Page 66 of Koroleva

"What my boss wants, only she knows. And what I want, is the same as you."

His mouth plunged onto mine, engulfing me in a whirlwind of ignited desire.

27

Wish granted

Andrey, eleven hours earlier…

I‘ve long understood that women do not arouse any interest in me.

When I was supposed to be looking at Anetta, the most popular girl in class, I was crazy about my friend Kirill. However, I did so in silence, going along with everyone else, because nobody likes to be different, especially not at sixteen.

The problem came when, as a joke, at a birthday party, they locked me in the closet with her because, apparently, she really liked me. I could do nothing more than kiss her with some disgust and mediocrity. At least it helped me clear any remaining doubts completely.

In the summer, Kirill and I went camping with our group of friends. We drank like Cossacks and when it came time to go into the tent to sleep, I managed to gather enough courage to kiss him.

After the initial surprise, we looked into each other's eyes and the second kiss dragged us with all its momentum. We ended up getting intimate.

The next morning, we woke up naked. Kirill was horrified by what he claimed "the alcohol had caused," but I knew he was pretending, that he liked it as much as I did and that it was only a matter of time.

I downplayed it when he made me swear that we wouldn’t tell anyone and that it wouldn’t happen again. We both knew it was a lie masked by forbidden desire. Kirill wanted to continue discovering himself with me, even if he didn't express it. The second time we got caught at his house, doing homework. The third, in the institute's cleaning room, although there it was just some handjobs. We couldn't stop, we liked each other too much and we had just discovered sex, full of hormones, it was impossible to do it.

Silence was our shelter. A blanket of invisibility full of kisses, whispers and moans. Until one morning, after Kirill had stayed the night at home and the alarm clock was out of batteries, my father opened the door and found us naked, hugging and with some condoms scattered on the floor. I remember the screams, the blows, the threats, my mother's crying and the bitter farewell tied to our eyes. A week later, having turned seventeen, I found myself packing to attend military school. My father thought he needed discipline to cure me of my faggot. He had no fucking idea that, even though I had a very bad time the first few months because I missed Kirill, he sent me to paradise.

There are more gay men in the military than they are willing to admit. I managed to set aside the memory of my first love and alleviate my loneliness with some roommates. One thing led to another, and I ended up enlisting in the army. After all, I always liked action movies. I was drawn to the idea of serving my country, being a hero, and also being surrounded by tough guys who would blow me. Comrades in the trenches, flings, and battles. That summed it up, until we were sent to the bloodiest war I could have ever imagined. That changed everything. I remember when my detachment was captured; we were on a reconnaissance mission, I was in command, and my guy at moment was walking next to me making plans for the future.

I was so focused on the happiness that awaited us that I didn't even notice we were walking straight into a trap. They opened fire when we were in the middle of a clearing; we returned fire, but they were too many and there was nowhere to take cover.

Five out of ten survived. We were captured and taken to a camp where we were tortured, raped, and humiliated. They recorded everything. They wanted to humiliate us and have the television broadcast their superiority and their ability to make fools of us. We were prepared to endure everything, or so we were made to believe, because when they slit my guy’s throat in front of me and I saw his blood gushing out to stain the dusty ground, my world changed. I went mad.

I dislocated one of my bones to free myself, and everything turned red.

I remember fragments of horror. The filthiest pain took over every cell in my body. I cared little for my broken ribs or dislocated wrist. They had just hit the button that turned me into a killing machine, one willing to be reduced to pieces, because life without him was no longer going to be life.

I came out of there with a medal of honor and a scar in place of where my heart used to beat.

I deserted, I abandoned everything, and drowned my life in bar counters. I became a piece of shit with too many burdens of conscience to tolerate myself.

One night, that ended. A stunning girl entered the bar where I was drinking my daily liter of alcohol. She was too gorgeous to go unnoticed. A group of guys started to harass her. She insulted them and left there indignant. Those bastards weren’t going to let her have the last word. They followed her to an alley behind the place.

There were four of them and only one of her. Still, she handed out more punches than there were cookies in a supermarket box. I could have stayed in the bar, not gotten involved, could have walked by and gone into the next one, but I didn’t. Her bravery rekindled in me the memory of who I once was.

I pounced on those jerks like an animal, broke more than one neck cutting off their last breath, I didn't care if I ended up in jail or at the bottom of that alley, my life was miserable and nothing could change that. Or so I thought, because that blonde with the lethal gaze was about to give me a second chance.

I felt the masculine gasp against my mouth and the erect member pressed against my abdomen. I returned to the present and remembered what I was doing with that dark-haired man beneath me. I smiled inwardly.

I knew he liked me from the moment he sat next to me at the wedding. His zipper was tight and he kept looking at me angrily, a clear sign that I turned him on.

Aleksa was very attractive. Dark-haired, with black eyes, a three-day beard, and a neat appearance. He couldn't be considered a hulking muscle mass like me. His body was slenderer, athletic, and sleek.

A perfect morsel to bring to my lips, if it weren't for the fact that he was the top man of the Capulets, in other words: the enemy.

When I was ordered to live with him and he took me straight to his bed, I fully grasped the motivations driving him to keep his distance instead of staying close to me.

Romeo Capulet could be anything but a fool. If Koroleva wanted me sniffing around for her, the same would have been ordered of Aleksa, and it made sense. How could they trust each other, no matter how married they might be?

I kept my eyes and ears wide open. The Italians quickly heated up from alcohol, and my men never let their guard down for a moment. I gathered enough information to know that Aleksa never went to prostitutes, and that his men suspected he was gay, even though he never said it. The night he saw me in the shower and I watched him covered in blood, I confirmed what I already knew, that a look from him in the right place and I would come immediately. I had been touching myself thinking about him. About how he clung to my ass while we slept. I exploded uncontrollably and desire lit up his pupils. He ran away, fueling my hunter instinct. How long had it been since I last felt it? Too long.

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