Zain looked so horrified at having said that, Roman laughed. “It’s not that sort of party.”
“There’s that sort of party?”
Zain’s eyes were so wide, Roman didn’t think he was joking. Was he so naïve? Only now he was wondering what sort of party Zain thought it was. Roman had things he wanted to add to his instructions. Don’t touch anyone but me. Don’t let anyone else touch you but me. But he held the words in. Barely. Because that was the point of inviting him. Not for Roman but for someone else.
“Let me take your coat.” Roman lifted it from Zain’s shoulders and hung it on one of the overcrowded pegs at the foot of the stairs. Zain’s lingering stare made Roman wonder if he was worried about losing it. Hardly likely. The rest of the coats and jackets were designer gear.
When he saw the creases in Zain’s shirt, he realised it was new and his mouth went dry. A new shirt for a party where clothes came off in minutes. Those trousers were too big, hung low on his slender hips and made him look even more edible. He’d dressed up. Shit. He was cute and irresistible. Which was so fucking annoying. Why is my stomach aching?
Roman grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hallway, through a utility room and outside into the backyard before anyone saw him. He pushed Zain up against the wall next to a line of wheelie bins and immobilised his legs by shoving his thigh between them, pressing into Zain’s balls.
Kissing him was the last thing he’d meant to do. Kissing took whatever this was into another realm. He never kissed. He fucked and left, sometimes paying, sometimes not. But it was as if an alien had invaded his mind and consumed his common sense. He fisted his hands in Zain’s hair and kissed him hard, pushed with his tongue and gained immediate entrance. After a split second of Zain standing frozen, the guy moaned into his mouth, and his hands clutched at Roman’s back, grabbing at his shirt as frantically as Roman was eating at Zain’s mouth, their teeth and tongues clashing.
The excitement that coursed through Roman was way out of proportion to such a simple act. It’s just a kiss. Oh fuck. Fuck! Roman was furious with himself. What the hell was he doing? But Zain’s tongue rolled against his, did some exploring of its own, mimicking what he’d done, as he groaned into Roman’s mouth. Zain rocked his body against him, pressing himself hard against Roman as if he was trying to weld their bodies together.
Lust pulled Roman off his feet and swept him out to sea. He let desire rule his head for longer than he should have before he dragged some sense back into his brain and broke away. They were both panting, Zain’s rapid breaths caressing Roman’s face, his pupils dilated.
And lust roared back. Roman moved away from the wall and pushed at Zain’s shoulders. “Down.” Don’t.
But Zain dropped to his knees facing him. Roman couldn’t take his gaze off his mouth, still wet from the kiss, lips swollen from the force used. Zain swallowed and Roman watched the bob in his throat, wanted to feel his cock there. Wanted his cock inside Zain’s body. Mine first tonight. Why not?
There were a lot of reasons why not but Roman unfastened his trousers and his cock sprang out. No underwear tonight. Had he been thinking of this moment? Hoping for it? He put his hands against the brick wall of the house, pushed his cock against Zain’s lips and let him suck him until neither of them could breathe.
He reached down to stroke Zain’s face, felt the bulge of his cock against Zain’s cheek then shoved deep again, loving the way Zain took all of him, barely gagging. The suction was strong, the slide perfect. He didn’t ever want to stop, but when his balls tightened and drew up, he pulled out and stepped back.
“Stand up.” Don’t.
Zain pushed to his feet and brushed the knees of his trousers.
“Unbutton and pull your zip down.” Say no. Tell me to fuck off.
But Zain did as he was told. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides and Roman knew he was nervous.
“Turn and face the wall.” Don’t.
He turned and Roman’s impatience had him yanking at Zain’s trousers and underwear until they were an untidy heap at his feet.
“C-condom,” Zain muttered to the wall. “Not without one.”
“Do you have one?”
“Yeah. One. But they’re expensive. Use yours.” Zain exhaled shakily. “Mine will be too big for you anyway.”
Roman chuckled, glad that Zain could make a joke, reassured by it. He retrieved a condom from his wallet and a sachet of lube and got himself ready.
“Be…” Zain fell silent.
“Be what?”
