“What’s it?”
“I…” His voice breaks. “I—I need you. I don't understand it. I've never… I shouldn't want you like this.”
“Yet you do.”
He nods. “I do.”
His words bring a dirty satisfaction I can't name. “And you're not scared.”
He shakes his head. “Not of you. I don't know if that makes me brave or stupid.”
I lower my mouth to his throat, kissing him slow first, then harder. His fingers grip my back. His hips lift. I kiss him until he's shaking, until he makes small sounds into my mouth that I keep. Trailing my mouth to the purple marks I left, I admire myhandiwork before licking the bruises. I like him marked. I want everyone who looks at him to know he belongs to a monster.
“You're too sweet to be stupid.”
“That doesn't mean anything,” he giggles, but lets himself be rolled onto his stomach, face against the pillow.
I grin. “It does when I say it.”
He snorts, but his body arches into my touch. Slicking my cock with lube, I work slow, feeling the heat in my spine build even before I touch him. I settle between his legs and guide the head along the line of his taint. I stall there for a heartbeat. I should stop. I should let him breathe. But the way his body already curves into mine, moving toward the pressure instead of away, decides it. I want the way he gives without asking. I don't think about later. I only think about the weight of him under me.
I press my aching cock between the heat of his ass cheeks. I don't go inside. Instead, I grind against him, letting the wet friction build. The sensation is raw, cutting past my injuries. His hips jerk. “Oh, fuck,” he murmurs.
“That’s it, krasavchik. Take the weight of it. Feel how hard you make me just by moving like that,” I growl, my voice vibrating against his spine. “You're so tight, and I'm not even inside you yet. You're already shaking for me.”
I change my angle, dragging along the cleft for a while, then sliding back between his legs again, letting us feel every scrape and glide. After a moment, I pull away and reach down, curling my palm around his cock and drawing it toward me. “Feel good?”
“More, Viktor. Please.”
“Fuck. You're a treasure, krasavchik.” He doesn't know what I want yet, so I guide him with my voice. “Lie flat. Open those legs and show me how much you want to be ruined.”
I savor his small whines as he obeys. Pressing myself between his ass cheeks, I drive down. He bucks and twists as Igrind against his taint, teasing his hole with my crown while my hand works both our cocks at the same time.
“Look at you, making a mess of the sheets. You're so fucking needy for me, aren't you? Cry for me, Jonah. Let me hear how much you need this.”
He cries out as he comes. Pressing my tip against him, I catch the heat, feeling the way his cock jerks and spills.
“Yes, take it all. Good boy,” I rasp. My words catch in my throat.
A growl tears out of me as I break, teeth clenched while release rolls through me in hard waves. I didn't expect that to finish me, but it does. I empty myself over his lower back and the sheets between us, shuddering until the last tremor fades.
We drift there for a while, suspended in the aftermath, before I ease back and start tidying. The blankets need washing, so I shift the fabric aside. When Jonah tries to push himself up to help, I lift a hand, stopping him with a look.
He watches my hands. “You're in pain.”
“It’s okay.”
Jonah moves closer, settling between my legs. “Food. We need to eat. And then I'll look at your injuries again.”
We share the tray. Cold eggs, beef, fruit. I don't know when the guards brought it in, but it's enough to keep us both fed. Jonah eats leaning into me, his shoulder pressed to my chest like he belongs there. When we're done, his gaze drifts across the room.
“That’s the first thing I noticed when they brought me here.” I follow his look to the piano near the window. Jonah gives me a sheepish grin. “That, and the daggers. Do you play?”
“A little. My mother played. When I was born, she had it made for me. It was crafted by someone from her home village and sent from Moscow to the US.”
His eyebrows lift. “I didn't expect that.”
“Which part? That my mother played or that the piano comes from Russia?”
