“Father said a man who touches what doesn't belong to him loses the hand,” I remind him.
Nikolai snorts from the doorway, grabbing an apple from the bowl. “And people wonder why you don't get invited to many dinner parties.”
Jonah lifts a dumpling between his fingers. Flour dusts his wrist and the tip of his nose. “Look. I made this one. Well, sort of. Your brother fixed the ugly ones.”
“My brother, huh?” I circle the island slowly, my instincts cataloging the space. I see how close Lev stands. I see where Jonah’s body angles and how easily his smile comes for someone who isn't me.
Jonah holds the dumpling out again, hopeful. “You want to taste one? They’re not cooked yet but Lev said the fold is the important part.”
Leaning in, I take it from his fingers with my mouth, not breaking eye contact. I don't care about the fucking dumpling. I care that Jonah wanted to make my favorite dish with someone else’s hands guiding him. Lev straightens subtly, finally reading the room.
A small, dry laugh slips out. “It’s fine. We’re just cooking.”
No. They’re not just cooking. They’re cooking my dish. In my kitchen. With my brother’s hands on Jonah’s wrist. Jonah doesn't see the problem. Lev definitely does.
“Go on then.” Jonah tips his head, watching me closely. “Tell me if I got the fold right.”
I take a slow bite. It’s awful. It’s perfect. Jonah’s whole face brightens. “You like it?”
“I like that you made it,” I say. Lev looks down at the cutting board like he’s praying to the onions. I don't give him a second look. “Show me how you make them.”
Taking Lev’s position behind Jonah, I leave no distance this time. I press my chest against his back and lean my chin on his shoulder to watch. Jonah shudders. “Well. Lev said the fold is what makes it a real pelmeni.” He picks up another round of dough and sets it on the board, his hands trembling just a little. Flour dusts his knuckles. “So you take this,” he says, placing a small spoonful of filling in the center. “Then you fold it like this.”
He lifts the edge and presses it over, sealing the dumpling into a half-moon. His thumbs work the rim carefully, pinching it shut. “You have to make sure it’s tight or it bursts in the water.”
I rumble, my hands roaming over his tee down to the waistband of his sweats. I untie the string with a single pull. Jonah swallows hard. He brings the two ends of the crescent toward each other. “And then, this part.” He joins the tips with a soft press of his fingers. “Lev said this makes the shape right.”
I murmur against his neck. “Khorosho. Do it again.” My hand dips into his pants and finds his cock. It grows in my palm, hot and smooth, slick at the tip. Jonah flushes all the way to his ears. “It’s just a dumpling.”
“No. It’s you in my kitchen. Cooking my dish. With your hands instead of someone else’s.”
Lev clears his throat like he wants to be anywhere but in this room. Jonah picks up another round of dough, his hands steadier now, and repeats the process. Fold. Pinch. Join the ends. His breath hitches every time my chest pushes into his back, every time I stroke his cock from base to tip.
“You watching?”
“I’m watching everything.”
Jonah’s fingers tremble over the next piece of dough, the circle warping in his hands. He tries to focus on the fold. He can’t, not when my fist tightens around his cock and pulls another hot drop to the tip. “Viktor…” he whispers.
“Keep going. Don't stop.”
He forces another spoonful of filling into the center. His breath shakes when I stroke him again, the dough nearly slipping from his flour-dusted fingers.
“Fold it,” I say against his ear. He folds it badly, the edge failing to line up. “Pinch,” I say. My thumb rubs under the head of his cock, spreading slick. His hips jerk. He pinches, but it isn'tenough. The seam loosens. Jonah whimpers, embarrassed at the mistake, grinding back into me even as he tries to hide it.
“Try again. Focus.”
“I’m trying,” he breathes.
“I know.” I kiss the side of his throat. “But you’re shaking too much. Let me help.” My hand covers his wrist, guiding the fold with him, pressing the rim shut with his own thumbs while his cock throbs in my fist. He gasps so quietly only I hear it. “Good,” I say. “Now finish.”
He reaches to bring the two ends together. His fingers slip. The dough nearly tears under the pressure. He makes a shattered sound. I squeeze him once, hard enough to make his knees buckle. Jonah bites back a cry.
From the side of the island, Lev mutters under his breath. “I didn't sign up for this shift.”
Nikolai doesn't look up from his phone. “You’re the one who told him to loosen the leash.”
Lev whispers, “I didn't mean like this.”
