DEREK

I’d invited Maxim to dinner for a reason.

Beyond the fact that I couldn’t stand empty chairs at the table when I had guests, I’d hoped to prove some things to myself: That whatever confusion Maxim stirred up in me was simply displaced desire to be with someone like Carolyn, who was so perfect my subconscious probably felt she was too good for me. That seeing them together would make it abundantly clear that my attraction to Maxim wasn’t real, it was just a desperate attempt to make a connection with someone because I’d been feeling a little lonely. That God wasn’t punishing me for my sins—He was testing me.

It was my job to prove I was stronger than temptation, no matter how powerful it was. I could rise above it. I could win.

It was not going well.

“So, Maxim, did I hear earlier you’d like to be a screenwriter?” Carolyn asked.

She was seated to my right, looking beautiful in a silky red blouse that bared her shoulders and second-skin jeans with high heels. When she’d arrived, I’d greeted her with a big kiss on the lips. It had felt weird and forced, and I’d only done it because Maxim had been standing nearby. He’d looked away, and I’d been angry.

Look at me. This is who I am.

But it wasn’t. I couldn’t have cared less about her ass in her tight jeans, but I couldn’t get enough of Maxim’s in mine. I was angry about that, too.

“That’s the goal,” Maxim said, “but I need to do some studying first.” I’d seated him at the far end of the table because it was the farthest chair away from me, but of course that put us directly opposite each other, and all I’d done was stare at him all night. Even dimming the lights hadn’t helped, because that asshole looked even better by candlelight.

“Oooh, you could write Russian spy movies.” Ellen poured more wine in her glass and giggled. “Whenever I think of Russia, I think of spies. Is that terrible of me? Wait, you’re not a spy, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” He flashed her a mischievous grin I wish he’d given to me. “Not that I would tell you if I was.”

Ellen gasped playfully, then she snapped her fingers. “Damn. I thought maybe I could brag about sitting next to the KGB at dinner.”

“Does the KGB still exist?” asked Gage. He’d been my best friend since seventh grade, and I’d been the best man at his wedding to Lanie eight years ago. Now they had three kids under age six and rarely got out much socially, but he and I tried to have a beer a few times a month to keep up. “I’m kind of embarrassed I don’t know.”

“It’s sort of sad that all we know about Russians, or all they know about us, are stereotypes from movies,” said Lanie. “Why is that?”

“Because it’s fucking far?” said Gage, reaching for his drink.

“It is far,” said Maxim with a smile, “but I think our cultural differences can make it hard to understand each other, even when people are in the same place. I was telling Derek earlier that Russians have a reputation for being cold, but we’re not. Not really. We just express ourselves in a more modest way. And even when we’re curious about someone or something, we don’t ask personal questions because we don’t want to be rude.”

“And in America, that would seem like indifference,” said Ellen. “Maybe even rudeness, like you didn’t care enough to ask or smile at someone.”

“Yes.” Maxim nodded. “I think it’s just a part of an eastern culture where people are more submerged in their own world than tuned in to what happens around them. If you take a subway somewhere in Moscow, for example, you won’t see too many smiling people. Everybody is thinking their own thoughts, and their faces don’t react to you. But if you get to meet them, you’ll find they’re actually very nice. In fact, if you go to a Russian house for dinner or something, you’d be surprised to find how welcoming and generous the hosts are.”

“I have to admit, I always picture Russia as being cold but exotic. Women in fur coats, dripping with diamonds and eating caviar.” Carolyn giggled. “But that’s probably from the movies too.”

“There are wealthy people in Russia, but it’s also very common for those who had a poor childhood to really like nice things, luxury things.” Maxim shrugged. “Lots of people never had new clothes or toys. Sometimes food was scarce. When you grow up this way, you don’t want to feel like that again. It’s my story, too.”

“I get that,” Lanie said.

He had a poor childhood, I thought, hungry for any personal details about him. I wondered how poor. Did he grow up impoverished? Hungry? Lacking for anything?

“We also like to impress,” he went on, a glint in his eye. “This is why some Russians drive luxurious cars while living in a tiny apartment, or wear designer brands or go to expensive restaurants—because they didn’t have a taste of it before and they want to show it’s different now.”

“Speaking of taste, my old roommate dated a Russian girl,” said Gage. “She used to bring us all these amazing leftovers from her family functions. And she’d come over and make these potato pancakes…” He closed his eyes and moaned. “So good.”

