Nikolai shrugs. “Then stop teaching his boyfriend how to fold dumplings.”
“I was trying to be a good brother,” Lev grumbles. “Now I feel like I need a priest and a shower.”
“You need a job,” Nikolai retorts. “The shipment from the docks isn't going to count itself. Go on, before Vitya decides to use that knife on you instead of the dough.”
Lev glances at me, sees the way I’m holding Jonah, and finally takes the hint. “Right. Docks. Work. Anything that isn't here.”
Lev glares at Nikolai, then leaves. Jonah gasps as my hand tightens.
“Again,” I tell him. “Make another.”
He fumbles for a fresh circle, flour-dusted hands shaking out of his control. “Viktor,” he whispers. “I can’t… I’m… I can’t think.”
I smile against his throat. “You don't need to think. Just listen. Just do what I tell you.” I pump him slowly. He trembles against me, trying to fold the dough, trying to impress me, trying not to fall apart in front of my brother and my right hand. He gets halfway through the fold. His breath catches. His thighs press together. “Open your legs.”
He obeys. The dough slips again. He curses under his breath. Lev shifts, uncomfortable, but he doesn't move.
“Viktor… Please—I can’t make them right like this,” Jonah whispers.
Tilting his chin, I kiss the spot under his ear. “That’s fine. I’m not looking at the dumplings. I’m looking at you. At the way you shake for me. At the way your hands try so hard to please me. At the way you belong in my kitchen when you’re falling apart because of my touch.”
He drops the dumpling, the dough hitting the board with a thud. Jonah’s breath stutters. “Fuck…I’m close.”
“Good. Let them hear you.”
Lev’s grip tightens on the edge of the counter. Nikolai murmurs a warning in his tone I choose to ignore. Jonah bites his lip, but his body gives him away. His hips move with each stroke. His head tips back to my shoulder. “That’s it, krasavchik,” I murmur. “Let me feel you.”
He shudders. The dough under his hands smears into a sticky mess. Flour streaks his forearms. His cock pulses in my grip.
“Come.”
His moan breaks open, soft but desperate. His cum streaks over my hand, the counter, the flour-dusted board. His breath trembles. His knees nearly give. Jonah grabs for the island, hisfingers slipping and smearing flour across the dark wood. I catch him with one arm around his waist and press one last kiss to his shoulder. I can feel the heat radiating off him, a fever of my own making.
“Good. Now wash your hands. You’re finishing the rest.”
He turns his head slightly. His lips are parted, his eyes blown wide with heat and humiliation and want. “You’re insane,” he whispers.
“Da. And you’re still mine.” I lift my gaze to Lev. He straightens, trying to pretend his expression hasn't gone rigid. “Set the table. Jonah made my favorite dish. We’re eating it tonight.”
Lev nods too fast. “Of course.”
“And Lev?” He pauses. “Thank you. For teaching him.”
His shoulders drop a fraction. “Anytime.”
I let a small smile cut across my mouth, though it doesn't reach my eyes. “Next time, though, keep your hands where I can see them.”
Jonah elbows me weakly. “Viktor.”
“What?” I murmur, leaning down to kiss the curve of his jaw. “A man should be grateful when his brother teaches his boy something useful.”
He blushes again. Lev looks like he wants to climb into the oven. Taking Jonah’s wrist, I guide his flour-smudged hand to my mouth and lick a stripe clean, marking him in front of my kin with the same casual cruelty I’d use on an enemy. He belongs in my kitchen and under my shadow, and whether he’s folding dough or bleeding for me, he is the only piece of this world I am never letting go of.
“Besides,” I add softly, for him alone. “I like watching you make things for me. With those hands.”
His breath stutters. Lev clears his throat so loudly it echoes. “Table,” I remind him, still staring at Jonah. “Now.”
He moves fast. Turning Jonah toward the sink, I kiss the back of his neck. I let my hand rest heavy on his hip. “We’ll finish cooking. And then you’re sitting beside me the whole damn night.”
