Just a Bit Ruthless (Straight Guys 6)

Luke frowned. It didn’t make any sense, though. Roman didn’t exactly need money. He was filthy rich, his official net worth making him one of the wealthiest men in Eastern Europe (and Luke had little doubt his official net worth wasn’t anywhere close to his actual net worth). But if it wasn’t money Roman was after, why was Luke even here? Sure, the whole kidnapping thing could be a simple act of revenge against his father, but Luke hadn’t been harmed, so what was the point? Yes, prior to Roman’s arrival, his men roughed him up a bit, but Luke didn’t think it was on Roman’s orders. Or was it? Was Roman just playing some elaborate mind-game?

Fuck, it was all so bewildering and frustrating—even without taking into account the…the thing between him and Roman that was becoming hard to ignore.

Twice. It had happened twice already.

It wasn’t even the blowjobs that bothered Luke. It was the attraction, the sheer strength of it, the almost slavish intensity of that pull. What should one call attraction to a cold, manipulative man one didn’t even like? A case of stupid.

Luke laughed out loud. Yeah, definitely. It was so stupid. He had promised himself he was done getting involved with assholes. He had promised. He wanted to meet a nice guy, fall in love, and start a family with him. A real family. A husband. Lots of kids. A nice, cozy house filled with laughter, joy, and love. James called him a hopeless sap, but Luke wasn’t ashamed of his dreams. Having grown up with a distant father and a mother who had lived separately for most of his life, Luke had always yearned for a home and family. Being gay complicated everything a little—or a lot, considering what a homophobe his father was—but Luke refused to give up on his dream. It was the twenty-first century. Gay people could get married in some countries. There were ways to have children, too: adoption, surrogacy. His dreams were achievable. He just had to find a nice man to build a life with—and stop getting hung up on assholes.

Luke smiled crookedly. So far he was doing a fantastic job. Roman made all his ex-boyfriends seem like saints in comparison. His exes were just assholes; they weren’t even in the same league as Roman, who actually did things like kidnap people—and probably things far worse than that. And yet he let the guy touch him and shove his dick down his throat whenever Roman wanted. Hell, he had been eager for that. It was so embarrassing, even by his pitiful standards. James would call him an idiot and be absolutely right.

Sighing, Luke focused his attention on the TV screen. It was showing an episode of Masha and The Bear. He had seen it before with his goddaughter, Camila, but for some reason, the cartoon was a lot funnier in Russian, and Luke found himself giggling at Masha’s silly antics.

“What are you doing here?”

Luke’s grin slipped from his face.

* * *

Roman barely paid attention to Vlad’s report as he strode toward his room. He was exhausted after the flight and all he wanted was his bed.

“Later, Vlad,” he said, punching the code in on the keypad and pushing the door open.

He went still at the sight that greeted him.

Luke was sprawled on his bed, giggling at something on the TV, his curls in disarray, dimples framing his mouth. He was wearing a violet t-shirt—Roman hadn’t even known he owned something that color—that had ridden up to his thighs.

“What are you doing here?” Roman heard himself say.

Luke turned his head and stared at him, his grin fading.

Before the boy could respond, Vlad, who still stood behind Roman, cut in hurriedly in Russian, “Look, I told the brat to leave, but he didn’t obey. He—”

“Get out,” Roman said, his eyes trained on Luke.

Pursing his lips, the boy sat up, but Roman bit off,

“I’m talking to you, Vlad. You’re dismissed.”

A beat passed before Vlad nodded and left. Roman stepped inside, letting the door close, the lock engaging.

They were alone now.

After a moment, Luke shifted his gaze back to the TV, staring at it with a great deal of interest—perhaps with too much interest for that to be genuine. Roman followed his gaze and only then realized what Luke was watching.

“You’re watching cartoons,” Roman said flatly. He dropped his suitcase on the chair and started unbuttoning his jacket, but his gaze kept returning to the boy still lounging in his bed. His t-shirt was too big on Luke, leaving his creamy neck and collarbone exposed. Despite Roman’s exhaustion, his cock twitched and started thickening. Roman gritted his teeth, irritated by his body’s reaction to this boy once again.

“I love cartoons,” Luke said lightly. His hand, Roman noticed, was gripping the duvet.

“You love cartoons,” Roman said. “Are you an actual child?”