Lev goes quiet. Nikolai watches Viktor instead of the knives.
Viktor’s hand finds the back of my neck. “Upstairs.”
It isn't a command. Still, my feet move before I decide to. Behind us, Lev groans into his glass. “Every. Damn. Time. He wins a round and disappears with his favorite.”
Nikolai snorts. “We should get the boy a T-shirt. Property of Vitya. See how fast he blushes.”
My face burns. Lev lifts his glass toward me. “See? Told you.”
“Enough,” Viktor says. He doesn't even turn around.
Silence drops instantly. The air in the kitchen goes cold. Lev mutters a quiet, “Have fun.” Nikolai adds, “Don’t break the bed.”
Viktor ignores them both, his hand tightening at the back of my neck as he guides me out of the room.
We’re inside Viktor’s room. Our room. Bags are spread open across the floor. Sweats and T-shirts are draped over a chair, and shoes are left where we dropped them along the wall. “Can I try the candles?”
Viktor huffs. “Be my guest.”
Unwrapping them carefully, I focus on the labels. “This one’s sandalwood with jasmine. The other is rose petals.” I glance over my shoulder at him. “You’ve got a favorite?”
He snorts.
“Yeah. I thought so.” I smile to myself, already knowing mine as I prepare to light the sandalwood. While Viktor undresses, I kill the overhead light and set the candles around the bed. A warm flicker fills the room, shadows moving slowly over the walls. “Can you smell it?”
“Hm, I can.”
The next second, his hands are on my shoulders, throwing me back onto the bed. I yelp, more surprised than scared. He’s already on me, tearing my shirt open. Buttons skitter across the floor with a sharp sound. His mouth drops to my chest, his tongue flicking over my nipples. I arch into him, half laughing and half breathless while the candlelight shakes around us.
“Viktor…”
“Ty moy,” he grumbles against my skin. His voice is rough with hunger, his nose dragging lower along my belly. I giggle when he tickles me, but the sound breaks when his hand slips into my sweats. My body is a traitor. It’s arching for him, begging for the touch it was afraid of only weeks ago. “Already so hard for me.”
Wrapping his hand around my dick, he strokes once, before pulling back, leaving me shivering and wanting more. He leans back, lifting his shirt over his head. His pants strain with the outline of his erection. When he pops the button, heat rushes through me. He pushes his pants and underwear down his thighs, freeing his thick and flushed cock.
“You haven't given me your answer.” His hand slides down his length again.
“Answer?”
“I told you what I want. How I like it.” His grip tightens slightly and then eases. “You haven't told me if you agree.”
My chest tightens. This is the proposition. He’s laying out the terms of his world, and I’m the one deciding if I can live in them.
“I practiced with the knives because I want you strong. I gave you clothes. A piano.” His gaze stays fixed on my face, unblinking. “Will you give me what I need?”
His hand moves slow on his dick. It’s a hot view, but that isn't why my breath hitches. He’s asking for me to meet him. My stomach tightens while heat spreads low.
“Can I go back to work?”
“With protection. Yes.”
“Move around?”
“With protection. Yes.”
“But…by myself?”
In one sharp pull, he drags my sweats down, baring me to the candlelight. Grabbing both our dicks, he spits and squeezes them together in one slick fist. “And you, krasavchik,” his thumb presses harder as he speaks. “Will you sleep by my side every night?”