“Nothing.”
Roman grabbed Zain’s shirt, bunched it in his fist and pushed it up. The sight of those sexy indents in Zain’s lower back above his smooth, curving, beautiful arse almost undid him. Roman leaned against him, pushing his cock between Zain’s thighs, the pressure on his dick making him groan. He lowered his mouth to Zain’s neck, needing to suck, bite, mark him before anyone else touched him. Roman wanted to tell him what he wanted to do, tell him how he made him feel but he kept his mouth shut. He slid his cock up and down the seam of Zain’s backside, coating the crack with lube before he brought his hand down and pressed a finger against his hole, circling, probing then stretching the entrance.
Oh God. He’s so tight.
His heart pounded as Zain whimpered, his back arching but the wrong way, arching away from him. He ought to linger over this, make sure Zain was ready. He managed to get two fingers in, after a struggle, but he just could not wait. He pressed his knees against the inside of Zain’s thighs to get him to widen his stance, then pushed against him and gradually into him. No gentleness now, no slow slide, just pressing straight in until there was no further to go.
Tight heat. Like a glove. Oh fuck.
Zain sucked in one noisy, rattling breath and after that his breathing stayed shaky. At least Roman had the decency to wait for him to adjust to the intrusion, but the slight bow of his body back into Roman was more than enough to trigger every button to continue.
Roman found himself wanting to talk, wanting to say all sorts of stuff. Whenever he fucked anyone, he never spoke but he wanted to now, to tell Zain how hot he was, how good he felt, how beautiful he was. Roman bit his lip so hard to stop himself speaking that he tasted blood. He withdrew a little, then shoved more deeply, holding onto Zain’s hips so they stood skin to skin, bodies welded together for a long moment and he wished they were in a bed, wished they were both naked, wished he’d not asked him to come tonight.
Zain’s hands were flat on the wall, nails digging into the cement between the bricks. Roman wanted them to stay there, wanted Zain to come just from being fucked. By me. He slipped into a strong and steady rhythm, then switched from slow, deep drives, to short, fast fucking, then reverted to slow. He could tell from Zain’s groans and cries that he was catching his prostate. Roman wanted it to be good for him. For the first time in a long while, he cared that the person he was fucking enjoyed what was happening as much as he did. Zain was so tight around him, gripping like a clamp and making so much noise. Groaning, gasping, panting as Roman hammered into him.
I’m going to come. He reached for Zain’s cock, wrapped his fingers around it—he was bigger than Roman thought he would be—and brought him off in the same rhythm as he was fucking him. Roman’s hand was slick with lube and Zain’s precome, and the cock slid easily in his grip. He moved faster, both his hand and dick, tension building in his gut. Zain gave a muffled sob and tensed before warm bursts of jizz spurted over Roman’s fingers. It was enough to flip Roman over the edge. He shook as he came, tremors rippling through his entire body as he buried himself deep in Zain’s arse and pressed his face into his hair, releasing the air he’d held tight in his lungs.
No lingering. Don’t. Don’t let this turn into something it can’t be. Roman withdrew from Zain’s body, peeled off the condom and threw it into the nearest bin. He used a tissue to clean himself and his hand, tossed that, and tucked his cock away in his trousers. Zain pulled his cloth
ing into place with his back towards him. Shy? Really?
When Zain finally turned, he gave a tentative smile and opened his mouth as if he were going to say something. Roman didn’t smile back and he watched Zain’s lips close. Happiness withered away. His or mine?
Zain dropped his gaze. “Have I earned my money yet?”
Roman wanted to push the notes into his hands and shove him out the back gate. As that thought took root then blossomed in his head, the door opened and Dima came through. Roman hid his shock but what the hell was he doing here?
“I wondered where you were.” Dima sidled over to Roman, wrapped his arm around him and licked his cheek.
Zain’s audible inhalation felt as if he’d sucked the air out of Roman’s lungs. Roman shoved Dima away but the damage was done.
“You’re drunk.” Or high. “Keep your tongue to yourself. Christ knows where it’s been.” Roman scowled.
Dima laughed. “Introduce me.”
