by H L Day
I reached for the wipes, my hand pausing halfway. The makeup could stay on a bit longer. At least until I was back at the hotel and safe in the knowledge that I didn't have to deal with anyone else. Closing my eyes, I made an effort to relax, breathing evenly and waiting for the painkillers to kick in enough that I could walk without limping. I hobbled over to the fridge and got an ice pack out, sitting back down before pressing it to the inflamed skin of my ankle. Hopefully between that and the painkillers, it would be enough to ease the pain enough for me to at least get back to the hotel.
* * * *
If it wasn't for my ankle, I would have complained about the need to take a cab to travel the grand total of three blocks. But as it was, I was grateful for the chance to sit back and rest, even if it was sandwiched between Igor and Mikhail. I could tell from the looks they kept exchanging that they were finding it odd that I wasn't kicking up a fuss about something. I would have been tempted to put on an act if drowsiness from the painkillers I'd taken hadn't rendered me almost useless.
Mikhail shifted in his seat, his gaze sliding my way. "Dmitry called. He says you have not been answering your phone. He says you must pick up next time."
Three days. That's how long it had been since I'd last spoken to him. It wasn't as if I had anything new to tell him. "I dropped my phone. I think it's broken." I hadn't. But it was as good an excuse as any to explain why I'd been avoiding Dmitry's calls. I'd known I couldn't get away with it forever. But the temptation for a respite from constant instructions, reminders, and threats dressed up as Dmitry having my best interests at heart had been too tempting.
"I will get you a new one. Then you must call him immediately."
I nodded, looking past Igor to stare out of the window. It wasn't my first time in London, but I assumed that just like the previous time, sightseeing was going to be out of the question. Not unless I dragged these two brutes along, and that thought alone was enough to put a dampener on any possible trip. I'd rather stare at bare walls.
The cab drew up in front of the hotel. Five-star, of course. Dmitry wouldn't have it any other way. Igor got out first and I followed, careful to avoid showing any signs of discomfort as I placed my weight on my injured ankle. I'd convinced myself that I'd landed awkwardly during one of today's jumps. A few hours’ elevation and it would be as good as new tomorrow. If not... well, that didn't even bear thinking about. Not dancing wasn't an option, so it had to be all right.
The three of us walked through the lobby and into the elevator that would take us up to the top floor that consisted of only three suites. One was mine, one was occupied by Igor and Mikhail, and the last stood empty waiting for Dmitry's arrival. The door to the elevator opened, and I made my way to my suite, using the keycard to open it. I paused for a moment in the doorway. "I won't be going out, so you two can do whatever it is you normally do. You don't need to hang around." I knew it was a pointless request, that they'd take it in turns to station themselves outside my door for the entire night, but I said it anyway. If only because it made it sound as if I had a measure of control. They didn't take orders from me. They took them from Dmitry, but I could still dream.
Then I was alone in the suite, the door firmly closed to shut out the outside world. Apart from accepting room service, it would stay that way until morning, where I'd start a day almost identical to the one I'd just lived. There'd been one difference today though: the man I'd met outside the theater. The man who'd virtually undressed me with his eyes, his expression clearly broadcasting all the things that he'd like to do to me, given half a chance. I wondered what his story was. What sort of person turned up to a new job reeking of alcohol from the night before and looking as if they'd tumbled out of someone else's bed, yet didn't seem to give a fuck what anyone thought? It had been strangely refreshing. Underneath the rumpled and disheveled exterior, and despite not being exactly fragrant, he'd still been hot, the bloodshot eyes and scruffy stubble doing nothing to hide the fact. He was certainly the only thing that had provided entertainment. His shock at finding out I knew his name, and the way he'd looked as if he wanted to bite his tongue off at the admission that he knew mine, shone a ray of light on an otherwise unremarkable day.
I'd like to have been in a position to find out more about the mysterious Max. Something about him intrigued me. It was just a shame that wasn't going to be possible.
