Kofi and Mikhail arrived one after the other.

They didn’t seamlessly join their group either, or at least the Prime Minister—to Kamar’s exasperation—wouldn’t allow them. Lifting his glass at the two men, he chuckled. The tip of his bulbous nose was cherry-red and his cheeks were flushed, his gaze squinty like a shark smelling blood. “Ah, more young men. Here for my son, no doubt.”

Sloshed, that’s what he was. Absolutely, maddeningly drunk. Kamar was suffering for it. Deciding to not make a grab for the flute in his father’s chubby hands, Kamar excused himself stiffly, ignoring both Kofi and Mikhail as he left the group. He walked faster when his father’s jeering laughter followed him.

Mikhail caught up to him first.

“Wait,” he said, gripping Kamar’s arm. Before he could get out anymore, Kofi reached them, his gaze brightening once sighting where Mikhail’s hand rested. Biting back a groan, Kamar closed his palm over Mikhail’s hand and pushed him off. Smiling for Kofi’s benefit, he excused himself for the bathroom.

Flagging down a member of his waitstaff, Kofi instructed the man to lead Kamar upstairs. Avoiding Mikhail’s stare, Kamar stiffly walked after his guide up the opulent, flaring staircase. Pointing out the bathroom, the waiter backed away with a polite smile.

Locking the door, Kamar parked himself in front of the sink.

“Alone, finally,” Kamar griped to his reflection. His cheeks were ashen, the bags under his eyes prominent, and his lips—he licked them—were cracking from his constant worrying. So far his prognosis of the night didn’t look good. This party would completely drive him insane before it ended.

Splashing warm water on his face, Kamar found a crisp, monogrammed hand towel to wipe his face with. His fingers traced the gold K embroidered into the towel’s edge. Clearly his owner hadn’t thought any part of the extravagant detail of the house was a waste of money. Kamar admired the spacious bathroom. It was big enough for him to consider hiding out here for the next couple hours.

It was starting to sound like a terrific plan when reality knocked, begging for admittance.

“It’s me,” Mikhail said after the second round of knocking. The doorknob twisted as Kamar glowered at the door. “I know you’re in there. Open up. Please.”

Opening the door to answer that needy “please,” Kamar gestured for Mikhail to hurry it up inside. He looked out the empty hall, surprised to find Kofi wasn’t shadowing him.

“Where’s your new friend?”

“What new friend?” Mikhail frowned, hands rubbing together slowly while he faced Kamar.

“Kofi,” Kamar said. He rolled his eyes. “You two seemed attached at the hip. Awfully friendly for someone you just met…”

“Believe me, we’re not friends,” Mikhail said.

“Did you two fight?” Then before Mikhail replied, Kamar blurted. “Please tell me you didn’t fight with him.”

It must have been the wrong thing to say because Mikhail’s face stormed with anger. “What if I said we had fought—what does it matter to you?”

Feeling surly, Kamar crossed his arms, leaned a hip against the sink counter and glared. “What are you doing here, Mikhail? If it’s to cause a scene, you can leave now.”

Mikhail laughed humorlessly. “You like him.”

“Who?” Kamar threw up his hands. “And you better not say Kofi, I swear I’ll throttle you.”

“You like him,” Mikhail repeated, his dark eyes narrowing. “And I’d like to see you try.”

Glancing sharply at the bathroom’s closed door, Kamar lowered his voice. “Hey, I’d watch it if I were you. I’ve been paying attention those times you bested me in training.”

“I didn’t come here to fight with you...or anyone.” Mikhail made his confession huffily. “I came to see you. I came because you haven’t stopped by the last two days, and I asked the General to add me as his plus one. I came because I missed you and because I didn’t like Kofi being near you.”

At Kofi’s name, Mikhail’s nose wrinkled. He sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping, his hands fisting and dropping to his side. Jerking a thumb at the door, he said, “I guess I’ll get going then…”

Rolling his eyes again, Kamar blocked his path, his breath hitching when Mikhail bumped softly into him and their chests brushed. Lifting his head to meet his eyes, Kamar allowed himself to be swept in by the slivers of lust beginning to warm Mikhail’s dark brown gaze.

“So, you came all this way for me.” Kamar trailed his hands up and down Mikhail’s arms, their eyes never breaking from their stare. “What did you miss?”

Moving up on his toes, Kamar planted a chaste kiss on Mikhail’s mouth. “Or was it this you missed?” he wondered, kissing Mikhail again. This time he deepened their lip lock, his tongue wiggling past Mikhail’s lips and coaxing his to writhe and cling back, and his hands gripping the back of his merchant’s head.

Mikhail’s hands slipped down Kamar’s back before resting over his butt cheeks through his formal slacks and giving him a firm squeeze. Kamar groaned into their open kiss, their tongues getting sloppy and the slow grind of his hips stirring up the familiar heat in his Omega blood.

Mouths moving off each other long enough to confirm that they’d be fucking hard and fast in the bathroom, Kamar gasped when Mikhail picked him up and growled, “Wrap your damn legs around me, lover boy.” Dropping Kamar gently on the sink counter, Mikhail’s powerful hips pushed his legs apart, the sound of his opening fly echoing in the bathroom.

Kamar’s mouth watered at the sight of Mikhail’s veined shaft and its glistening, reddish-purple crown jutting out at him, begging to be licked and sucked good before sinking deep into him. Only Mikhail’s growled command kept him from lunging forward for that beautifully thick and long cock.

“I don’t want you touching me.” Mikhail ordered gruffly. “Keep your hands behind your head. Yeah, just like that. I want you to stay put while I claim what’s mine.”