Page 19 of The Last Dance

He pushed down, shallow at first. His body fought the invasion, but he was stubborn. I watched his face, the bite of pain and the stubborn tilt of his chin. He managed half the length before he had to stop, exhaling sharp through his nose.

I waited three heartbeats, then lost patience.

I gripped his hips and pulled him down, burying my cock in him to the hilt. He made a sound I’d never heard before—half scream, half moan, nothing polite about it. His nails dug into my shoulders, and I felt him tremble.

I held him there, impaled, until the tightness gave way to heat. He rocked, a little, getting used to it. His eyes were glassy, lashes wet. He looked up at me like he was daring me to do it again.

I did.

I thrust up, hard, driving the air out of his lungs. He clamped down, trying to hold me inside, and I made sure he knew I was stronger.

I fucked him, not slow, not gentle. Every stroke was a claim, every withdrawal a threat. The sound of skin slapping and the slap of my balls against his ass filled the room. His cock bounced between us, leaking over my stomach, and every time I bottomed out he made a different sound.

He bent forward, forehead to my shoulder, panting. I grabbed his jaw, pulled him in, and kissed him for the first time. Not a kiss—an assault. I bit his lower lip, sucked the blood to the surface. Our tongues clashed, teeth knocking together. He kissed back, wild, all teeth and need.

I fisted his hair, yanked his head back. “Mine,” I said, voice ragged.

He tried to say something, but I fucked it out of him. I rolled us, pinning him to the floor. I drove in deeper, harder, and watched his eyes roll back as I jerked his cock in time with the thrusts. He wrapped his legs around my waist, heels digging into my ass, and took every inch like he was built for it.

“Say it,” I growled, squeezing his throat just enough to get his attention.

He gasped. “Yours.”

I slammed into him, each word punctuated by a thrust. “Good. Fucking. Boy.”

He lost it then, body locking up around me. He came with a sharp cry, spraying both our chests. The spasms milked my cock, and I let go, coming so hard I saw stars. I buried myself to the root, held him down, and rode out the aftershocks until neither of us could move.

We stayed like that, tangled on the hardwood, sweat cooling between us. After a minute, I pulled out, tied off the condom, and tossed it onto the side table to take care of later.

He didn’t move, not for a long time.

I lifted him into my lap, arms wrapped around his chest. He tucked his face into my neck, breathing shallow. I held him, silent, until the heartbeat at my wrist slowed to something normal.

“You all right?” I asked.

He nodded, still wordless.

I stroked his hair, thumbed the sweat off his cheek, and let the silence do the work. Next time, I thought, I’d see if he could break me.

Chapter Six

~ Vadim ~

I carried Iren out of the amber-lit room and into the corridor, his weight a surprise only in the way it made me feel human. He was not heavy, but there was enough to him—long bones, dancer’s muscle, that deceptive density that said survival was his first language.

His head lolled against the crook of my neck, jaw slack, mouth parted and dark with the beginning of a bruise where I’d bit him. One hand, still painted with chipped burgundy, curled tight in the lapel of my jacket. He did not let go, even in sleep.

Yuri waited at the end of the corridor, a silhouette against the metal doors of the elevator. He was a man born without a sense of surprise, but even he raised an eyebrow when he saw the cargo in my arms. He said nothing until we were within three steps, then, “Good idea?”

“Probably not,” I said.

I meant the opposite.

He looked at Iren, then at me, then back to Iren. His judgment was clinical, not moral. If he’d been told to dispose of the boy, he would have done it with the same care as adjusting a necktie. But that was not the order.

He pressed the call button. The elevator arrived with a sigh, wide enough to fit a piano. We stepped in. I shifted Iren’s weight, adjusting him so his face was hidden against my shoulder. If he drooled on the suit, I’d have it cleaned. If he bled, I’d remember the pattern.

Yuri keyed the elevator for the garage. “He’s still alive,” he noted.