Chapter Three
Max
I offered a nod in passing to the theater manager, Yakov Komilov. It had taken some time to grow accustomed to the large number of Russians involved in the production, but the majority spoke good enough English for it not to be a problem. Unless tempers were frayed, and then everyone seemed to launch into quick-fire Russian at the same time, with those of us who didn't speak it left staring at each other completely bemused. I hadn't been able to get anywhere near Valentin. Apart from when he was onstage, he was never alone, and his two bodyguards weren't exactly approachable. Who needed two bodyguards anyway? If he needed any at all, which I seriously doubted. Wouldn't one suffice? There were Hollywood actors and actresses with less security. And where had those bodyguards been when I'd seen Valentin out on the street? Wouldn't there be more need for protection outside the building, not less? It all seemed a bit pretentious and unnecessary, and should have provided yet another reason to stay away from him.
There was something about Valentin that I couldn't get out of my head, besides the fact that he was so easy on the eye. Maybe it was something to do with how prickly and rude he'd been. I wasn't used to men speaking to me like that. It made me wonder whether that was his usual manner or if I'd simply caught him on a bad day.
A sudden thought occurred to me. What if the bodyguards were a Bratva thing? I laughed to myself and dismissed it immediately. Noel might be stupid enough to believe any crazy rumor doing the rounds, but that didn't mean I had to.
I'd managed to avoid making any more mistakes with the music, balancing the need to follow Valentin's every movement onstage with still being able to do my job properly. Noel had been too busy barking orders at his team of set designers to spend any time worrying about what I was getting up to, so I'd managed to settle into a nice routine. The job wasn't too taxing and came with the added bonus of watching half-naked muscular dancers strut their stuff. What more could I possibly want?
I swerved at the sight of Glenn coming toward me, ducking down a corridor I'd never ventured down before. The rosy-cheeked stagehand was becoming increasingly clingy, to the point where I was faced with either giving him what he wanted or letting him down gently. But that was a decision for another day, hence the fact I was avoiding him. When the sound of his footsteps had faded, I lifted my head, only then registering where my detour had taken me: right outside Valentin Bychkov's dressing room. I knew it was his because his name was emblazoned across the door in large gold letters.
Before I could consider what the hell I was doing, I raised my hand and knocked. The door flew open, and there he was in all his glory—bare-chested, barefoot, and fully made up like every other time I'd seen him. He frowned, his gaze scanning the length of the corridor. He was probably wondering where his bodyguards were, seeing as they were employed to keep riffraff like me away from the star attraction.
I found myself entranced by the curve of his collarbone, and the sheen of his skin, my gaze traveling slowly over his body. It traversed his shoulders, his nipples, all the way down the smooth, mostly hairless chest to where the stubble of what would be a tantalizing treasure trail if he didn't shave disappeared into the ballet tights, and then to the promising bulge below. Men didn't normally have this effect on me. But then I didn't really know any others with a body like this who were in the habit of walking around half-naked. Surely that was as good as an invitation to stare. Only problem was, I'd been so busy doing that—invitation or no invitation—I'd forgotten to speak. Given that I was the one who had knocked on his door, it must have looked decidedly strange.
I made an effort to
drag my gaze back up his body until it was his face in my field of vision. The knowing expression and the condescending arch of his eyebrow instantly filled me full of regret that I wasn't still staring at his crotch. At least there'd been no judgment there, just the delightful curve of a barely concealed cock. I tried to bury the surge of lust while I struggled to find words. "I came to check that your music has been okay for the last few days? You know... since I ruined it on the first day."
He tilted his head to the side, his scrutiny giving the appearance that he was considering something. "The music has been... acceptable."
He took a step back, and I braced myself for the door to close. Therefore, the next words out of his mouth came as quite a shock.
"Come in."
