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“YOU WERE THE ONE WHO BURNED MY BED?!”

I nod. He runs a hand over his face. Down his mouth and back up into his hair. It was the whole room, in the end. His father had it fully redone, new floorboards, new everything, and he went through three weeks of sleeping in the guest wing.

And I know all of this.

“I knew someone burned it,” he says, muffled, into his own palm. “I knew it. I knew it wasn’t an accident! I don’t even keep candles in my room!”

“Correct instinct. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He seems about to say something else, but then the phone rings.

I see the name on the screen before he does. Dimitri. I take the phone out of his hand before he can reach it.

“Don’t reply.”

He lunges for it. “Give it back. I have unfinished business with him.”

I hold it above my head, out of reach, and tilt my head at him. “You have unfinished business with me first.”

He blinks, wrong-footed. “What?”

I set the phone down on the table behind me, and then I walk him back. Two steps. Three. Until his shoulders meet the wall and there is nowhere else to go but further into me.

I catch his tie between two fingers and start playing with it. Loosening it, tightening it, dragging the knot a centimeter lower so I can see the hollow of his throat.

“My dick has been hard since I saw you in this, princeling.” I let my eyes drop over him. “You should fix what you caused.”

I watch his eyes drop. They find the shape of me through the black of my trousers, obvious, unignorable, and I watch his brain do the math.

“By that logic, I should fix half the women at this party. I bet they’re all wet for me.”

My gaze drops, and the smile leaves my mouth.

My hand goes to his throat, thumb against his pulse so he can feel exactly how much I dislike that sentence. “You really like making me mad.”

He licks his lips.

I watch the pink of his tongue drag across them, and I feel it in my teeth. He will never admit it, but there is that little glint behind the green, bright and wicked, the second my patience snaps. I’m starting to think my little prince provokes me on purpose.

I run my hand down to his zipper. I peel him open, then I wrap my fingers around him, pulling him out into the air between us. He’s already hard, leaking against my knuckles the second I touch him. “Take my cock out.”

I say it into his ear. My mouth brushes the shell of it, and I feel him shiver all the way down.

He looks at me like he’s standing on the edge of something and can’t decide if he wants to jump or shove me off it. Yes and no fighting in the same pretty face. His hand hovers, and his breath is a mess against my jaw.

I drop my voice. “Do as you’re told, Ilya.”

I see him yield at my command as his fingers fumble at my trousers, impatient, a little clumsy with how badly he wants it and how much he hates that he wants it. He gets me out, then he looks down and goes still.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He’s obviously scandalized by my size, and there’s actual disbelief in his face, like my dick’s existence violated some law of nature.

I chuckle. I can’t help it. It comes out dark and a little mean. He isn’t small. Eight inches at least, thick enough too, but I still win with my ten inches.

“Don’t look so offended, princeling.” I tip my forehead to his and keep my hand on his throat. “You can still take it. You’ll just have to work for it.”

“I am not going to—” His own cock jumps in my fist when I squeeze, just to watch his mouth fall open and stop the sentence.

I bring us together, and the sound he makes when the heat of him slides against the heat of me is indecent. Skin to skin, his smaller length lined up along mine so he can feel exactly how much of me there is left over. I bring my fist around both of us and stroke from root to tip.