He shouldn’t have left, or at least he shouldn’t have spent over an hour kissing Sebastian after sex, reluctant to leave while Sebastian looked so soft, flushed, and fucked out. Pathetic. His own actions made him cringe lately.
Not enough to stop, his inner voice said snidely.
Shaking it off, Vlad focused on his surroundings, moving silently and holding his breath.
The flat was absolutely silent, which meant the intruder had heard him and was either hiding or moving silently toward him. The pitch-black darkness made it impossible to tell which, but Vlad was calm, his mind clearing of everything irrelevant and focusing entirely on the danger.
There. A barely audible breath from the left. Vlad was moving before he even fully registered it. He collided with the intruder, sending them both crashing to the floor. The other man was tall and big, about Vlad’s size, and they wrestled in silence, trying to get the upper hand. They were pretty evenly matched, Vlad noted with surprise as he struggled to pin the man under him and incapacitate him. There was something very familiar about the way the intruder fought.
“Vlad, get off me,” the man said.
Swearing, Vlad let go of the man and rolled to his feet. Finding the switch, he turned on the lights.
The very unamused face of his boss greeted him. Roman stood up, as well. “Where the hell have you been and why are you returning at three in the morning?” he said coldly. The unsaid “instead of protecting Luke” hung in the air.
Vlad gritted his teeth. He was sick of Roman’s passive-aggressive attitude toward him. Yes, he had—sort of—betrayed Roman’s trust once, but he’d saved his hide dozens of times. “I have four free hours every day. It’s in my contract. I don’t have to be at your boy’s beck and call 24/7. He’s asleep. What am I supposed to protect him from? Nightmares? You told me the Charves threat was minimal.”
Roman’s expression turned sharp and assessing as his gaze swept over Vlad.
Vlad told himself there was no way Roman could tell what he’d been doing in the last couple of hours.
“Everything fine?” Vlad said, trying to divert Roman’s attention. “Charves?”
“He won’t be a problem anymore,” Roman said, his eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.
Vlad almost felt sorry for Charves. But then again, the guy had been one sick psycho.
“Roma?”
Vlad turned his head.
Luke was blinking sleepily before a brilliant smile lit up his face. “You’re home!” He all but ran toward Roman and flung himself at him. Roman hugged him tightly, burying his face in Luke’s curls.
Vlad watched in mild disbelief as Roman nuzzled Luke’s hair, taking shallow, greedy breaths. “Hey, kotyonok,” he murmured, kissing Luke’s ear.
“I missed you,” Luke said into Roman’s neck. “Missed you so much.”
“Yeah,” Roman said hoarsely before hiking Luke’s legs up around his waist and carrying him out of the living room.
Vlad stared after them before going to the bar and grabbing a mini-bottle of vodka. With Roman back, his job as Luke’s bodyguard was effectively over. He could get wasted if he wanted.
Opening the bottle, Vlad went out on the balcony. It was a cold, windy night, but he didn’t mind. He was used to much cold weather.
Leaning against the railings and looking at the lights of London spread out beneath him, he took a sip from the bottle, enjoying the burn and trying not to think of anything. It didn’t work all that well.
After what he had just witnessed, it was undeniable that Luke wasn’t just a passing fancy for Roman. It was obvious Roman had actual feelings for the boy. And yet, Vlad still couldn’t think of Roman as a faggot.
Faggots are pathetic weaklings, not real men.
His uncle’s words seemed ridiculous now. Roman Demidov was the opposite of a weakling. He was one of the most ruthless, strongest men Vlad had ever known. Vlad couldn’t think of him as weak and pathetic, as less of a man, only because Roman happened to have sex with a man.
His uncle had definitely been wrong, at least in that regard.
But Stepan might have been right about one thing: attraction to another man—at least to one man in particular—felt unnatural. Unnaturally strong.
It had been over a month since they’d had sex for the first time. He had hoped to fuck it out of his system by now, but fucking hell, it didn’t seem to be helping. The mere memory of the hours he’d spent enjoying Sebastian’s body, kissing his mouth afterward, unable to get enough, made him burn. He’d barely torn himself away from Sebastian, had barely forced himself to leave. He would say he felt like he was a teenager again, except he’d never been this drunk on a person when he’d been a teenager—or an adult, for that matter. Vlad couldn’t help thinking that he must be sick, because he’d never felt this way: like a hormonal mess with a one-track mind. Sebastian’s smile shouldn’t have left him feeling breathless and winded with desire to touch, desire to kiss, as if someone had socked him in the stomach and spelled blue balls on him.