I hesitated, unsure of what I was supposed to do. A glance back to the corridor revealed it to be empty of irate bodyguards. In fact, empty of anyone who might have been tempted to tell me to stay away from Valentin. I stepped inside, scanning the room out of curiosity. I hadn't set foot in any dressing room before, never mind one belonging to the star of the show. There wasn't a lot to see: a dressing table covered with makeup and hair products, a sofa, a few items of clothing hung up around the room, and a small fridge humming away in a corner. I'd expected more. If this was the dressing room for the number one attraction, then what did the rest of them look like? They must have been nothing more than cupboards.
"Do you have a condom?"
"What?" I swung around to face him, examining his face for signs that he'd cracked some sort of Russian joke. He stared back at me, his facial expression remaining the same while I struggled to process if he'd actually said what I thought he had. "Why would I... what?"
Valentin strolled to the other side of the room, examining himself in the full-length mirror that stood along one wall, his implacable gaze meeting my considerably more shocked one in the reflection. "It's a simple enough question. You either do, or you don't?"
"Yeah... I do, I just—"
He nodded. "I thought so. You strike me as a man who carries at least three around in his wallet."
I couldn't help but feel that there was a thinly veiled insult there somewhere. I might have said so if it wasn't for the knowledge that currently in my wallet, there were exactly three condoms. I knew that because I'd replaced the one I'd used during the tequila-influenced one-night stand. Therefore, his insight was uncanny.
I shrugged, reluctant to admit that he could read me like a book when our interactions hadn't yet reached the five-minute mark. This man was younger than I was. Yet he seemed able to trigger a constant feeling of being caught off guard with a single comment or a scathing look. I reminded myself that I was twenty-eight years old and fully capable of handling a conversation, no matter what strange turn it might take. Looking him straight in the eye, I was determined to ask a direct question, but he got in there first.
"You don't want to fuck?"
I felt as if I'd been sucker-punched in the gut, like I couldn't breathe. The best course of action would be to leave. To walk out of there and put some distance between myself and this strange but alluring man. What kind of person made an offer like that on the second occasion of meeting someone? Maybe in a bar where both participants were out looking for a no-strings sexual hookup. But I wasn't in a bar. I was in a dressing room in the Royal Opera House, alone with the star dancer. Noel would kill me if I touched him. Hell, the pair of Neanderthals who were usually glued to Valentin's side would probably do it before Noel could.
My cock throbbed, already half-hard at the mere suggestion of getting some action. Without conscious thought, I reached down, readjusting myself. Valentin followed the movement with a smirk before sauntering over to the other side of the room. He turned around to face the wall, one hand bracing against it while the other moved back to grasp the waistband of the ballet tights.
My heart thudded as he gradually eased them down, revealing his bare ass inch by tantalizing inch. Underneath the ballet tights was something resembling a thong. I guessed it was actually something more specialized than that—specifically designed for a dancer. Whatever it was, I was given very little time to contemplate it before that was pushed down too, and I was left staring at the muscular lines of his back as it tapered down to one of the most toned asses I'd ever had the good fortune to be anywhere near. He looked back over his shoulder, his gaze finding mine, the smirk still in place. "Make a decision, Max. Either get over here and fuck me. Or get out."
My throat closed up, making swallowing difficult, my senses screaming at me to do the latter. Nothing good could come of touching him. Not with the stories I'd heard and the fact that he was so damn aggravating and arrogant. I was immensely proud of my brain for dredging up cold, hard logic while a fuckable ass flexed in front of me. But my hands, well, they weren't listening to my brain. They were already fumbling in my wallet and extracting a condom. My feet must have been in on the conspiracy too because they were already walking toward Valentin.
He'd already turned back to face the wall as if there'd been no doubt in his mind whatsoever about which option I'd choose. I unzipped and pulled my cock out, not bothering to unfasten my trousers completely. I gave it a couple of strokes, even though it wasn't necessary. One glimpse of that ass, and I'd been good to go. Foreplay didn't seem to be on the menu, so I rolled the condom down my cock, adding extra lube from a packet I always carried around.
