Just a Bit Ruthless (Straight Guys 6)

Against his will, his gaze was drawn down to the other man’s muscular thighs. He could see the outline of Roman’s cock beneath the fabric. Although it wasn’t hard, it looked massive, long and thick. Swallowing, Luke licked his dry lips, a squirmy sensation in his stomach. Fuck, a cock like that would completely wreck him—and a man like Roman Demidov was unlikely to be gentle. He would be rough, commanding, and caring only about his own pleasure. Luke could practically see it: the Russian’s heavy body on top of him, crushing him as he moved between Luke’s thighs, using Luke as a hole for his dick—

Roman released his hair and stepped away. His eyes were narrowed as he studied Luke’s face like a hawk.

Luke held his gaze, hoping that he wasn’t blushing and his dirty thoughts weren’t written all over his face. Sometimes he hated his vivid imagination. He wasn’t sure why he had been thinking about that. In all likelihood, Roman wasn’t attracted to him in the least and he had nothing to fear. He had more pressing things to worry about than the guy’s cock—like getting some food into his empty stomach.

“Please,” Luke said quietly.

Some emotion flickered across Roman’s face. He stared at Luke some more, his expression inscrutable once again, before turning around and leaving.

Luke sagged back, disappointment nearly crushing him. He’d failed. Again.

Then, he heard Roman’s cold voice, muffled by the door but clear enough:

“Daite malchishke chto-nibud poyest suschestvennogo. Myortvym mne on ne nuzhen.” [Give the boy some decent food. He won’t be of use to me dead.]

A slow, little smile curled Luke’s lips.

It might be a small win, but he felt his optimism returning.

Baby steps.

Chapter 4

Roman Demidov strode away from the captive’s room, his mood darker than ever.

The maid he met on the way to his office took one look at him, paled, and ducked her head, as if hoping he wouldn’t notice her. Smart little thing. Too bad he was too worked up right now.

He grabbed her arm. She froze, barely breezing.

“Lena, isn’t it?” he said quietly, eyeing her blond hair and slim figure. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but she had plush, soft-looking lips. His eyes lingered on them. His jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said meekly, glancing up at him for a moment before dropping her gaze. He could see her pulse beating madly at the delicate base of her neck. She was scared of him. Or perhaps she was excited. Probably both.

Silently, he opened the door to his office and went in. He knew she would follow him inside.

He wasn’t wrong. He rarely was.

“Close the door,” he said.

The door clicked shut behind him.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the howling of the wind outside and a tree branch banging on glass. The room was very warm despite the freezing weather.

There was no heating in the gray room, Roman thought, recalling the boy’s shivering body. The lack of heat was a strategic decision: usually the “guests” staying in the gray room were to be weakened by hunger and cold. Certainly not to be pampered and fed properly.

Roman’s jaw clenched.

“You may leave now,” he said. “Or you may undress.”

After a brief pause, there was the sound of clothes rustling.

He took a deep breath, trying to relax his shoulders. It wouldn’t do to hurt the girl. He rather liked her—when he didn’t feel like breaking something. Or someone.

“Over my desk,” he murmured. He wasn’t in the mood for elaborate foreplay. Not today.

She was wet when he pushed into her.

She let out soft moans as he fucked her, fully clothed but for his open fly, his fingers gripping her hips in a punishing grip, his teeth gritted and his eyes staring into the snowstorm raging outside.

He barely felt himself coming. It was just a release, an outlet for his dark mood. It did nothing toward easing it.

“Thanks, love,” he said afterward, pulling a few bills out of his pocket and placing them on the desk by the girl’s panting form.

She smiled dazedly, grabbed the money and her clothes, and hurried out of the room.

Roman tied the condom and threw it into the rubbish bin.

Dropping himself in his chair, he lit a cigarette and closed his eyes.

Blyad. Goddammit.

Even despite the fuck, the boy’s golden curls and plush, cherry pink mouth stood before his eyes. That mouth. It was a cross between an angel’s mouth and a whore’s.

He wanted to fucking wreck it.

He’d wanted it from the moment he first saw the boy in the restaurant, all dressed up and trying to play grown-up games without knowing any of the rules.

Roman wasn’t used to denying himself what he wanted. He always got what he wanted. Except he couldn’t fuck the boy’s mouth, couldn’t split those lips on his cock and choke him on it as his body wanted.