“They are good.” Maxim nodded. “I make those sometimes.”

“You can cook?” Ellen asked.

“A little. My mom worked a lot, so I had to help out with meals growing up. She taught me to make some things.” He caught my eye and grinned. “But nothing like Derek. I told him he must have been a chef in a past life.”

“Yes!” Ellen exclaimed. “He definitely got all the cooking skills in the family. I can barely boil water.”

“Dinner is excellent, Derek.” Carolyn touched my arm. “Thank you for inviting me.”

I put my hand over hers. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re here.” For all the wrong reasons, of course, but I was still glad.

“Maxim, your English is so good,” Lanie praised. “I teach high school, and I’ve got students who’ve lived here their entire lives and don’t speak it as well as you.”

“Thank you.” Maxim lowered his chin as if he were embarrassed by the compliment, and even from all the way across the table I could see how long his eyelashes were.

What the fuck? His eyelashes?

Get a grip on yourself.

But I couldn’t, so instead, I gripped Carolyn’s hand and held it in my lap. She sent me a surprised smile, and I returned it, but my pulse didn’t quicken the way it should have with her hand so close to my crotch.

“I still can’t believe your bag was stolen at my bar,” said Ellen. She’d told the story of Maxim’s first night in America with great dramatic flair during drinks on the patio, including plenty of nonsensical rhapsodizing about fate, as if it hadn’t been a random cab driver’s suggestion that had brought him into the bar. “I feel so bad about it.”

“Don’t,” Maxim said. “Everything turned out fine. Better than fine. I made new friends.”

“Good thing you were home when Ellen called you, Derek.” Carolyn squeezed my hand. “Now I’m glad I didn’t keep you out too late.”

“I figured he’d be home, since he goes to the gym so early Saturday mornings.” Ellen’s eyes glittered with mischief. “And we all know Derek does not miss a Saturday morning at the gym.”

“Heaven forbid he get off schedule.” Lanie clutched her heart.

“Or leave the garage door open,” added Gage.

“Or dishes in the sink.” Ellen loved this game.

“Or eat in his car.”

“Or wear shoes in the house.”

“Or let dust bunnies form under the beds.”

“Enough,” I muttered, feeling my neck get hot under my collar.

“You really lucked out, Maxim. Hotel Derek is nicer, cleaner, and has better food than any place in L.A,” Lanie said.

“All true. But it wasn’t luck,” Ellen insisted, her expression smug.

“I believe it was more than luck, too.” Maxim met my eyes, and I saw it—the wanting. I saw it. Something in me splintered. “I believe some things are meant to be.”

Fuck.

I kept drinking. With every swallow, I tried to numb the feelings that not only refused to stay buried but insisted on growing as the night wore on. It was as if seeing the desire in his eyes had unlocked the prison where I’d kept mine. I stole furtive looks at him, noticing small details I’d missed before—the length of his fingers, the fullness of his mouth, the veins on the backs of his hands. They reminded me of the veins I’d seen on his abdomen last night, the ones that snaked beneath the waistband of his pants.

I wanted to trace them with my tongue.

Somehow I got through coffee—mine was spiked—and dessert, although I didn’t touch the chocolate cake Carolyn had brought. I had no appetite for anything but him.

Gage and Lanie left first, saying they had to get their sitter home by eleven. I hugged Lanie and shook Gage’s hand, promising to see him later this week for a beer. Ellen helped Maxim bring all the dishes into the kitchen before she left, hugging all three of us and telling Maxim she’d call tomorrow about working at the bar.

“That would be amazing,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you need. Can I walk you to your car?”

“Sure. Bye, you guys!” She blew me a kiss and swept out of the room with Maxim on her heels.

I finished loading the dishwasher while Carolyn blew out all the candles and collected the linens. “Can I help you do the rest by hand?” she asked, pushing up her sleeves.

“No. You’ve done enough. I’m too tired to do them tonight, anyway. I’ll do them tomorrow.” It was a lie, I’d never go to sleep with the sink full of dirty dishes, but I couldn’t take any more pretending tonight. I was half drunk, totally frustrated, seriously angry, and I wanted to be alone so I could hate myself in peace. (And probably jerk off while I did it.)

“Are you sure?” She bit her lip, clearly disappointed. “I really don’t mind staying.” Slipping her hands around my waist, she rose up on tiptoe to whisper in my ear. “I don’t have to be home by eleven. Or anytime tonight at all.”