“No.” Roman frantically tried to work out what Dima was doing there. He and Arkady were full of homophobic bullshit. Still very Russian on that. They thought homosexuality was a disease. Neither of them had any idea Roman was gay. Am I deluding myself?
Dima stepped close to Zain and sniffed. Roman’s stomach churned.
“Clive Christian’s Imperial Majesty Perfume for Men,” Zain said. “Roman bought it for me.”
Roman was dumbstruck. Zain went back into the house without another word.
“You buy him perfume that costs so much and bring him here?” Dima widened his eyes.
“He was joking. You know how much that stuff costs? Why would I buy a rent boy perfume? I don’t even buy it for Helen.” Just to remind Dima he had a girlfriend.
“So what are you doing out here?”
“I paid him to come. I was having a private word, telling him who he needed to be with, what he needed to do. What are you doing here?”
“Curiosity. I’m thinking being gay isn’t so bad. I’ve been offered a line of coke and a blowjob, and I’ve only been here a couple of minutes.”
Roman made himself laugh. “Tempted?”
Dima shrugged. “Licking your face did nothing for me but a hot mouth is a hot mouth. I might try but then I could end up shoving my fist into someone’s face.”
You fucking dickhead.
“Artur Sheripov.” Dima fixed his weaselly gaze on Roman’s face.
Ah. Is that why you’re here? “The guy whose wallet was in my car. His T-shirt too?”
“We gave him a lift.”
“Where to? The morgue?”
Dima sniggered. “Was it him who found the wallet?” He nodded toward the kitchen door.
Why did he ask that? No could get him caught out in a lie. Yes brought Zain to Dima’s attention. But Zain had already come to Dima’s attention. Roman spent too long wondering whether to say yes or no.
“Yes.” Roman hoped that pause was nowhere near as long as he felt it had been.
“Where’s he from?”
“Syria.” He had a horrible feeling that Artur Sheripov was going to bring everything tumbling down. “Zain’s gay. He’s the type Foley wants. Why not use him?”
When he walked back into the kitchen, he was shocked to see Zain still there. Except I haven’t paid him. But not only was Zain still there, he was leaning against the wall next to the fridge, holding a glass of what looked like water and talking to Glen Foley.
Am I brilliant or what?
Am I a shit or what?
The balding accountant worked for a casino chain that Arkady wanted to use to launder money. Foley was too close to Zain, had an erection straining the material of his obscenely tight trousers and Roman wanted to yank the pair of them apart, punch Foley in the mouth and… and then what? Heave Zain over his shoulder like some caveman and carry him out of there? This was why he’d asked Zain to come tonight. Roman hadn’t even had to do any manoeuvring to get the two together. He’d known Zain would light up Foley, only now he wanted to do something to cut the circuit.
Dima sniggered at Roman’s side. “You were right. Perfect for him. Look at Foley’s cock. It’s going to break his zip. Want to come for a drink? No need to stay and watch.”
The last few words should have reassured him that Dima didn’t think he was gay but Roman knew better than to run with it. “I can’t leave yet. I need to make sure everything goes okay and I have photos to take, remember?”
Dima slapped him on the back. “I’m going to find some more coke.”
I hope you take too much and your head explodes, you bastard.
Foley wanted a young, good-looking guy, someone fresh, someone different, someone who looked exotic. Not a guy who was used to chemsex parties like this, where men gathered together to take a variety of drugs and have sex in as many ways as they could manage. Roman had the feeling Foley was looking for a guy who was almost a virgin, someone to persuade, to impress.
This was only the second chemsex party Roman had been to. After the first in Brighton, he’d said never again. Although he was at one tonight, it wasn’t as a participant. At least he hadn’t had to arrange this. All he’d needed to do was find a venue—not difficult, get an invite for Foley and latterly for Viro and his boyfriend. His insurance in case Zain didn’t turn up.
Roman could not tear his gaze away from him. Even above the music, he heard Foley laugh at something Zain said and Roman clenched his teeth. This is a mistake. Zain glanced at Roman as if he’d sensed his attention, then dropped his head.
Dima came back rubbing white powder from under his nose and Roman forced himself to turn away from Zain. Showing too much interest gave Dima a weapon and offered a vulnerable back to stick it in.
