Getting Khalid under him was consuming his waking thoughts.

He stirred in bed, his arousal rested on his thigh, leaking with pre-cum as his fantasies played in his mind. Kept awake by his yearning for the leader of the underground rebellion, Mikhail took matters into his own hands. Literally.

Lowering his billowy pants, he grasped his shaft and stroked, picturing Khalid’s more delicate hand in place of his own.

Mikhail hadn’t gotten a good look, but he imagined Khalid would be soft to touch everywhere.

He jerked his shaft, his grip reaching from base to glistening cockhead. Pre-cum oozed out in pearl-sized drops from his slit. When the pressure wasn’t enough, he reached down and squeezed his heavy balls with his free hand.

Ripping off the blanket and stretching himself out on the bed, he pumped openly now, unencumbered by the weight of the downy duvet.

His window was unlatched, the panels slightly ajar to let the night breeze in. Now that the breeze lapped over his hot, sweaty body as he groaned out his release. Hips rising off the mattress to catch up to his creamy cum shots, Mikhail collapsed from the intensity of the orgasm.

Considering he didn’t resort to his own means usually, and being that he was a strange Alpha who didn’t seem to possess a normal sex drive, Mikhail couldn’t chalk this up to a weird one-off.

He woke with a morning woody only a few hours later, and the surprise stiffy demanded his attention first thing.

With Khalid in his mind, Mikhail came again just as fiercely. He had to bite down the loud groan working its way up his throat as the orgasm stretched to wring him dry of energy. It took great effort but he managed to peel himself out of bed. Though dawn’s rosy rays had only begun to brighten his room, Mikhail was running late to prep his fruit stall for opening.

While washing up, he recalled how abruptly Khalid had left him last evening.

As soon as they’d departed from the underground room and Khalid got him on a familiar path, the svelte leader of the rebels disappeared in the market crowd. He left Malik with more questions than answers.

At the top of those questions was the intrigue shadowing Khalid. After all, how had he managed to lead such a rebellion when he claimed to be a mere clerk?

Perhaps he has influential business contacts…

Or maybe this Khalid isn’t a clerk at all, Mikhail thought, pursing his lips.

He scrubbed his skin raw, rinsing the soap off and stepping out of the cooling bathwater to towel himself down. Today he picked a sable-colored traditional robe. It had something to do with the weight of knowledge he now possessed. Blending in suddenly seemed like an irrational must.

Mikhail blamed Jibril, Asha, and Suleiman, the trio of rebels who had jumped down his throat with their paranoia. It had to be contagious. He caught himself looking over his shoulder a few times on the way out of the inn and through the streets toward the market center and his stall.

As he was so absorbed with his surroundings, he noticed traffic was congested nearer his stall.

Breaking through the crowd, Mikhail discovered it was his stall causing the early-rising market-goers to pause. The platform holding his fruit had been flipped over, the tarp discarded and the fruit scattered.

Helping Ali pick up the coconut-sized, green-red fruit from the floor was Khalid. He wore a snow-white robe today, complete with a traditional red, checkered head dress. Mikhail stalked to them, anger and confusion warring through him.

When he stooped down beside Khalid, reaching for the same fruit, he paused to look into the rebel leader’s wide gaze. “What happened?” he asked, speaking low enough for Ali to hear nearby.

“Officers, sir,” Ali answered softly. “They were roughing up one of the customers. ‘A pickpocket,’ they were yelling. They crashed into the stall…” Ali broke off with a shudder. The boy had been a thief himself. It was how Mikhail had met him, when he found Ali trying to make off with one of the round, sweetly sour fruit from his stall.

Instead of passing him off to the police, Mikhail had taken him in and shown him the importance of working hard and earning a living wage.

“It was awful,” Ali whispered.

“The man was crying,” Khalid filled in, face somber. “It was pretty horrific.”

Mikhail moved his hand off Khalid’s atop the fruit. He picked the ones further from Khalid’s reach. Tempting as it was, he didn’t need a reason for his cock to beg for release again so soon.

When they cleared the fruit, the crowds moved on, and Mikhail felt it relatively safe to leave Ali up front with the sales. Still shaken, Ali agreed, waving Khalid off to join Mikhail in the back.

“I’m relieved it wasn’t something else, despite the unfortunate scene you and the boy had to witness.” Mikhail dropped into the stool.

Khalid took the only plastic chair. Ali usually lounged in it on his breaks, but Mikhail liked the new company. Especially now that it felt more intimate with the two of them in the shade, out of the prying eyes of an audience like the one they’d just endured.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Khalid said, punctuating the statement with a long yawn. He wiped his eyes, and mumbled, “I kept thinking about you.”

Mikhail sat up straighter. It was impressive, considering he was actually more at level with Khalid on the stool.

Khalid groaned. “Ignore that. It came out all wrong.” He glanced at Mikhail and then laughed. “You look like you’re going to tease me.”

“On the contrary,” Mikhail drawled, “I was about to say something along those same lines.”

Khalid looked down at the hands in his lap. Shyness wafted off him, and Mikhail thought he might have to let the direction of their conversation drop when his flustered clerk asked, “About the lack of sleep or about thinking of me?”

“Both,” Mikhail breathed.

Forcing his eyes up, Khalid shifted in his seat. “Was it unpleasant? The dream, I mean.”

Mikhail shook his head. “Was yours unpleasant?” he wondered. His heart rate kicked up, the muscle knocking his ribcage.

Khalid shyly smiled.

The silence falling over them was expected.

What now?

Mikhail itched to hold Khalid, but the worry of rejection niggled in him. Thankfully Khalid made his move first. He reached out and grasped Mikhail’s hand.

“What do you want from me?”

Khalid’s smile widened at the question. “Your help might be nice.”

“Help?” Mikhail croaked. “With what?”

“Why do I get the sense we’re not talking business anymore?” Khalid was teasing him now. That mischievous glint in his eyes spoke volumes.

This forward side to the man who he had known for less than twenty-four hours–the man who had wriggled his way under his skin in less time than that–was turning Mikhail on like never before.

Mikhail groaned softly, swallowing his nerves down. Charged excitement churned his blood. He felt ready to leap out of his body, straight for Khalid, pinning the slimmer, shorter man under him.

“And if we’re not?” Mikhail challenged.

Khalid squeezed his hand, licking his lips. “Then I’d suggest you come over for dinner, and we could discuss it more…privately.”