“Not as glamorous as James Bond makes it look?”
“Maybe if I’d had a few of his gadgets.”
“You have the sex appeal.”
“Not for the right sex. But thank you for that.”
Zain smiled.
“I went back to Russia to university though Arkady had offered to pay for me to go to a university in the UK. The school wanted me to apply for Cambridge. The SIS wanted me to go there. Enough to make me want to leave the country. I thought I’d escaped the intelligence services’ hold that way and I did. For a while. I studied cyber security and criminology along with international finance in Moscow and when I graduated, I got a job in a bank. I naïvely thought I could make a little part of the world a better place.” He huffed.
“Quite an irony that doing the right thing at the bank brought me to the attention of the FSB, the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. The equivalent of the UK’s SIS. I ended up in Lefortovo prison for a few years and I’d done nothing. I understood the hard way that I couldn’t fight the system and if that was the case, I might as well take advantage of it. When I came out, I made a lot of money over a short period of time along with a number of enemies. Arkady was pressing me to work for him so I worked in Russia for him for a year, then came here. Just as well that I still had enough hacking skills to give myself an unblemished record in order to get a visa.”
Zain gaped at him. “Do I know you at all?”
Roman laughed. “I’m not sure I know myself anymore.”
“Then what happened?”
“Intelligence agencies are like elephants. They never fucking forget and when I was approached by someone from the NCA, the UK’s National Crime Agency, about working for them in a joint operation with MI5 and SIS, it was made clear I wasn’t going to be allowed to say no.”
Zain stared at him.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Roman muttered.
“You’re one of the good guys,” Zain said.
“Probably not.”
“I think you are.”
Roman mustered up a smile from somewhere.
“Which one does Helen work for?” Zain asked.
“She’s with the NCA but she’s MI5, I’m sure. One in a line of Helens. Some more bearable than others.”
Zain raised his eyebrows. “They’re all called Helen?”
Roman grinned. “No.”
“But she wants more and more?”
“The need for information is never going to lessen. She could have had Dima and Qash a while ago. But she’s after Arkady’s contacts and clients and laundering routes. I don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“I’m torn over Arkady. I know laundering money isn’t a victimless crime but Arkady, at heart, isn’t a bad guy.”
“Even though he wants me dead?”
Roman groaned. “I think he was panicking. He’s an idiot.”
“Why haven’t the authorities stopped Dima and Qash? Have they let them carry on trafficking women when they knew what they were doing?”
“Yes and no. I told Helen about a few of Dima’s shipments. For one, Dima had asked me to be a driver because he was desperate and I refused. The police were waiting at the collection point and Dima tried to blame me. Not that he’d been caught up in it. But he told Arkady I’d talked to the police. I managed to provide evidence to the contrary but while Arkady believed me, Dima didn’t, still doesn’t. Helen prefers me not to take any more risks over Dima, though I know they’ve interrupted his work. Arkady is a bigger fish who’d lead to even bigger ones.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“It is but maybe not as bad as it sounds because Dima isn’t trafficking continually.”
“Once is more than enough.”
“I know.”
“Would Arkady turn informant to get his son out of trouble?”
“I think he’d do anything for Dima.”
“Then maybe the answer’s in that. They should arrest Dima and talk to Arkady. Persuade him to work for them. Why haven’t they done that already?”
“Because someone is prioritising money over people, because they’re too focused on getting more information than acting on what they have.”
“Do you feel better for telling me all that?”
Roman stroked Zain’s hair. “No. I still feel guilty.”
“We’re interesting people.”
“I wish we weren’t.”
Zain lay wide awake. Roman had finally fallen asleep stroking his hair. He thought that Roman most likely did feel better for telling him all that. Zain definitely did. He’d been shocked, happy then terrified after he’d heard Roman say the word undercover. He knew Roman shouldn’t have told him, knew that in telling him he’d jeopardised his safety—maybe Zain’s safety too. But where hope had been fading, now it was growing. Although the future looked brighter, he wasn’t naïve enough to assume he and Roman were going to be able to walk away into the life they both wanted. But now there was a chance.
Eventually Zain gave up trying to sleep. He decided he might as well deal with the bedroom. The paint was supposed to cover with one coat, though until it dried, it would be hard to tell. Two hours later, Zain had finished and Roman was still asleep. He lay sprawled across the bed, his naked body only half covered by the sheet. The temptation to crawl in beside him was strong but Zain was splattered with paint so he carried on past the bed to the shower.
Roman and his erection joined him moments later, and he pulled Zain into his arms. “What are all these white streaks on your face and hands? And your stomach? Oh paint.”
“What else could it have been? It got everywhere. But not on the carpet.”
Roman laughed and filled his palm with shower gel before rubbing his hands together. “Everywhere? I better wash you then.”
He pressed Zain’s back to the tiles, leaned in and nipped the place where Zain’s neck met his shoulder. At the same time, he worked his way up Zain’s arms to his shoulders, then washed his face, rubbing at places where the paint had stuck. Zain blinked water from his lashes to stare into Roman’s eyes. The colour of ice but his heart wasn’t that of a bad man.
