“I protect Adrian. The people who matter to me. Nobody else.”
“Then we don't have a problem. Yet.” His other hand came up, rested on my hip with casual intimacy that felt like fire. “But you need to back off. Stop following me. Stop digging into my cases.”
“Can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't trust you. Don't know what you're hunting or who gets hurt when you find it.” My own hand moved without permission, settled on his shoulder, feeling muscle beneath dark fabric. “And I can't let that happen.”
“Viktor has nothing to do with any of this.”
“You've told me nothing. Just deflection and warnings.”
His eyes narrowed. “I'm always in control.”
“Prove it.”
“You want proof?” His hand shot down and grabbed my crotch hard through my trousers. Not gentle. Not seductive. Aggressive. Claiming. “Fine.”
I inhaled sharply, body jerking at the contact. His grip was firm, confident, palm pressing against my cock through the fabric with pressure that bordered on painful.
“Still want proof?” Voice low, dangerous. His hand squeezed once, deliberate.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
His free hand worked my belt buckle, popped the button, lowered the zip — all while maintaining that grip, that pressure, that reminder that he'd turned this confrontation entirely on its head.
“Tell me to stop,” he said. “Push me away. Reassert all that discipline you're so proud of.”
I didn't. My body had mutinied.
He pushed my trousers down just enough, then my boxers, freeing my cock. His hand wrapped around bare flesh with a grip that was firm and merciless.
Then he did something that stopped my breath entirely.
He pulled his hand back, brought it to his mouth, and spat into his palm. Once. Twice. Eyes never leaving mine — didn't look down, didn't break contact, just held my gaze while he made his hand slick.
The act was obscene. Deliberate. A show of control that lit every nerve in my body.
He wrapped his slick hand around my cock and stroked. Long, slow, the slide perfect and maddening.
“You're hard,” he observed, voice clinical. “Interesting. Didn't think this made you responsive.”
“It's not this.”
“Then what is it?” His hand tightened, stroking faster. “Curiosity?”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.” Base to head now, thumb sweeping over the slit and spreading precome, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me in place. “Oh wait. You can't. Because right now, I'm the one in control.”
Airless in the alley, nowhere to go. His body heat and brick behind me and that grey sky overhead pressing down like a lid. Just his hand on my cock and his eyes locked on mine.
I bit back a sound. Failed. The noise escaped, rough and desperate.
“That's better,” he murmured. “Honesty. I appreciate that.”
“This isn't—” The words died as his grip tightened, his rhythm increased. “Fuck.”
