TO BE F*CKED BY MY RIVAL ATTENDING (4)
1957 Words
NIKOLAI.
The hospital’s annual donor gala is exactly as tedious as I expected.
Crystal chandeliers, champagne that costs more per bottle than most people make in a month, Moscow’s medical elite discussing their summer dachas and Swiss ski chalets.
I’m stuck in a custom suit, playing the part of respectable cardiac surgeon.
I f*****g hate these things.
But Chief Volgin made it clear; attendance mandatory. The board is watching.
“Dr. Volkov.” Volgin materializes at my elbow with champagne. “Excellent turnout tonight.”
“Very impressive, sir.”
“The board members are all here. I expect both you and Dr. Morozov to make favorable impressions. Mingle. Be charming. Show them why you deserve Chief of Surgery.” He lowers his voice. “This is part of your evaluation. Both of you.”
“Understood.”
He walks away and I scan the ballroom, looking for—
There.
Alexei Morozov stands near the bar, surrounded by gray-haired men in bespoke suits. Board members. He’s laughing at something, looking infuriatingly perfect in Brioni, tailored so precisely it might as well be armor.
He catches my eye across the room.
Smirks.
Fucking bastard.
I’ve spent the past week furious. Furious that he made me beg. That he reduced me to desperate pleading with that f*****g thumb pressed against my tip, controlling when I could come.
And he knows it. I can see it in that smug smile.
I turn away, downing my Cristal.
“Volkov.”
I turn. He’s right behind me, champagne flute in hand, that smirk still in place.
“Morozov.”
“Quite the event. Though I see you managed to rent an acceptable tuxedo. There’s hope for you yet.”
“Rent?” I laugh. “This is Tom Ford, custom fitted in Milan last month. But I understand if you can’t tell the difference. Old money tends to have terrible taste.”
His smile tightens. “How defensive. Struck a nerve?”
“Not at all. Just correcting your assumptions. You know what they say about assuming.”
“Clever. Did you workshop that comeback?”
“Didn’t need to. Unlike some of us, I don’t have to rehearse charm.”
“Careful. We’re being evaluated tonight. Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the board.”
“Is that a threat?”
“An observation. You seem tense.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping to barely a whisper. “Still thinking about last week?”
My jaw clenches. “No.”
“Liar. I can see it in your eyes. You’re remembering how you begged me.” His voice is so quiet only I can hear. “How desperate you sounded when you said ‘please.’ How you couldn’t come until I allowed it.”
“f**k you.”
“Not here. Too many witnesses.” He straightens, smile turning professionally charming as a board member approaches. “Dr. Volkov and I were just discussing our upcoming surgical innovations. Isn’t that right?”
“Right,” I grit out.
The board member—Dmitri Federov, pharmaceutical money—launches into a tedious conversation about minimally invasive techniques. Alexei is eloquent, charming, perfect. And every few minutes he finds a reason to brush past me. To lean in close. To let his hand linger on my shoulder.
Reminding me.
By the time Federov wanders off, I’m ready to strangle him.
“You’re enjoying this,” I say quietly.
“Immensely. You’re very easy to provoke.”
“Keep pushing. See what happens.”
“Is that a threat?” He echoes my earlier words. “Or a promise?”
“Both.”
His eyes gleam with interest. “Intriguing. But I think we both know who has the upper hand here.”
“Do we?”
“Yes. Because I made you beg, Volkov. I controlled when you came. Made you lose that carefully constructed composure.” He takes a sip of champagne. “And you can’t stand it.”
He’s right. I can’t.
“Meet me,” I say quietly. “Thirty minutes. Executive conference room, fourth floor.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re curious what I’ll do. Because you’re wondering if I’ll try to return the favor.”
He studies me, considering. “Fine. Thirty minutes.”
“Don’t be late.”
“I’m never late.”
He walks away, and I’m already planning exactly what I’m going to do to him.
How thoroughly I’m going to destroy that control he prizes so much.
—•—
Twenty-eight minutes later, I’m in the executive conference room—all mahogany and leather, windows overlooking Moscow’s lights—when the door opens.
Alexei walks in, still perfectly composed in his Brioni, not a hair out of place.
“You came,” I say.
“You asked me to.” He closes the door, locks it. “Though I’m not sure why. If you wanted another round of begging—”
I cross the room in three strides and shove him against the wall.
Hard.
“I’m done playing games,” I say.
“Are you? Because you seemed to enjoy—”
I kiss him. Rough. Aggressive. Pouring a week of frustration into it. He responds immediately, hands fisting in my jacket, trying to dominate.
I don’t let him.
I grab his wrists, pin them above his head with one hand.