Roman might not be able to say how he felt but Zain could feel it in the way his fingers stroked his cheeks, the way his hands caressed his throat, the way his lips brushed over Zain’s mouth, the way he’d fallen asleep stroking Zain’s hair. When Roman went down to his knees and washed Zain’s feet, he was glad he had a wall to lean against.
Hard to breathe, hard to stay upright, hard not to leap at Roman and impale himself on his cock. Roman touched everywhere but Zain’s cock no matter how hard Zain wriggled and pleaded. Roman’s answer was always the same—wait.
“Were you a torturer in a past life?” Zain gasped.
“I’m not even hurting you.”
“My cock hurts. My balls ache.” So does my heart.
Zain wanted to tell him properly to his face that he loved him, yet something stopped him, some sense of self-preservation, some need to hold the words back until he was sure Roman loved him too.
Roman twisted him around to face the wall and dragged his stubbly chin along Zain’s shoulder.
Zain groaned. “Ouch. You missed a bit on my other side. A very important part of me that’s standing up begging for attention and you ignored it. It might never recover from the trauma.”
“I’ll get to it.”
Roman slid his hands down Zain’s back, thumbs pressing hard enough into the bony ridges of his spine to make him groan more loudly. The hands spread over his ribs to his sides, then drew in to slide down the crease of his backside. Zain’s knees jerked and hit the wall.
“Ouch.”
“Are you whining?”
Roman pressed himself against him, slipped one finger down Zain’s cleft and kept going until he reached the line of flesh between his balls and anus. Roman pushed his knee between Zain’s thighs but Zain was already moving his legs apart to give him better access.
“Keep washing that bit,” Zain mumbled into the wall. “That paint got everywhere.”
Roman laughed and caressed the sensitive strip, teasing the thin skin as he nuzzled at Zain’s ear. When his finger circled the entrance to Zain’s body, Zain tipped his head back. The torrent of water hit him full in the face and he let out a choked laugh.
“Don’t drown. I haven’t got to the best bit yet.”
Zain slid his hand down to his cock. If he gave in to the urge to hump the shower wall, he was going to get bruises.
“Do not come,” Roman snapped.
“You are so bossy.”
“You like it.”
I do.
As Roman wrapped his fist tight around the base of Zain’s cock, a cold spurt of what he guessed was lube hit his anus.
“Never mind. It happens to all of us,” Zain said. “Actually, it’s never happened to me but—”
“Shut up.”
While Roman maintained his grip at the bottom of Zain’s cock, with his other hand he applied fingertip pressure to Zain’s hole. Roman didn’t push inside, but circled and teased, smoothing the lube the length of the valley of Zain’s arse. When his finger breeched Zain’s muscles, Zain fought to swallow his whimpers.
“You’re so big,” he mumbled.
And his reward was feeling Roman shake as he laughed.
Two fingers shut Zain up. Three turned him into a quivering mess. He kept thinking—another touch of his prostate and he’d come, but Roman didn’t let him.
“Please, please. I’m not too proud to plead,” Zain panted.
“Please what?”
“Please whatever you like. Please, sir. Please, master. Please, bastard. Just get inside me and let me come.”
“I brought the lube. The condoms are in the bedroom.”
“Go and get them. Well, one anyway.”
Roman was back in a flash. Somehow Roman lifted him, pressed him against the wall and held him in a way that had his cock lined up with Zain’s anus. Roman’s face said everything. Need, want, desire and Zain saw love too. At least he wanted to. Zain’s heart was racing, his pulse jumping all over his body.
He clung to Roman, his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist, water splashing over them. One push and the tip of Roman’s cock slipped inside him. Roman had his hands under Zain’s arse supporting him as he pushed deeper into his body. They were both breathing heavily as Roman kept going until he was as far in as he could get.
“Christ,” Roman muttered. “You feel… I can’t… Zaaaain! Fuck, fuck.”
The burn faded and Zain sucked in air. He raised himself slightly as Roman pushed up and for a while Roman just rocked gently into him, lifting him until Zain was sure Roman’s cock would slip out, before he was dragged back down.
“You’re playing with fire,” Zain gasped.
“Not yet.”
The next drive into him was harder and made them both groan. Then it dissolved into a dream for Zain as Roman began to power into him. His dick was trapped between them, being rubbed between their stomachs and Zain was so close to coming.
“Fuck, f-fuck, fuck.” Roman’s breathing sounded worse than his.
They came within seconds of each other, Zain just ahead and their lips met as Roman emptied himself inside him. Zain was shaking. With pleasure, with the physical rush of oxytocin. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t.
I won’t.
Eventually they left the shower and stumbled back to bed. Zain hadn’t thought he’d sleep but it was as if all the adrenaline had finally poured out of his body along with part of his story. They fell asleep entangled in each other’s arms.
It was Roman’s phone that woke Zain and he nudged Roman awake. Roman grabbed it, looked at the number and groaned. He put his finger to Zain’s lips, mouthed the word Arkady and answered the call.
“Dobroye utro,” Roman said.
“Morning? It’s afternoon.”
When Zain realised Roman had put the phone on speaker, he felt a warm glow in his chest.
Roman glanced at the clock and winced. “Bad night.”
