Just a Bit Ruthless (Straight Guys 6)

He was going to be free tomorrow. After almost two months of uncertainty, he was going home.

That was all that mattered. That was all he wanted. That was what he needed.

Roman shifted in his sleep and slung a heavy arm over Luke’s chest.

Luke closed his eyes and didn’t dare breathe.

He was going home. He was going back to normalcy.

It was finally over.

Chapter 17

Buttoning his dress shirt up, Roman said, “Is there a reason you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes?”

Luke averted his gaze toward the window. With his knees pulled to his chest and his bare arms wrapped around them, he looked small and very young. The morning sunlight reflected off his golden hair and colored his high cheekbones with a healthy glow. He would look like an innocent, uncorrupted angel if there hadn’t been something so very sensual in the curve of his wide, plump mouth. Not for the first time, Roman thought that the boy looked more French than English.

“You’re one to talk,” Luke said without looking at him, a small, rather forced smile curling his lips. He was in a strange mood.

Roman eyed his profile for a moment before deciding he didn’t have time to interrogate him. Luke had been particularly insatiable this morning, and Roman was already running late because of him. Anastasia, for all her nosiness, didn’t deserve to be stood up by her brother on her own wedding day.

“I won’t be back till late evening,” Roman said, slipping into his tuxedo jacket. “Vlad will bring you food. Tomorrow we’re returning to Russia.”

Catching his lip between his white teeth, Luke nodded, his gaze still averted. “Bye,” he said, his arms tightening around his knees.

Roman paused by the door. “Something wrong?”

Luke shook his head, smiling crookedly. “Just sick of being stuck inside, I guess.”

Roman wasn’t convinced, but he really didn’t have time for this. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, opening the door.

“Wait!” In the blink of an eye, Luke was out of the bed and dashing toward him in a flurry of pale limbs and messy curls. He looped his arms around Roman’s neck and pressed his mouth against Roman’s, his lips soft, plush and desperate, as if they hadn’t just spent hours having sex.

Roman chuckled, his fingers digging into Luke’s round buttocks. But he kissed back, taking charge of the kiss the way Curly liked. He was rewarded with soft, needy whimpers of pleasure as the boy clung to him. Roman indulged him, although after hours of sex getting an erection was impossible even for a man with his sex drive.

But he really couldn’t stay a moment longer.

He pulled back, their lips parting with a wet smack, and cleared his throat. “Let go of my shirt, kitten.”

Brown eyes stared at him dazedly for a few moments before Luke practically jumped away and clasped his hands behind his back, looking flustered.

He blushed so prettily.

Roman’s lips thinned at the thought. He really didn’t like the effect the boy had on him.

The sooner he got rid of Luke, the better.

Without another word, he left the room, the door locking after him.

* * *

Weddings were fucking tiresome. It didn’t help that Roman had spent the better part of the day forced to put up with his numerous aunts’ nosy inquiries about his own marital status and when it was going to change. Apparently, being on the wrong side of thirty and unmarried was “tragic, just tragic.” There was a reason he didn’t like spending too much time with his extensive family. It was hard to intimidate someone into silence when they had seen him in his nappies. Roman’s mother was the worst. She had kept nagging him throughout the evening, wanting to know when he was finally going to follow his younger sisters’ example and settle down. She hadn’t been impressed when he had finally snapped and told her he had more important things to do than play house with some woman.

Roman heaved an irritated sigh at the memory and entered his lake house. It was blessedly quiet compared to the noisy manor he had left behind.

Vlad was waiting for him in the hall.

He knew something was wrong the moment he saw his pale face.

“Whitford’s boy is gone,” Vlad said.

Roman stared at him.

“What?” he heard himself say.

“He escaped,” Vlad said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Escaped.

The word rang in his ears, refusing to penetrate his tired mind.

Then, he was moving.

He strode upstairs, toward his bedroom, Vlad trailing after him.

The lock was broken.

The room was empty. The wardrobe was wide open. There was no trace of the curly-haired boy with a dimpled smile. The bed was still unmade, the sheets rumpled and swept aside in the aftermath of the sex they’d had that morning.

“How?” Roman said, staring at the bed.

“We aren’t sure. He was still here when I brought him food at eleven o’clock. Obviously I checked the security feeds, but it looks like the cameras malfunctioned around noon. I didn’t find out until hours later because—well, you know why. After you told me to stop snooping on you, I didn’t monitor your bedroom.”