth stinks of him.”
Even now his gaze kept drifting to the right, toward the district where Sebastian’s flat was located. He couldn’t see the building from here, but it didn’t stop him from looking, like some obsessed, lovesick creep.
“Jesus, you scared me! Warn the guy that you’re waiting for him in his dark bedroom. Creep. Normal people wait outside when there’s no one at home.”
It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a date. Maybe if Sebastian repeated that often enough, the butterflies in his stomach would finally go away.
“Drop the smug look, will you? Yeah, you’re a tough Russian and I’m a delicate English flower, yadda yadda.”
“Why do you have gloves if you aren’t cold?” Sebastian said. “You never know when you need to break into someone’s place and not get caught,” Vlad said, offering the gloves to Sebastian.
Nuzzling into his cheek, Vlad dragged his mouth along Sebastian’s jaw and sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t be your friend. I don’t want to be your friend. I want more.”
“Shut up,” he said, flushing when he noticed Vlad’s stare. “It’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it? Very romantic.” Vlad thought back to Tristan DuVal’s wedding vow that involved such words “I hated you at first sight, I still hate you for making me so soppy, and I promise to hate you till death do us part.” It didn’t sound very beautiful or romantic to him.
“In hindsight, I’m glad you slept with my girlfriend,” Vlad said, squeezing his fingers. “We should send Nina a thank you card.”