I laughed uncomfortably and disengaged her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m just really tired.”

“Oh.” Her face fell, and I felt horrible.

You’re such a fuck-up. This is the second night in a row you have to make excuses for yourself. She’s not going to wait around forever, asshole. She deserves better.

“Can I walk you to your car?” I asked.

She nodded. “Okay. Let me grab my purse.”

Maxim came in the front door as we were going out. “I’m walking Carolyn to her car,” I said, avoiding eye contact with him.

He nodded and held out his hand. “It was so nice to meet you, Carolyn.”

“Same.” She shook his hand and smiled brightly. “I hope to see you again.”

“You can go up to bed, Maxim. I’ll clean up tomorrow.” Without giving him a chance to argue, I guided Carolyn out the front door and yanked it shut behind us. Guilt had me taking her hand as I led her down the porch steps and front walk.

“I had a great time tonight,” she said. “I loved meeting your sister and your friends.”

“I’m glad.”

“And Maxim is so interesting. It’s so nice what you’re doing for him.”

“It’s nothing.”

When we reached her Audi, she let go of my hand and took out her keys. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stuck my hands in my pockets.

“Derek,” she said, and I could hear the puzzle in her voice, “is everything going okay for you? With us, I mean?”

“Of course it is.” I lied, but I lied for her sake. Okay, for both our sakes. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings with words that wouldn’t make sense to her, and I didn’t want to give up on myself yet. I could still beat whatever this was inside me. I knew I could. But not tonight. “I’m just tired.”

“Okay.” She didn’t sound sure of it. “I just want to make sure. Sometimes tonight it seemed like it was, but other times, it felt off. And I’m not rushing you or anything. I just don’t want to waste your time—or mine. If this isn’t going anywhere, I want to know.”

“I understand,” I said quietly. Closing my eyes, I exhaled and offered her something closer to the truth. “I’m going through something right now, and I feel a little off. I get like this sometimes. Where I don’t feel like myself.”

“Is it…depression?” she asked tentatively.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s more like…anxiety or something. I get anxious about things and have to work them out before I can move on.”

“Oh.” She smiled hopefully. “Can I help you in any way?”

“You’re sweet, but no. It’s something I have to do on my own.”

“What do you do?” she asked, then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay. There’s no magic bullet or anything. I just try to step back and give it time. Make sure my priorities are straight. Re-evaluate my goals in life. Remind myself what’s important.”

“I think everybody should step back and do that sometime. Myself included.”

“I can give you some space if you need it.”

“No. That’s okay. I’ve thought about you a lot, Derek. And I’ve thought about what I want in a relationship a lot. I really like you, but I’m looking for a commitment. Not a ring or anything, but a commitment. Because that’s what would make me happy, and I deserve to be happy.” She smiled. “It took me three years of therapy to say that. How’d I do?”

I smiled, although I felt horrible inside. “Great. And it’s true. You deserve to be happy.”

She grinned. “Thank you. It made me happy when you held my hand tonight at the table.”

“Good.” Jesus fuck, I was a dick. “Night.”

“Night.” She got into her car, and I watched her drive away before turning around and trudging up the sidewalk toward home. I felt like shit. I felt like a failure. I felt like everything I had planned for my life was slipping through my grasp, and it was my own fucking fault. I couldn’t even blame Maxim. I was struggling with myself long before I’d ever laid eyes on him. Being around him just made it worse.

You’d better be upstairs already, Maxim. You’d better be out of sight, asleep, behind a closed door. I can’t fight myself anymore tonight.

I let myself into the house and locked the door behind me. Right away I heard the clank of dishes and the kitchen sink running. Fuck, he’s still down here. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and tried to put the mask back on before walking back to the kitchen.

As soon as I saw him, it started to slip.

He was at the sink, washing the remaining dishes. I went straight for the whiskey bottle and threw back a shot. “Didn’t I tell you to go to bed?”

“You did, but I knew you weren’t really going to go to bed without cleaning up.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you know that?” I tossed back a couple more fingers, taking solace in the fiery warmth pouring down my throat, spreading through my chest.

“Because I know you.”

“After only one day?”

“In your case, some things were obvious right from the start.”

“You’re just like the rest of them,” I grumbled. “Did you hear how they make fun of me?”

“Yes, but I don’t understand why. When you have a house as beautiful as this one, why wouldn’t you take care of it?”

