Page 17 of Confession (Constantine Brothers #2)

“Whiskey?” he asks, pouring amber liquor into a cut-crystal glass. He’s not upset that I’m here, which means that I was right. The closed door was him making a point, forcing my hand. Even upset and struggling, he’s in control of me.

“Sure.”

He pours whiskey into another crystal glass then walks over to me carrying both. He offers one to me. I take it.

When he turns away, I grab his waistband, stopping him. I cut past all the surrounding bullshit and go straight to the heart of what’s been fucking him up for months, maybe years.

“What happened to Roman wasn’t your fault, Vitali.”

He flinches, rocks away from me, but I keep hold of his waistband and step closer, right behind him. I slide my hand around to his stomach. His breathing is shallow. I can feel it under my hand. I can hear it when I press my face against the back of his head.

In the silence, my senses get overwhelmed. His body is warm and solid against mine. The subtle scent of his spicy cologne threads into my awareness.

When I kiss the back of his neck, he shivers. I keep going. As I work my way to his trap, his head tilts forward and to the side. He really is in a strange mood. Not exactly submissive but open maybe. He needs something tonight, and I can give it to him. I want to.

I bite gently at his trap. Holding him like this, I feel the reaction that goes through his body. My fingers, splayed across his lower abdomen, start to gently knead the muscle through his compression shirt.

I slide my fingers behind his waistband, working my way between the hem of his shirt and the elastic of his underwear, reaching inside.

“Ah,” he breathes, letting his head fall back on my shoulder as I wrap my hand around his hard cock.

Something in me cracks open, because this? Vitali opening to me, needing me? I never imagined anything like this. Not once.

I keep nibbling and kissing at his neck as I lightly stroke him until precum is beading at his tip. I murmur in satisfaction and press harder against him. I stop stroking, but I hold onto him, letting the moment float.

He takes a deep breath, almost sighing, then turns to me. My hand is pulled away from his cock. I settle it on his hip. I sip my whiskey and look at him.

I’ve spent two years looking from the corner of my eye, stealing fuller glances only when his attention was elsewhere. It feels so indulgent to look at him like this now, full in the face, two feet away from me.

So much of his face I already knew. The hollow cheeks between his high cheekbones and defined jawline.

The fine, straight nose and sensual lips.

I know his dark eyes and the quirk in his left eyebrow.

But I’ve never noticed the faint scar above his right temple.

I’ve never see him look this vulnerable.

Maybe that’s why I close the distance, why I press my lips to his and kiss him.

It’s bliss. His lips are soft. He tastes like whiskey.

I’m the greedy one tonight, invading him with my tongue. He moans softly into my mouth.

But that’s all the submissiveness he has to give me. He steps close, grabs my ass, and pulls me into him until my stiff cock is pressed against his. I break the kiss and rest my face against the side of his neck as waves of arousal crash through me.

I breathe in the subtle scent of his cologne. “You smell good,” I tell him.

“So do you.”

“I don’t use anything.”

“I know. You just smell like you. And whiskey. I spilled on you.”

“I thought so.” I can feel it on my back.

“So you should probably take this off.” He steps back from me and grabs a handful of my shirt, which he starts tugging up, jostling my arm.

“You’re gonna make me spill.”

“Oh, most definitely,” he says as he gets my shirt to my pec and dives in to take my nipple in his mouth and suck.

My body convulses. “Stop.” I push him back. “You’re a pain in the ass. And no more double entendres,” I add hurriedly because I know where he’ll go with that. “They’re obnoxious.”

“No one has ever called me obnoxious before,” he informs me as he snatches my glass from my hand. “Now take off your damn shirt.”

I comply as he walks away with both drinks.

He steps up onto the bed’s platform and sets the whiskey glasses on the bedside table.

He pulls down the covers then sits on the bed to take off his boots before he comes back to me.

I’ve moved to the foot of the platform, but apparently I’m not moving at his speed because he drops into a crouch at my feet and undoes my laces.

“You’re being very slow,” he grumbles.

“Yeah,” I agree and reach for the dark, shiny waves of his hair. I play with it a little bit, gently, marveling. I’m surprised at myself, doing this. I feel so open right now. Willing. I don’t know what to make of it.

Vitali looks up at me. He’s open too. I can see it in his eyes, that openness that I sensed earlier. He’s set this tone, has pulled me into it. This sex is going to be different from what we’ve done before.

I toe off my boots as he stands, then I take hold of his shirt and pull it up. He takes over and strips it off. His olive-toned skin is flawless, a perfect tapestry for his intricate tattoos. It’s such a contrast to the ugly collection of scars on my own body.

With their geometric elements that speak of his Greek heritage and the intriguing swathes of ink, Vitali’s tattoos flow along the contours of his body.