“No,” I say against his mouth. “Not this time. This time, you don’t get to control anything.”
“Let go of me, Volkov.”
“No. You made me beg last week. Made me desperate. Held my orgasm hostage until I broke.” I bite his neck, hard enough to mark. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I told you—I don’t bottom—”
“I’m not going to f**k you. I’m not even going to try.” I release his wrists, hands going to his belt. “But I am going to finger that tight ass until you’re crying. Until you’re begging. Until you understand what it feels like.”
“You can’t—”
“Can’t I?” I undo his belt, his pants, pushing them down along with his boxer briefs. He’s already half-hard. “Your c**k disagrees.”
“That’s just—”
“Biology? Stop. Just stop lying to yourself.” I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly. “You want this. You’ve been thinking about it all week.”
“Fine. I’ve thought about it. Happy?”
“Not yet.” I turn him to face the wall. “Hands flat. Don’t move them.”
“What are you—”
“You’ll see. And Alexei?” I lean in close. “If you move your hands, I stop. Understand?”
His jaw clenches. But he puts his hands flat against the wall.
Good.
I drop to my knees behind him, and his entire body goes rigid.
“Nikolai—”
“Relax. I’m just appreciating the view.” I spread him open with my thumbs, and he makes this choked sound. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this. About taking you apart.”
“I’m not—this isn’t—”
“Shut up and let me work.”
I lean in and lick him—one long, slow stripe—and he gasps like I’ve shocked him.
“f**k—Nikolai—”
“That’s better. Keep saying my name like that.” I do it again, using my tongue to tease him open, and his fingers curl against the wall. “You taste good. Better than I imagined.”
“This is—I can’t—”
“You can. You will.” I slide one finger inside, slow and careful, and feel him clench tight around me. “Breathe. Relax. Let me in.”
“I can’t relax when you’re—oh god—”
“When I’m what? Eating your ass? Fingering you?” I work deeper, searching, and when I find his prostate he nearly collapses.
“Holy f**k—what—”
“That’s your prostate. And I’m going to torture it until you’re sobbing.” I stroke over it deliberately and he makes this wrecked sound. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Bet you’ve never let anyone touch you here.”
“No—never—f**k—”
“Virgin ass. Even better.” I add a second finger, stretching him, working him open while my other hand wraps around his c**k. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
“You’re not—I’m not—”
“Not what? Not falling apart? Not desperat?” I press hard against his prostate while stroking him and he sobs. “Liar. You’re already shaking.”
“Nikolai—please—”
“Please what? Please let you come? Please stop?” I slow down deliberately. “You need to be more specific.”
“Please—I need—I’m going to—”
“Not yet.” I back off, keeping him on edge. “You don’t get to come until I say so. Remember that trick with your thumb? I’m doing the same thing. Except I’m using your prostate.”
“That’s not—“
“Fair? You edged me for twenty f*****g minutes. I think I can return the favor.” I increase my pace again, three fingers now, hitting that spot with brutal precision. “Look at you. The great Alexei Morozov, getting finger-f****d against a wall. What would the board think?”
“Don’t, please don’t stop—”
“I won’t. Not until you’re begging properly.” I work him ruthlessly—fingers inside stroking his prostate, hand on his c**k—and he’s trembling, barely standing. “Come on. Beg me. Show me you’re human after all.”
“Please—Nikolai! Please let me—”
“Not good enough.”
I bring him right to the edge—so close—and then I stop completely. Pull my fingers out. Release his c**k.
“No—f**k—Nikolai please—”
“Better. But not quite there yet.” I wait until his breathing steadies, then slide three fingers back inside, harder this time. Stretching him. Filling him. Abusing his prostate while jerking him roughly.
“I can’t take—”
“Yes you can. You’re taking my fingers so well. Squeezing them like you don’t want to let go.” I lean in, bite his ass cheek. “Admit it. You love this. Love having someone else in control.”
“Yes—please!”
“Please what?”
“Please let me come—please—”
There it is.
“Come,” I order. “Come all over this wall. Show me who owns you right now.”
He does, shouting my name, spilling over my hand and the wall, hole clenching so tight around my fingers I can barely move them.
I work him through it, not stopping until he’s pushing weakly at my hand, oversensitive.
When I pull out and stand, he’s slumped against the wall, breathing hard, completely wrecked.
Perfect.
“Still think you have the upper hand?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He f*****g can’t.
I clean my hand with my pocket square, fix my clothes. “Same time next week?”
“f**k you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He turns, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown. “Yes. Next week.”
“Good. Now clean yourself up. We have a gala to finish.”
I leave him there, wrecked and trembling.
Checkmate.
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