Reaching out with both hands, I hesitated briefly before my fingers made contact. He was all warm and sleek, the skin goose-bumping beneath my fingertips. I traced his shoulder blades before dipping down, following the sinewy lines of his back muscles until my hands came to rest at his waist. I felt dizzy, forgetting to breathe, such was my arousal. I paused to get myself back under control, my palms itching with the overwhelming desire to squeeze the muscular globes that lay beneath.
"I don't have all day. I have a meeting to attend."
The words should have hit me like a dose of cold water, making me think twice about what we were about to do, particularly given the haughty way they were delivered. They didn't. I was being given permission to go fast and hard, to treat him like nothing more than a sex object. No pretending that he meant more than he did. No false assurances. No whispering endearments I didn't mean. Just two men fucking until they both came. It was like all my Christmases had come at once. It might be a bad idea, but it was the best bad idea I'd ever had.
I palmed his ass, using my grip to push the two firm cheeks apart to glimpse the prize that lay in between. At the same time, I moved forward, lining my cock up with the tight, puckered hole I'd uncovered. I pushed forward. Not enough to penetrate. Just enough to make my intent clear. If he wanted to change his mind, or he needed something more before I fucked him, then this was his chance to object, to demand whatever he needed.
He not only stayed silent, but he also squirmed, balancing against the wall to tip his ass up to a more inviting angle. I didn't need asking twice. Wrapping one arm around his waist to keep him flush against me, I pushed slowly forward, the head of my cock entering him. His body stiffened beneath my hands, the muscles tensing at the initial sting of penetration. I stopped immediately, not wanting to risk hurting him. "Do you need—"
"Do it!"
The words couldn't have been clearer, but still I hesitated, until Valentin's ass pushed back against me, the decision taken out of my hands as my cock slowly slid inside him, our bodies pressed together, and a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on his skin. This was everything I'd dreamed of and more. And once we'd fucked, well, at least I'd be able to get him out of my head.
A loud hammering at the door started up, Valentin's name being called in a heavy Russian accent. In a panic, I started to withdraw. I was halfway to doing so when a strong hand reached back, anchoring me firmly in place inside his body.
"Don't move. They won't come in without my permission. They want to check that I have not gone anywhere."
He called something out in Russian,
and there was an answering response in the same language. Then there was silence. Had he told them what he was doing? How had he phrased that? Hang on, I'm just getting the sound engineer to fuck me up the ass. Maybe this was a habit of his. Maybe he always fucked his way through the behind-the-scenes crew. Somehow though, I couldn't see it. He was too cold. Too aloof. This was more a case of opportunity presenting itself. After all, it wasn't as if I'd made any attempt to hide my desire when I'd looked at him.
"Are you going to finish what you started?" His voice sounded cool and collected. Anyone listening to him would have found it hard to believe that he was splayed against a wall with a cock inside him.
Was I ever? Despite the interruption, my erection had never waned, snug as it was inside the tight Russian ass. I adjusted my balance, filling him to the hilt as I began to thrust, forcing an exhalation of breath from his mouth as I worked myself deeper. Valentin's back muscles flexed with each of my thrusts, and I found myself mesmerized by the sight, unable to believe that he was actually allowing me to do this to him. I dug my fingers into his skin, leaving fingermarks behind as I thrust deep. Heat built quickly in my balls, the wet slap of my body against his and our sweat-slicked skin rubbing together only serving to fuel it further.
I slid my hand over his hip, unsure what I'd find. Given how remarkably cool he'd kept and how quiet he'd been, I would have been less than surprised to find him soft. Would I have stopped? It was doubtful. I was way beyond that point, the first stirrings of orgasm already making themselves known. I groaned as a hard cock filled my hand. I wrapped my fist around him, jacking him off as I thrust harder, my nose buried in his hair. I changed the angle, wanting to hit his prostate, the small gasps coaxed from his mouth, as well as the twitch of his cock in my hand, letting me know when I'd hit the target. I pegged the same spot over and over again, Valentin's breathing growing louder and more desperate, sweat dripping down his back as his balls tightened. I leaned over his shoulder, wanting to kiss him, wanting to feel his tongue against my own as I brought us both to completion.
