Luke licked his lips, fisting the duvet in his fingers.
Roman chuckled. “Relax, kotyonok. I’m not going to touch you.”
And then he was gone, leaving Luke with a strange feeling in his chest that felt too much like disappointment for his liking.
Roman didn’t visit him again that day.
Later that night, Luke buried his head under his pillow, trying to ignore the high-pitched female moans coming from Roman’s bedroom.
Chapter 10
Three days later, Luke stared moodily at the locked door of Roman’s bedroom. He couldn’t hear anything from the other side.
He lifted his hand and banged on the door, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him he was crazy.
He didn’t care. He was exhausted and short-tempered from barely sleeping for the fourth night in a row.
It was all his fault.
The door opened and Luke found himself on the receiving end of a cold stare. Roman leaned a wide shoulder against the frame of the doorway, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He was wearing only a pair of black boxers, his dark hair tousled and a short, thick beard covering his square jaw.
Luke shifted from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but at Roman’s bare chest and the tattoos on his muscular arms.
“Is there a reason you’re banging on my door at six in the morning?” Roman said.
Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re hungry,” Roman repeated, somehow managing to convey how utterly unimportant the fact was to him without changing his expression.
“Yes,” Luke said. “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.” He couldn’t resist a glance over Roman’s shoulder at the large bed dominating the room. It was empty, the sheets crumpled. “So your whore is gone,” he said before he could stop himself.
He immediately regretted it as Roman’s gaze sharpened, something like amusement appearing on his face. “Were you listening at the door, kitten?”
Luke glared at him. “I couldn’t sleep all night because of her moans. For the fourth night in a row. And did you have to fuck her at three in the morning in our—in the bathroom we share?” Unable to look Roman in the eye any longer, he shifted his gaze to Roman’s left ear. “I’m hungry, and I need something else to wear. The shirt you gave me feels gross already.”
“It’s endearing how you think you can disturb my sleep without a good enough reason,” Roman said, a touch of steel sounding in his voice.
Luke froze, eyes flickering to Roman’s. He swallowed.
Roman reached out, took the collar of Luke’s shirt, and tugged him closer. Luke’s heart thudded in his throat, his mouth dry.
“Or did you just want my attention, love?”
Flushing, Luke shook his head. Of course he didn’t want Roman’s attention. He’d had plenty of it in the last three days. Every day, Roman would come to his room, talk to him about seemingly unrelated things, and just watch him. It was kind of maddening, although Luke couldn’t really complain that he was being mistreated. He had a soft bed, he was fed well enough, and the guards’ beatings were a distant memory now. Roman didn’t even touch him anymore. Frankly, Luke had little to complain about. As far as kidnappings went, this hadn’t been that unpleasant of an experience—if only he hadn’t been forced to listen to women orgasm every night.
Roman chuckled, his hand moving from Luke’s shirt to his throat. His thumb pressed against Luke’s madly beating pulse. “Little liar,” he said. “Did you come here because you were jealous of the nice woman who entertained me last night?”
Luke spluttered. “Jealous? I don’t like you. You’re a horrible, evil person.”
“With cruel eyes,” Roman added, amusement lacing his words. “Don’t forget the cruel eyes.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Luke said, pouting. It took him a moment to register that he was actually pouting. He blinked. What the hell. He’d always been very self-conscious about his facial expressions and rarely allowed himself to appear anything but masculine. When, exactly, had he let his guard down around Roman?
Feeling a little weirded out by his own behavior, Luke cleared his throat. “Fine, sorry for bothering you. Let go.”
Roman’s hand remained wrapped around his neck. He gave Luke a long, assessing look. Luke held his gaze, trying to ignore the proximity of his bare chest.
Looking him in the eye, Roman said quietly,
“Get on your knees.”
Luke sucked in a sharp breath.
“No,” he managed.
“Get on your knees,” Roman repeated. “We both know this is what you came here for.”
Wetting his lips, Luke glanced down at the bulge straining the fabric of Roman’s black boxers. “No,” he whispered, less sure than before.
“You should stop lying to yourself,” Roman said. He buried his hand in Luke’s hair and pushed him down, the pressure assertive and forceful, but not too forceful—just perfect—and a wave of arousal rolled through Luke.