“You’re still in bed?”
“No.”
Zain curled his index finger in Roman’s short pubic hair and Roman winced.
“Where are you?”
“In Mayfair. Checking on the work done by the painter.”
“Has he finished.”
“Not quite.”
“I need pictures to send to prospective buyers.”
“I’ll take them today. Are you going to give Kazakov first chance?”
“If the price is right. Why not? It make a good family home.”
“By the way, would you please tell Dima not to put any more cameras and recording devices in my flat?”
There was silence for a moment. “Are you sure it was Dima?”
“He missed my own camera.” Roman pointed to Zain.
“How did he get in? What purpose did he have? Don’t answer. I know.” Arkady gave a heavy sigh. “I’ll speak to him.”
“Thank you.”
“Any luck in tracing the Syrian?”
Zain’s fingers tightened involuntarily. Roman grabbed his wrist and Zain mouthed an apology.
“No. No luck. He’s probably long gone.”
Zain licked Roman’s cock and it began to swell.
“You can’t find him through his national insurance number?”
Zain fluttered his tongue over the head and Roman grabbed Zain’s hair.
“If he’d claimed benefit but he hasn’t.”
“Then I think we forget him,” Arkady said. “I got carried away. There is a limit to what I should do for Dima.”
That required Zain to suck hard at the tip of Roman’s dick.
“You know Dima’s going to get caught eventually.” Roman glared at Zain and Zain grinned up at him.
“If cocaine doesn’t get him first. What can I do? He’s grown man. He doesn’t listen. I despair of him. I worry about the company he’s keeping but I can’t make him see sense.”
“All you can do is keep trying,” Roman said.
Zain trailed his tongue around the frenulum and Roman’s hips bucked.
Arkady sighed. “Would you and Helen like to go with me and Natalya to Le Gavroche next week?”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Send the photos as soon as you can.”
“I’ll wait until the painter has finished.”
“Fine.”
Roman tossed his phone down and glared at Zain.
“What?” Zain took his mouth away to ask.
“I think there’s a limit to how many times I can come in twenty-four hours.”
“Is there? Are you…defective? Want me to stop, old man?”
“Oh, you are going to pay for that.”
Zain didn’t care. A few moments later, he had a mouthful of come and Roman’s gasps echoed around the room. They’d both barely got their breath back when Roman’s phone went again.
“Dragon. Hi Helen.”
“Good morning.”
“Boris Kazakov,” Helen said. “We’re keen he buys the house. Do everything you can to ensure that he does. We’d like to have access for a few hours anyway.”
Roman gave a snort of laughter. “You think the new owner won’t have the place swept for bugs? He’s probably got the same app on his phone as me.”
“Even so.”
“No,” Roman said. “It’s neither sensible nor safe.”
“Just one device. It would be feasible for you to have missed it.”
“No.”
“Roman!”
“The best I can do is copy the keys but you’ll still need the code to get into the house.”
“Can you put something in the alarm box to tell us what that is?”
“Yes. I need to talk to you.”
“We’re talking.”
“Face to face.”
She gave a heavy sigh. “Fine. Thursday. At ten. Our usual s
pot.”
The call ended.
“I’m going to tell her I’m done,” Roman said.
Zain rolled over and stuck his arse in the air. “Not yet you’re not.”
Chapter Fifteen
Zain was going to wear him out. But in a good way. If they hadn’t both needed food, Roman wasn’t sure he’d have managed to get Zain out of bed. He’d dragged him out by his foot in the end. It was gone two in the afternoon before they made it to the kitchen, wearing only jeans.
Roman wondered if his face would crack from all the smiling he was doing. It was as if he’d been trapped for years in a dark parallel world and Zain had shown him a way through to the other side, by giving him—well, not the courage to be honest but enabling him to trust enough to tell Zain the truth. It was a taste of what the submissive felt in a relationship with a Dom. Trust. Surrendering control. Freedom.
But Roman still had to ensure Zain’s safety, and his own. He scooped the fried halloumi from the pan and laid it over the salad. Roman didn’t do domesticity. This was as alien to him as the word love but… Here he was making dinner for Zain. Here they were eating together. Then they returned the kitchen to its pristine state. Together.
“I need to pack up all the personal possessions not being sold with the house and take photos,” Roman said. “Photos first.”
“I’ll come with you and advise on lighting and composition.”
“Do you know anything about lighting and composition?”
“You need light and you need an enticing picture.”
“Hmm. We’ll start at the top and work our way down.”
When they reached the roof terrace, Zain flopped onto one of the chairs, cupped his crotch and gave Roman a cheesy grin.
“Idiot,” Roman said but fondly.
“Not your Gabe anymore?” Zain pouted. “Frame the photo around me and the potential purchasers will be able to picture themselves sitting here.”
Zain rubbed his crotch and groaned, and Roman rolled his eyes. Zain moved when Roman started to take the shots and although he wasn’t going to admit it, Zain had made a good point. They worked their way down through the house. Roman took more pictures than were needed but Arkady could choose which ones to use. The ones with Zain, he wished he could keep, but couldn’t.
Whatever It Takes Page 24
