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.Adrian Pov The city is a blur of light and color as I drive, the Moscow traffic a slow, grinding beast. My phone buzzes with a new message, and I know without looking that it’s Leo. He’s been my rock, my confessor, the only one who knows the truth of my secret life. I pull over to a secluded park, the cold, winter air a sharp contrast to the fire raging inside me. I’m a man on the edge, a man who has made a deal with the devil. A deal I have no intention of honoring.I step out of the car, the cold air raising goosebumps on my skin. I see him, Leo, sitting on a bench, a thermos of tea in his hands. He looks up as I approach, his face a mix of concern and exasperation. He knows me too well. He knows the look on my face, the raw, desperate hunger in my eyes."You look like you've seen a ghost," he says, his voice a low, soothing sound."Worse," I say, my voice a hollow, broken sound. "I've seen the devil. And I've made a deal with him."He raises an eyebrow, his gaze assessing me with
Adrian PovHe came. The words are a mantra in my mind, a furious, triumphant whisper. I had expected him to ignore my call, to bury himself in his fortress of stone and silence. I had expected him to choose duty over desire, as he always does. But he came. And now he stands before me, a statue of rage and denial, his eyes burning with a silent, consuming fire.He didn't take the glass of whiskey I offered. He just stared at me, his gaze as hard and cold as the concrete walls around us. I see the monster he is trying to hide, the man who murdered five people for a single mistake. The man who is so lost in the world of duty that he has no place to express his deepest desires. He is a predator, and I am his prey. But for the first time, I am a willing prey, a participant in the hunt."What do you want, Adrian?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.I wanted to laugh. I wanted to tell him that I wanted everything, that I wanted to tear down his carefully constructed world and wat
VasilyThe Volkov penthouse is a monument to modern opulence, a difference to the old-world grandeur of the Petrov estate. Polished concrete and floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of Moscow's sprawling, chaotic energy. I am a stranger in this world, a man of cold stone and tradition walking into a house of glass and secrets.The elevator ride up is a slow, agonizing ascent. I check my phone one last time. My men are in position, a silent, unseen network of steel and muscle surrounding the entire building. They'll be watching, waiting for my signal. I've sent a text to Nikolai, a simple coded message: The chess board is set. I'm not a fool. The Kozlovs are a danger, but the true threat is standing at the heart of all these. This meeting, this place, Adrian's mocking call, it’s all part of a larger game. A game I have no intention of losing.The doors slide open, and I step into the penthouse. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey. Adrian is
The shame is a physical weight, a cold, suffocating blanket I can’t shake off. I stand in the shower, the hot water beating down on me, but I can’t scrub away the disgust. The image of myself, a Don of a family, a man who commands respect and instills fear, a man consumed by a need so vile it feels like a sicknessIt is an image that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I am a monster, a man ruled by a weakness I can’t control.The phone vibrates, a low, insistent hum on the marble counter. It’s Dmitri. I ignore it, but the buzzing persists, a constant, irritating reminder of the world outside, a world I am no longer fit to inhabit. My duty, my legacy, my carefully constructed life, it’s all a lie. A beautiful, meticulously crafted lie that Adrian Volkov has shattered with a single, devastating kiss.I get out of the shower, the cold air raising goosebumps on my skin. I am a stranger in my own skin, a cold, hollow shell of a man. I dress in a clean suit, a fresh facade for the da
Adrian PovThe world was a blur of faces. My days had become a relentless performance, a desperate need to outrun a ghost with dark eyes and a punishing kiss. I wore my playboy persona like a second skin. Every smile was a lie, every witty remark a well-rehearsed line in a play I wanted no part of. I buried myself in the public-facing side of our family's mafia, signing contracts and sweet talking with clients, the familiar rhythm of business a forgotten comfort. It was the one place where Adrian Volkov, the charming socialite, could still exist.But the real Adrian was a disgrace to his family. My mind, once of logic and calculation, was now a battlefield of conflicting emotions. One minute I was seething with rage at Vasily’s cold dismissal, the way he acted from our shared moment in that bathroom as if it meant nothing. The next, I was a prisoner to the memory of his hands in my hair, his lips on mine, a raw, undeniable hunger that had shaken me to my core.I was at the head of a l
Vasily PovThe world froze.Isabella’s voice, so sweet and pure, cut through the haze of lust and desperation. My mind, a maelstrom of conflicting desires, reeled back. I broke away from Adrian, my chest heaving, my eyes wide with a terror I hadn’t felt since I first took control of the Mafia. Adrian was a storm, but Isabella was a reality I had a duty to uphold.Adrian took a step back, his face a fake practiced indifference. The wildness that had been in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cool, almost mocking, calm. He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back into place, and I felt a fresh wave of fury. He had no right to be so composed, so unaffected. My entire world was shattering, and he looked like he was just finishing a pleasant conversation."Vasily?" she called again, her voice closer now.I took a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow its frantic rhythm. I schooled my features into the cold, impenetrable mask I wore every day. The Don, a man of granite and ice, did no