Page 73 of Kingmakers, Graduation

My hand rides higher up his thigh. I can feel the swell of his cock pulling at his jeans. I press against the tight denim with my pinky, tugging it against his cock. Adrik lets out a groan, pulling my hair to the left, turning my head so he can nuzzle against my neck.

I run my fingers lightly over his cock, just enough pressure for him to feel it through his jeans …

His heavy breath against my ear reminds me of an animal in a cave. A bear, a dragon even. Something you really shouldn’t wake.

He puts his hand over mine, pressing my palm hard against his raging cock.

“You really are a bad girl …”

“I thought you were going to Soho?” a sharp voice interjects.

Jasper and Vlad drop down in the seats across from ours.

Vlad has swapped his Affliction t-shirt for one with the Chili Peppers’ red star on the front. I hope it’s ‘cause I hurt his feelings.

The moment we make eye contact, he’s already glaring at me. I’m glaring right back, annoyed at the interruption.

Adrik makes room for them at the table, saying, “I’ll get another round.”

The three of us sit in silence, pretending to be comfortable while we wait for his return.

Jasper is paler than ever in the dim light, his skeletal tattoos shifting eerily through the fog of cigar smoke drifting around his lean frame. He lights up a cigarette with no filter, inhaling slowly, letting the curls of smoke leak out his nostrils.

“Can I have one of those?”

Benjamin Franklin said the best way to make a friend is to ask for a favor.

Jasper stares at me silently, then hold out his silver cigarette case.

I take a roll-up and let him light it.

Jaspers flicks up the lid of his zippo and creates a flame, all in one movement like a magician.

“Thanks,” I say, puffing lightly.

He’s mixed weed in the tobacco. The smoke singes my sinuses, sending a heady warmth through my brain.

“Settling in?” Jasper asks.

He’s smarter than Vlad, smart enough not to show his animosity openly. But we both know the score. Jasper is Adrik’s right-hand man. We’re in direct competition for his attention.

Smiling, I say, “I already feel right at home.”

“Oh yeah?” Jasper’s upper lip curls, showing a glint of incisor. “Moscow is just like the suburbs of Chicago?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “People are the same everywhere. The vodka’s a little nicer.”

I raise my glass to him, half-friendly, half-mocking, and take a drink.

Then, because it’s not always my intention to be a dick, I ask him, “Where’s home for you?”

It’s the wrong question. Jasper’s eyes narrow, his lips almost disappearing.

“This is it,” he hisses. “I don’t have another life waiting for me when I’m tired of playing gangster.”

I consider quipping,So there’s no Mrs. Skeletor?but I keep a lid on it, instead saying to Vlad, “How ‘bout you, big boy? You an orphan too?”

“No,” Vlad grunts. “My mother is alive. My father was killed trying to bring Ivan Petrov home.”

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