Page 67 of Doubts of the Egoist
He gave Rick a haunted look.
Handsome, with clear skin, sincere eyes, and a strong jawline, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a bodybuilding magazine. There was nothing repulsive about his appearance or personality, and if Kuon wanted to explore his sexuality, he couldn’t find anyone better even if he searched.
Yes, he didn’t love Rick, but his obsession with Yugo hadn’t started romantically either, far from it. Maybe, if he lifted this mental block and accepted he was into men, he could return Rick’s feelings one day. Because right now, he wanted to care back. He wanted to thank the only person who truly liked him despite everything.
Still, using Rick felt wrong. What if he really was into Yugo, and it wasn’t sex he needed to get him out of his system but a good therapy session?
He wished he had more time to think about it.
“Rick, it would be best if—”
“Tell me.”
Kuon shook his head in dismay. “Nothing. You lack nothing. It’s me, who—”
“Then try me.” Rick’s gaze bore into him as he slowly pulled Kuon’s elbow to draw him closer. When warm lips covered his, Kuon held his breath, torn between the need to escape contact and sever all ties with Yugo by crossing a point of no return. He bet that if he let Rick continue, nothing would ever be the same again; not for him, not for the Black Duke.
Adrenaline surged through his veins, alarming, but he couldn’t find a reason to terminate the kiss. Why would he? Yugo certainly didn’t refuse Mio’s advances.
As the memories of their kiss flooded his mind, he forced his jaw open, allowing Rick to explore the inside of his mouth. His eyes burned, as did his throat. The tiled wall drifted before his eyes as Rick gently switched places with him, pressing his back against the wet wall once again.
CHAPTER 18
A few hours earlier
Yugo carefully loweredhis burden onto the bedspread. The soft mattress bounced under Mio’s weight, sending ripples across the slate-gray silk. The halo of pale flaxen hair splayed over the pillow, but in those glistening azure eyes, there was no holy serenity, only molten glass of dark, raw sin. A slender hand shot up and grabbed the lapel of Yugo’s jacket, forcing him to collapse onto the edge of the bed. A blue gel ice pack slipped off Mio’s chest, revealing a wet spot on his shirt below his heart as he propped himself up on an elbow. “I hate this room.”
Yugo dragged his gaze around the bedroom. The sandy flagstone wall behind the bed gleamed with built-in round golden LED lights. On one side, flat stones crawled into warm, honey beige wood paneling. The other side of the wall ended with a large, bulletproof corner window.
The fire raging in the hearth opposite the king-size bed filled the room with warmth, soft crackles, and the dry smell of wood. Antique Italian tapestries that once graced Milana’s bedroom framed the reading area and cloaked the sliding door to the walk-in closet. Silvery silk curtains descended to the floor, draping two large bay windows, their windowsills covered in fluffy silver fox pelts. More pelts were scattered across the floor, complementing the dark gray, plush carpet. The room looked cozy and clean. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s not yours!” Mio spat, words bitter and angry. “Why can’t I stay with you?”
Yugo tilted his head, studying the anxious expression on Mio’s face. The bloody purple circles under his reddened eyes accentuated his aristocratic pallor. Bright red lips parted slightly as Mio breathed through his mouth—seducing or gasping for air, Yugo couldn’t tell. Out of habit, he pressed his wrist to Mio’s slightly warm forehead. “You know why. Let go.”
Mio huffed, released the lapel of Yugo’s jacket, and spread his arms wide, providing his body for observation. The white shirt stretched over his chest, doing nothing to conceal his pink nipples, the outline of his navel, and the dark area on his ribs. Mio looked wanton, seductive, and judging by the challenging look in his bright eyes, he knew it.
With great care, Yugo unbuttoned Mio’s shirt and scowled at the sight of a purple fist-sized hematoma on the left side of his ribcage. He tsked, palpating the swollen area. It burned and throbbed under his fingers, informing him that blood was still pooling under the skin. According to Mio, he’d been shot two days ago, but the injury looked fresh, as if it had just been inflicted.
Why did he lie?Yugo itched to demand the truth, but if the brat hadn’t confessed in the first place, he certainly wasn’t going to spill the beans now. To avoid accusing him without proof, Yugo decided to wait and gather solid evidence, so Mio couldn’t wriggle his way out of it.
“Rest. I’ll bring you a fresh ice pack. Yours has melted,” Yugo said, getting to his feet. He needed assistance to check Mio’s version of events, but more importantly, he wanted to see Kuon.
As if reading his mind, Mio jerked up and his sharp fingers stabbed into Yugo’s palm, leaving white half-circles where his nails sank into his skin. “No need. I’m fine, I promise.”
“You don’t look fine. There’s no sign of clotting. When was your last infusion?” Yugo peeled Mio’s fingers away.
“Ye-yesterday. My blood work was fine to have infusions every third day.” To prove his point, he poked at the blackened, swollen area with his finger. His lips twisted, and he glanced up as if worried that Yugo had noticed the slip in his facial expression. Even after meeting Yugo’s suspicious gaze, he kept bluffing. “See? It’s not too bad. It doesn’t even hurt.”
Yugo’s jaw locked. “I’ll get the doc. It needs draining.”
“No, don’t leave me,” Mio begged or demanded—Yugo couldn’t say, as a storm of emotions twisted his voice into a low, hollow, threatening whine.
“You need professional care. Either that or we go to the hospital.”
“I need you more,” Mio whispered, pale as death. His eyes glazed over as they searched Yugo’s face. “You’re my best medicine. Stay, and I’ll heal in no time.”
“It’s a nice try, Mio, but I can’t stay here all night. You need rest, and I have urgent matters to attend to.”
