Page 82 of Possession

He grabs my hand and squeezes it. I know he’s thanking me and promising me that he will tell me. He doesn’t let go, and neither do I. I start to calm down.

I’m safe. He’s safe. That’s all that matters.

I go into a sort of floaty, on-hold state as we wait. It’s like all the adrenaline has faded and left me somehow empty.

That feeling vanishes when the building door opens and Vitali emerges with Quinn and Sasha. There’s a wad of something under Quinn’s shirt at his shoulder where a huge bloodstain shows against the cloth.

“Oh my god,” I mutter.

“Not dead,” Quinn assures me.

“But you need a doctor,” Sasha says in a tone that suggests it’s not the first time she’s said it.

“Yes, I fucking know,” Quinn says wearily, obviously in pain.

Roman and I move back from the van as Quinn gets inside. Vitali closes the rear doors while one of the men jogs to the driver’s door.

The van rumbles to life and rolls away.

Vitali asks, “What happened, Lucas?”

My explanation has Roman squeezing my hand and Vitali clenching his jaw. I can’t see Vitali’s eyes in the low light, but I can feel his intensity. He’s very, very angry.

His anger, though, is quite different from Roman’s. It’s colder, more contained. In some ways, it’s a lot scarier.

A car pulls up. Sasha is behind the wheel.

Vitali says tightly, “You two go home. I’ll take care of this shit. I’ll be here a while. I have Anton’s bodyguard to question. And I still need to send a message to the DiMaggios.”

Roman looks toward his uncle’s body. I sense that he wants to go look at it, but when he opens the car door for me and I get in, he chooses me over his uncle and gets in behind.

TWENTY-NINE

Roman

“I’m fine,” Lucas says as I look him over in the bathroom, but I won’t be convinced until I see every inch of his skin.

I turn him so he’s facing the mirror while I scan his back. I run my hands down his sides. Goosebumps erupt all over his skin, and he shivers. I look up to check on him in the mirror. His nipples are in tight peaks, but it’s not because he’s cold.

His lips are parted. His eyes have darkened. His cock is starting to thicken.

I’m happy to see it. I know that it’s partially because adrenaline is still running through him, but it also means that he feels safe now.

Answering heat travels down to my own groin, and I wrap my arms around him. A breath stutters into his lungs as I run one hand up to his throat and the other down his stomach. He makes a soft, needy little sound and leans back against me as I exert more pressure. Massaging. Soothing. Claiming.

I watch him respond to my touch. His head tilts back to offer me his throat. His cock swells and starts to lift.

I have no choice but to see my own hands and scarred wrists, but I don’t otherwise look at myself. I focus on Lucas’s body. Smaller than mine, finer, more beautiful.

And yet, he’s the one who says, “You’re so beautiful, Roman.”

Startled, I lift my gaze to his in the mirror. His eyes meet mine, but they drift away to look at more of me. I don’t shift my own gaze from his face. I still don’t like looking at myself, but something eases inside me as I watch how he looks at me.

I see his focus on me, his attraction. His love. Some of the tightness leaves my chest, like I can look at myself through him and not be so angry.

“I love how you touch me,” he murmurs as his cock stiffens further.

I massage the base of it, sliding my fingers on either side and watching it twitch upward. When I curl my hand around his shaft, he starts making sounds that have my own cock hardening into a stiff rod. I stroke him until precum beads at his tip, then I let go and drop to my knees behind him.

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