“By the way,” Roman said. “If you lick my fucking cheek again, I’ll cut a hole in yours and rip your tongue out through it.”
Dima chuckled. He knew as well as Roman did that it was an empty threat. If Roman harmed Dima he was as good as dead, in fact dead whether he touched him or not if Dima wanted it that way. No matter how impressed Arkady said he was with Roman, he’d never choose him over Dima. Roman was almost surprised he’d lasted as long as he had with Arkady. But Roman had been walking on a path of glass for a long while.
“They look pretty cosy. You could leave now,” Dima said.
“And the photos?”
Foley was running his fingers down the buttons on Zain’s shirt, but when he slid a finger through a gap, Zain lurched away. Roman wanted to chop Foley’s hand off.
“Why was Sheripov’s wallet in my car?” Roman asked.
“Accident.”
“Did he have an accident?”
Dima chuckled.
“Who was he?”
“No one you need worry about.”
“Except you used my fucking car to do whatever you did.”
“Don’t worry. No problem.” Dima shrugged and slipped out of the room.
Roman turned so that Zain was in the periphery of his vision. Zain had edged closer to the fridge away from Foley who was trying to encourage Zain to take off his shirt. Roman sighed. Sort this now.
He went into the hall, spotted Dima leaving, and crossed to the lounge. Viro, naked except for a studded, black leather collar, was kissing the neck of an equally naked has-been actor whose house this was, who reclined on the couch being blown by Viro’s naked boyfriend. Two other men watched but kept glancing at the hardcore porn playing on the extra-large flat screen behind the entwined trio, clearly undecided as to whether fake was better than real. Except real in this case likely wasn’t. Viro did nothing without reward.
All of them on the couch were high but Roman knew Viro was more careful than most about how much he took, though not wise enough to avoid this scene altogether. Viro’s former boyfriend had died of an overdose at a party like this. Chemsex lowered inhibitions, stopped people being careful. They didn’t think about using condoms when they fucked, nor whether needles were clean. They were careless of their own safety in the amou
nt and mix of drugs and alcohol they consumed. The risk of contracting a sexually transmitted infection at this sort of event was high. How far people went was up to them, but they went so far, their capacity to think straight vanished. Roman was a facilitator, an enabler, a fixer—among other things. Not a nursemaid. But…
He caught Viro’s attention and gestured with his eyes for him to leave the room. Roman backed out and waited in the hall. Viro slunk to his side and leaned against him, his erection brushing Roman’s thigh. It was all Roman could do not to shove him away, which wasn’t like him. Viro was one of the few guys he’d fucked more than once.
“Man in the kitchen,” Roman said into Viro’s ear so he could hear above the music. “Near the fridge. Late forties. Balding. Shirt off. Maybe more than that now. Glen Foley. Make him happy for me. Pretend it’s your first time at a party like this. I’ll double your money. I need pictures. I won’t show your face.”
When Viro walked off, Roman followed, his eyes on an arse he’d once thought cute but it wasn’t as cute as Zain’s. At least Roman knew his infatuation wouldn’t last. It was true that Zain had gotten under his skin but Roman didn’t do relationships. It was too risky. He watched from the door as Viro leaned against Foley with a familiar cheeky look on his face. Viro said something, then laughed and kissed him. Not exactly innocent behaviour but Foley’s trousers were down a moment later and Viro’s mouth latched onto Foley’s cock. Roman took some shots.
Zain looked relieved when he was able to move away. But he was alone for no more than a couple of seconds before he was approached by someone else, pinned against the other side of the SMEG fridge by a naked guy twice his age and size who held a pill between his fingers, poised against Zain’s lips. Zain looked straight at Roman, bewilderment all over his face and for some reason that pissed Roman off.
Four steps, Zain’s wrist was in his grasp and he was hauling him out of the room. When they reached the hall, he pulled him to the door, thrust his coat into his arms and pushed him outside.
“You’re a mistake,” Roman said. “I shouldn’t have invited you.” Then he slammed the door in his face. Cruel to be kind.
Whatever It Takes Page 9