“Thank you!” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air. I nearly knocked the whiskey bottle over too. “Finally, somebody fucking gets it.”

Figuring I’d had enough booze to blunt his effect on me, I rolled up the sleeves of my black button-down shirt and moved next to him. “I’ll help you.”

“Okay.”

I caught him trying to not to look at my wrists and forearms, and it made me smile. How does it feel to want someone and have to hide it? “You wash, I’ll dry?”

“Sounds good.”

We worked in silence, shoulder to shoulder, and I found myself increasingly—and disturbingly—pleased at the thought of him being attracted to me and being forced to conceal it. It was fucking horrible of me to take pleasure in his discomfort, but I liked being secretly wanted. Being illicitly desired. Being the object of his covert glances and maybe even his darkest, dirtiest thoughts. I let our arms touch more than necessary, as thrilled by the physical contact as I was by the thought of what it might be doing to him.

For there is no man who does not sin.

My dick started to get hard, clearly unbothered by the whiskey that was breaking down my inhibitions, pushing past all my defenses, and letting my imagination run wild.

What’s in that gorgeous head of yours, Maxim? What’s behind those cobalt eyes? What would you do to me, if I let you? What would you let me do to you?

“Carolyn is so nice,” he said, handing me the last serving dish left to be dried.

What? He was thinking about Carolyn right now? He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Carolyn—I was, goddammit!

But I wasn’t. “Yeah.”

He turned off the water. Rested his wet hands on the edge of the sink. “I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend.”

And I heard it in his voice—the slightest edge of jealousy, so faint I might never have noticed it had I not been so hyperaware of everything about him right now. I fucking loved it.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Now there was confusion. “I guess I misunderstood.”

“She wants to be my girlfriend.”

Silence.

Of course there was silence. Maxim would never ask what the problem was. But I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know. I wanted to share the impossible longing I felt with one person who might understand it.

“The problem is me.”

He was completely still. Before I could stop myself, I covered his right hand with my left. “Sometimes I don’t know what I want.”

He yanked his hand from beneath mine and we faced each other.

For the first time tonight, I looked him right in the eye. Nothing around us existed for me anymore. I heard only his breath. Smelled only his skin. Saw only his guarded expression.

I had to have him.

Now or never.

I grabbed him by the arms and crushed my mouth to his.

Oh my fucking God.

For the first time in my life I was touching another man’s lips with my own. They were so different than a woman’s—bigger, firmer, fuller. I devoured them with the ferocious hunger of a starving lion.

He opened his mouth, sliding his tongue between my lips. His hands gripped my hips, pulling my lower body against his. Fuck. I felt the bulge in my jeans grow bigger and harder, and I felt his on the other side. As we kissed, he backed me up to the counter and moved against me, his cock rubbing up and down alongside mine. I was out of my mind at the thought of it, the feel of it.

This can’t be happening.

Everything about this—his mouth, his hands, his body, this kiss, this friction, this madness I felt, this caged thing inside me desperate to get out—was unreal.

Maxim slid a hand between us, gripping me through my jeans. Even through denim I felt the heat of his palm. “Can I?” he asked, his breath warm against my mouth.

“Yes.”

His lips still on mine, he unfastened my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. A moment later I felt his hand—another man’s hand—wrapping around my cock. It was warm and solid and strong, and I groaned in agonizing pleasure as he worked it up and down my shaft. He moved his mouth across my jaw and down my neck. “You smell so fucking good,” he said, and his voice—low and intense—made my dick throb in his fist.

Next thing I knew, he’d dropped to his knees and a warm, wet mouth was closing over the tip of my cock. In some kind of spiraling motion that nearly drove me insane, he slowly took it deeper and deeper into his mouth until it was buried. Then he moved faster, rubbing his tongue over my crown, sucking me hard and deep, taking me to the back of his throat.

Holy fuck, he knows what he’s doing.

And when I looked down and saw him on his knees for me, saw his lips moving up and down my cock, felt his deep, driving hunger in the way he sucked and squeezed and stroked me, I was lost.

Lost to him, lost to myself, lost to this aching, pulsing need inside me to let go. To stop pretending I didn’t want this. To surrender to it because I wanted it and it felt so fucking good.

But I didn’t even try to make it last.

I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand and fucked his gorgeous mouth like the selfish, savage animal I was, my lower body contracting rhythmically as I poured myself inside of him.

I felt like a god. I felt like a monster.

I felt like nothing in my life would ever be the same.