It’s not like I fall head over heels for everyone I meet like Noah does, but…
I fantasize.
Too much.
And every tender fantasy is fucking laughable when it comes to Sevan.
My phone buzzes again and I shift in my uncomfortable wooden desk chair, blinking back into reality as Dr. Sellwood still lectures about something at the front of class.
And this time it’s a text from Sev, poking at me again.
Sev: I’ll take that as a yes. You have to still be sore with the way you took all of me.
I’m trying to pay attention. The exam is next week.
I’ll tutor you privately if you’re worried about the material. Right now I want you to tell me if you’re still sore.
My ass is fine.
And what about your throat?
My cock betrays me, thickening under my desk.
I tap out a few attempts at replying to Sev, but then I delete each one before sending:
…You wish…
…Quit texting me…
…You’d have to choke me harder to make my throat sore…
“Mr. Knox, I assume there’s something very pertinent to the French constitution that you’re exploring on your phone screen right now?”
Dr. Sellwood’s voice cuts through the classroom and suddenly dozens of heads turn, all focused on me.
“Sorry about that, Professor,” I say softly, locking my phone and sliding it away.
“Weston,”Roman tells me later that night at the Kettle dining hall, waving me over to his table. “Come. Sit.”
Roman’s at the long table in the Kettle like he’s a king about to hold court. He invited a few of us Onyx guys to dinner, and I’m sure he wants to discuss the upcoming networking dinner.
I slide into the booth next to him as he finishes tapping out a text to someone. Roman’s covered in tattoos but they’re nothing like Sev’s. They’re all done in black ink, and most are just intricate patterns, spanning his arms and across his upper chest. He’s a private person, and keeps to himself most of the time, but I trust him more than almost anybody.
When Hunter and I were threatened last fall, Roman always stepped up. Always offered protection from his cousins and family ties to the mob.
But when I see him like this, positioned at the head of a long table and probably making some deal with someone over text, it strikes me that there’s so much I don’t know about Roman Petrov.
“Boys,” he says once more people are seated around the table with their trays of food, “this alumni dinner is going to be our best. Usually, we walk away with more connections than eachprevious year, and more and more offers. This year is going to be different, but even better for the longevity of Onyx Society.”
“Damn right,” Noah chimes in. “Roman cooked up something good for us.”
“What’s that mean?” Niko asks.
Roman just nods. “It means I took care of some things.”
“Roman has his ways,” Noah explains.
“You make it sound like he’s doing voodoo magic on them,” Niko says with a sly grin.