CHAPTER 2

The noise from the club pounds through my chest, a physical assault on my carefully constructed calm. This club is a place I own but never visit, the air is thick with the scent of spilled liquor and cheap perfume. I am bored. I sit in a private booth, a half-empty glass of scotch in my hand. Strippers dance on poles. My friends, Dmitri and Sergei, are on either side of me, shouting over the music.

Dmitri, a man of precise movements and a cunning smile leans in. His tailored suit fits his lean, dangerous frame perfectly. He is the type of person who thinks five steps ahead.

Sergei, on the other hand, is a jovial soul but God bless those that mess with him. His laughter is wild and it cuts through the music, his body a solid wall of muscle and brute force. He moves recklessly.

And there is Nikolaï, my consigliere, my right hand. Usually, he is a man of quiet observation, his face always calm. But tonight, the alcohol has stripped away his usual restraint. He is laughing too loudly, his movements a bit too fluid. The sight is weird, like watching a statue come to life and start to dance.

We are orphans, all three of us.Dmitri's parents were gunned down in a rival gang's territory, their bodies left in the streets as a warning. Sergei's family was taken from him in a house fire. The death of our families, the trauma, it bound us together. We promised each other that we would never be victims again. We clawed our way out, built our empire on blood and ambition, and here we are. Kings of a world we created, with me as their Don.

“Come on, Don! The party has started!” Sergei yells, his voice hoarse from yelling. I roll my eyes, we have been here for hours.

Dmitri leans in, a sly glint in his eyes. “They are here for you, Vasily. Pick one. We’ve all had our fun.”

I just shake my head. The idea is disgusting. I am a man of my word. I made a promise to the Volkovs, to Isabella. I am soon to be a husband. My gaze drifts over the crowd, searching for a distraction.

Then I see him. Adrian. He’s in a different booth, surrounded by a lot of women, all laughing at his witty remarks. He has a loose, easy grace about him that I find both infuriating and fascinating. I am furious with myself for even noticing. Why is my attention not on the women who are literally throwing themselves at me? Why am I focused on a man who, moments ago, I decided I disliked?

I watch him for what feels like an eternity. He leaves his booth, stumbling slightly, and makes his way toward the back of the club. The sight of his disheveled state gives me a strange, foreign pang of interest. My friends continue to harass me. I've had enough.

"I am leaving," I announce, rising from my seat. My voice is quiet.

Sergei tries to stop me. “What? Already? The night is still young, Don!”

Dmitri grabs my arm. “Don’t go, Vasily. Stay and have a good time.”

I walk through the crowd, my presence parting the sea of bodies like a god.The need to escape this place, this suffocating, loud chaos, is overwhelming. I get to the exit and step out into the cool night air. The relief is immediate. I take a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs, and start to walk toward my car, parked a few feet away.

I am almost there when the urge to go to the bathroom consumes me. I curse under my breath, my plans delayed by my own body. I turn and head back into the club.

I finally found the men's room. I take a moment to breathe before approaching a urinal. My business is quick. As I am washing my hands, I catch a glimpse of a figure by the door. It is him. Adrian. His head bowed, his body swaying slightly. He looks up as I walk past him. I pretend not to see him, my mind already on the car.

"Hey," he says, his voice slurred with alcohol. "Vasily."

I ignore him. I am not some drunken man to be addressed by his first name. I just want to leave this place and pretend this night never happened. But he walks toward me, his movements jerky and unbalanced.

“Why do you hate me?” he asks, the question a quiet accusation. “You look at me like I am a piece of dirt on your shoe.” I try to walk past him, but he blocks my path.

His eyes, those striking blue eyes, hold a mixture of challenge and pain. I find myself looking, truly looking at him. He is beautiful. The word echoes in my head, a shameful admission. The sudden, unwanted arousal I feel in my jeans is a shock, a betrayal from my own body.

The anger I feel at my own thoughts, the disgust at my reaction, boils over. Without thinking, I grab the back of his neck, pull his face to mine, and smash my lips against his. The kiss is a desperate, furious thing. I devour his mouth, my tongue forcing its way in. I taste alcohol, and the bitterness of my own desperation. He responds with the same energy. All I can think is that this is so wrong. I am supposed to marry his sister. But I can't stop. I am blaming it on the alcohol, but the truth is, I don’t want to stop.

He breaks the kiss, gasping for air. His eyes are wide, bewildered, his chest heaving.

I do not know what this is. I have never been with a man. I don’t think I'm gay. But I have to have him. I drag him out of the bathroom and through a private back corridor to my personal suite in the hotel. I throw him inside and close the door, locking it.

"Adrian, you need to leave," I say, my voice raw. "I am not in my right mind. Walk away now, before... before whatever this is gets out of control. I am marrying your sister. I have never been with a man. I don’t know what this is, but I need to get it out of my system."

He just stares at me, his eyes full of confusion and a quiet longing I do not understand. But then, he moves. He falls to his knees, his hands moving to the button of my jeans. My thoughts scatter into a thousand pieces as he unzips me, his hands on my cock. He leans forward, his lips pressing against the tip, then he takes all of me in his throat. My body reacts instinctively, a groan escaping my lips. I am on fire. My hips buck, pushing deeper and deeper into his mouth. I am a Don, but at this moment, I am nothing but a man driven by a new, violent lust.

I grab his hair, pushing him faster and harder. "Yes, fuck," I growl. "Faster. Suck it like you mean it." I can't stop. I am a different man. I am a beast. I cum on his face, pulling out at the last second. I am panting, my knees trembling. Adrian is there, on his knees, with my cum and his own drool on his face, looking at me with wide, dazed eyes. And I find it so attractive. I don't know why.

I grab my own cum from his face with my fingers, rubbing it on his lips. I push my finger into his mouth, making him suck on it, his moans now loud and uncontrolled. His eyes roll back in his head. I grab him by the arm, pull him up, and kiss him, devouring his mouth once more. I rip his clothes off and throw him on the bed. There is no time for him to think. I bend him over, not giving him time to prepare, and enter him fast and hard, his own cries of pain and pleasure echoing in the room.

My other hand works his cock hard and fast. "Beg for it. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want my cock inside you, my cum inside you." His moans grow louder and more uncontrolled,

I don’t slow down, drilling into him and spreading his ass cheeks as I watch my dick disappear into his tight hole, the sight making me grow more large, a broken symphony of pleasure and pain. He cums hard, and I pump my own cum into him, my body finally collapsing. But we do not stop there.

*********************

The morning sun feels sharp on my eyes. My head throbs with a pain so intense I think it will split. I open my eyes, expecting to be in my bed but the sheets and room feel foreign making me realise I’m still in the club and not home. I am naked, the memories of last night a hazy, drunken dream.

I sit up, and that's when I see my torn shirt on the floor, and clothes scattered everywhere. The memories come crashing down. The heat, the shame, the desperate moans. My eyes widen in a silent scream. I look down, and my dick is already hard, a betrayal of my disgusted mind.

Fuck.