Page 113 of Shadow Waltz
Luka’s hips rolled, pushing into Dmitri’s mouth, cock sliding in and out with a slick, obscene sound. Troy sucked at his balls, tongue tracing the sensitive skin, his hand stroking the length not claimed by Dmitri’s lips. Luka’s jaw was clenched, sweat beading at his temples, every muscle standing out in sharp relief.
He kept his eyes on me, as if daring me to look away. I couldn’t. My whole body strained against the ropes, desperate to join, to be touched, to take part in the worship of this man who owned us all.
Luka growled, low and hungry. “Don’t stop,” he commanded. “I want Ash to see what it looks like—want him to know he’ll never have this unless I say so.”
Troy’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, heat and challenge there. Dmitri winked around Luka’s cock, taking him deeper, swallowing every inch, spit and precome slicking his lips. Luka’s hand tightened in their hair, using them, owning them, but his whole focus was on me—on my helpless ache, the tremble in my voice, the tears of frustration that burned behind my eyes.
He rocked his hips, letting them worship him, and with every sound, every thrust, every moan, the tension in the room built higher. I felt it in my bones—the need, the surrender, the promise that I would do anything, give anything, just to be part of it.
Luka’s voice was ragged, eyes shining with hunger. “Watch, Ash. This is what power looks like. This is what it means to belong to me.”
The room felt smaller, charged—each heartbeat echoing against the walls. I was still bound, trembling, the ropes biting into my skin and the ache of denial spreading through my thighs. My cock throbbed, leaking onto the sheets, and I couldn’t lookaway from the scene unfolding before me. Luka’s chair was a throne, his body draped across it like a god waiting to be adored.
Troy and Dmitri knelt at his feet, breathless from their work, lips slick with Luka’s precome, cheeks flushed with lust and effort. Luka’s cock was still hard, heavy and wet, gripped in his own hand. He gave it a lazy stroke, then reached down with his other hand and traced his fingers along Troy’s jaw, then Dmitri’s, savoring the power he held over them.
“Before you do anything else,” Luka said, his tone a velvet threat, “show Ash how much you want me. Worship me. Make him ache to take your place.”
Troy was the first to obey. He pressed his lips to Luka’s chest, trailing kisses over the thick muscle, tongue flicking over Luka’s left nipple. He sucked it between his lips, biting gently until Luka hissed and arched into the touch. Dmitri followed, kissing his way along Luka’s ribs, dragging his tongue down the crease of his abs, his breath warm against the dark hair that arrowed toward Luka’s cock.
Troy moved up, nuzzling into Luka’s armpit, inhaling deeply before dragging his tongue through the thick, dark hair. He moaned—an honest, hungry sound—then bit gently at the edge, lips and tongue worshipping Luka’s body with desperate devotion. Luka groaned, the sound rough and approving, his hand tangling in Troy’s hair, holding him close.
Dmitri took his time on the other side, nipping at Luka’s other pit, licking the salt from his skin, then dropping lower to suck and bite at the curve of Luka’s pec. Both men worked in tandem, one at each side, hands and mouths devoted, eyes fluttering closed as they lost themselves in the act of worship.
I watched, spellbound, feeling every touch as if it were happening to me. Luka never stopped stroking his cock, his hips flexing, breath coming faster. He let his head fall back, exposingthe thick column of his throat, his jaw tight, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing beneath their hands.
“Good,” Luka murmured, voice lazy and full of command. “You want more, don’t you? You want to show Ash how far you’ll go for me?”
“Yes, sir,” Troy whispered, mouth still pressed to Luka’s skin.
“Anything,” Dmitri growled, kissing Luka’s collarbone.
Luka laughed, rough and low. “Then strip. Both of you. Right here. Face Ash. Let him see what you look like when you give yourselves up for me.”
Dmitri and Troy rose to their feet, turning to face me, their bodies a study in contrasts. Troy’s skin was pale, marked by faint scars, his muscles cut sharp under the soft light. Dmitri was darker, built like a brawler, chest broad, arms thick, tattoos trailing down one bicep. Both of them hooked their fingers into the waistbands of their underwear, dragging them down inch by inch, never breaking eye contact.
They took their time, putting on a show—slow, teasing, every movement meant to be seen and felt. Troy’s cock sprang free first, flushed and leaking, bobbing against his stomach. Dmitri followed, his even thicker, the head purple, a bead of precome pearled at the tip. They both stepped out of their briefs, leaving them pooled on the floor.
My breath caught. I was wrecked just watching. My body strained, desperate to join them, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but watch and ache and hope Luka would let me taste them, touch them, worship them the way they deserved.
“Hands on your heads,” Luka ordered, his voice sharp. “Turn around. Let me see your asses.”
Dmitri and Troy obeyed, raising their arms, interlacing their fingers behind their heads. They turned, backs to Luka, asses on full display—round, hard, perfectly shaped from years of training and violence. Dmitri’s was dusted with hair, the cheeksthick and firm. Troy’s was smaller, taut, with a deep crease where thigh met glute. Both were flawless in their own way.
Luka leaned forward in his chair, stroking his cock harder, eyes fixed on their bodies. “Bend over for me,” he commanded. “Spread your legs.”
They did as told, bending at the waist, arching their backs, feet planted wide on the hardwood floor. Their cocks hung heavy between their legs, balls pulled up tight, holes exposed and needy. The air in the room vibrated with need.
“Stay there,” Luka said. He stood, the chair scraping back, and moved behind them, still stroking himself. He knelt, then leaned in, his face level with their asses. Without warning, he pressed his mouth to Troy’s hole, tongue flicking out, tasting, teasing. Troy moaned, hips rocking back, hands fisting tighter behind his head.
Luka moved to Dmitri next, licking a long, wet stripe up the crack of his ass, then burying his face between the cheeks, tongue thrusting deep, making Dmitri grunt and shake. Luka alternated between them, licking, sucking, biting, using his fingers to spread them open, making a show of eating them out while I watched, helpless, desperate, wild with want.
Troy was panting, voice wrecked. “Fuck, sir, feels so good—don’t stop, please?—”
Dmitri was louder, more guttural, his moans echoing off the walls. “God, Luka, yeah, eat me, use me, want to feel your tongue?—”
Luka was relentless, tongue and mouth worshipping, claiming, owning. He never stopped stroking his cock, his hand slick and fast, but his focus was on their pleasure—on making them beg, making them sob, making me watch and want and suffer with need.
He pulled back, lips wet, beard shining with spit and sweat. He gripped their hips, spreading them wider, tongue workingdeeper, harder, drawing out moans and cries until the room was nothing but the sounds of men—their need, their surrender, their joy.