Fragments of images emerge here and there.

Part of a wing. The eyes of a skull. Grasping fingers.

Everything is beautifully interwoven and subtly, cryptically emotive.

He’s such a complicated person, more emotional than I think most people realize.

I reach for his zipper as he reaches for mine. Our actions are mirrored as we strip each other bare. Our needs are mirrored too. Vitali steps close and takes both our cocks in hand. He kisses me as he strokes us together. My dick pulses and kicks against his. His twitches back.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against my mouth. I smile, enjoying his new experience, though my eyes are closed because, yeah, it feels really good.

Vitali’s thumb brushes at the corner of my mouth, telling me he’s felt my smile.

He draws back and takes my hand, pulling me with him to the bed.

I don’t think anyone’s every held my hand before, not even to lead me somewhere.

Maybe it’s because I’m already so open, but it does something to my head.

I climb onto the bed as Vitali reaches into the drawer of the bedside table. He gets out a bottle of lube.

“I don’t have your toy collection,” he tells me as he crawls onto the bed over top of me. “But I do have a tongue.”

I suck in a breath. A thread of uncertainty weaves through me.

“You haven’t done that before?” he asks. If he’s surprised, he hides it.

“No,” I admit, implicitly admitting so much more.

“Neither have I,” he says. “Can I try it?”

It’s the way he asks, the fact that it’s a vulnerable new thing for him too that makes me able to nod. And turn over. And let him get between my legs as I lift to my knees.

I bury my face in the sheets as he parts my cheeks. I stifle a sound of pleasure and dismay as his tongue strokes across my hole. I have never, ever, ever submitted like this.

But I relax as he continues, so obvious in his enjoyment.

I can hear his hums of pleasure. I can feel them against my hole as he licks and suckles.

His hands knead the muscle of my ass and thighs.

As his tongue presses shallowly into me, my leaking dick twitches up against my abdomen.

I start to moan. I start to whine. I’ve never heard myself make sounds like this.

I hear the cap of the lube, then slick fingers replace his tongue, massaging my hole before pushing inside. He stretches me leisurely, and I accept it. Like him, I’m in a strange mood.

He’s got three fingers in me, scissoring, when his other hand reaches between my legs and finds my dripping cock.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs when he feels what he’s doing to me. My throat tightens at the word.

His hands vanish, leaving me empty and gasping, so his mouth presses soothingly against my ass cheek as I listen to the distinctive, delicious sound of him slicking his cock so he can fuck me.

But he doesn’t do what I expect. He crawls up to me, pulls me up. I’m dizzy. I can’t think.

“Ride me,” he says as he lies on his back, scooting into my place. He grabs my thigh, tugging, asking me to staddle him. I do it. Right now, I would do anything for him.

He holds his cock for me. I lift myself over it. I inhale sharply as his broad tip opens me. I bite my lip as I sink down slowly and take him inside me.

He’s watching me avidly, his hands on my thighs. When he’s all the way inside me, I pitch forward, planting my hands on his chest, shuddering at the sensation of him inside me. Then I start to fuck myself on him.

I watch him like he watches me. I watch his body. I watch his pleasure. I love when his head presses back, baring his throat, showing me how good this feels to him. I rock on his dick, letting myself really feel him moving inside me.

He reaches for the lube and squirts some into his hand, then he starts stroking my aching cock.

I moan and fuck myself harder on him. He arches under me and starts thrusting from beneath. His cock plunges sloppily in my ass, and his hand strokes my dick, tugs my balls, gives me more pleasure than I can handle.

Vitali reads my cries correctly. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come. Come on my cock.”

I rock harder on him as he strokes me faster. My body tightens, but here at the end I have trouble letting go in this position. I want to, but I don’t think I can.

“Fuck!” Vitali shouts under me, struggling, trying not to come because I haven’t, but the sight of him straining like that has me working myself harder, almost desperately.

Vitali cries out as his hips jack up, and the second his cock pulses and spills inside me, my body seizes and my cock kicks in his hand. I strain and jerk as I come all over him, pulse after pulse until I’m empty and shuddering.

When I pitch forward, he catches me and holds me against him, still partially lodged inside me. He gasps every time my hole clenches on him. He murmurs wordlessly as we both relax.

At some point, I realize I’m on my side, alone in the bed.

Then Vitali is there. He doesn’t say anything as he cleans me up, sweeping a warm damp cloth over my torso.

I let it happen. I let him clean my dick, too, even between my cheeks.

He doesn’t say anything about me burying my face in the pillow because it’s just fucking much to have him take care of me like that. But I let him.

The lights go off. He settles in behind me, pulling the covers up and tugging my body against his.

I’m still in a strange mood. He’s done something to me. My breathing matches his, and when he falls asleep, so do I.