TAKING OVER TROFIM (Dominion of Brothers series Book 4) (10 page)

It was long moments before the aftershocks subsided and still Shay didn’t pull out, but rather dropped over, content to stay, scissored as they were. Their bodies glued together by their sweat and shared spunk.

Trofim finally rolled his head over to one side, wearing an expression of utter bliss and stared at Shay from under heavy lids. Shay could barely manage a smile for him, he was so relaxed.

Trofim let the chuckle break free with some effort to even get it out from his lazy body. “Are you just going to just lay there or you going to move soon?”

“I’m not moving. And you better not either.” Shay announced proudly.

“You’re serious?” Trofim’s damp face glowed.

“Yes.”

Shay hardly moved, but the smile on his lips though slight was a permanent fixture and would likely never come off his face for at least a hundred years. It was beautiful, Trofim thought. It was too bad he didn’t have the strength to wriggle over there so he could kiss and nibble on that smile. But he loved it all the same.

“I told you once I was inside you, I wasn’t coming out.”

“But, we’re done.”

“Only for the moment.” Shy took in a deep breath and sighed. “After some rest to recover I’m going to start all over again.”

“You are certifiable. Do you know that?”

“No. I’m just feeling a little selfish, is all. You kept yourself away for far too long. Without you, something inside me erodes.” Shay reached over, stroking Trofim’s chest, his gaze grew distant, but a feathery touch on his cheek called him back. Shay blinked the ghosts away and saw the man he loved more than anything, laying with him once again. And he sighed with new found relief expressed on his features.

“I’m here now.” Trofim assured him.

“But, you’re leaving me again.” The words nearly echoed the very same heartache Trofim had felt in Pyotr’s office, when his brother made him search deep inside himself. He never wanted Shay to feel what he had felt.

Trofim reached for Shay’s hand, locking their thumbs, wrapped his fingers around Shay’s hand, “I’ll be back.”

“When?” The word sounded painful and desperate.

“In a week.” Trofim whispered afraid the time was too long and he saw the shadows cast over Shay’s eyes again, and it pained him. “Did I do that to you?” Trofim traded hands so he could reach for his lover’s face. His fingertips gliding over the silken hairs of Shay’s golden brown eyebrows, hoping to wipe away the frown in them.

“No. From my father. Because, he tried so hard to keep me from having the one thing in this world that makes me happiest.” Shay took Trofim’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it.

“What about your dreams of being a surgeon? Doesn’t that count for happiness?”

“How can I be a good heart surgeon if I’m not allowed to let mine love?”

“You would have found someone else eventually.”

“No, Trofim.” Shay’s face tightened at the suggestion, “I would not have. God gives us one deep love. And only sometimes if that love lives out its time or if one passes away, a second love might find you. But, I never stopped loving you and you didn’t stop either. You’re mine, dammit, and I’m not giving you up.” Shay rocked his hips forward, slapping against Trofim’s ass and his cock twitched to life, and began to swell while still within the walls of Trofim’s channel.

Shay shifted over to kiss him, “So don’t you ever give up on us again, either.”

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CHAPTER FOUR

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Trofim stared at himself in the mirror, waiting for the shower to warm up. There was trouble in his eyes.

When he’d gotten up, he’d discovered Shay had already cleaned up the kitchen and living room while he slept before crashing himself. So, Trofim grabbed a water from the fridge and went back to the bedroom to get a shower in before Shay woke up.

For some reason, Trofim half expected to come in the bathroom and find all his things rearranged. Five years of living and traveling with a variety of models had conditioned him that lesson. As much as he enjoyed being a part of the industry, it was hardly the glamour life everyone else thought it to be. Sure there were parties, and celebrities and fans, cameras, and often finding something to wear wasn’t that hard. If it was a gala, it was as simple as calling up a designer and agreeing to represent them in exchange for a loaner. The con however was he never knew what they might stuff him into and it wasn’t always a choice. Aside all that, there were the contracts; sometimes what from who’s designer line he wore to scheduled events was already locked in. Every now and then he got to keep something, but often he was glad to get rid of it. The biggest con was once he peeled away the lights, the traveling to exotic places and meeting great people, he was still stuffed into a hotel room with three to four other guys, sharing a dressing room at the studio with a designer who was scowling because he had unruly curls; guy number two had a hickey on his neck; guy three had dark circles under his eyes from staying out partying all night; the new guy got lost on the way to the screening, and the photographer was in an ill mood because there were clouds in
his
sunny blue sky.

They competed for elbow room, the last remaining safety pin, and mirror frontage. Just a moment of peace and quiet would be nice before they start their fourteen hour photo shoot day chained to three other divas while wearing feather boas that itched like crazy was asking too much in this industry. And you don’t dare scratch because that would leave red lines on their skin and ruin the shots.

That was what Trofim’s last five years had been like. However, his bathroom was as before, because unlike the models Trofim worked with, that wasn’t Shay. Shay took over in the bedroom, not Trofim’s life. All the man had ever asked for was to be included in it.

Trofim was so accustomed and comfortable with how Shay fit, that over the last five years he’d found it difficult to date anyone else. He had pushed himself to try, convinced it was the only way to forget about the man he still loved. But each attempt was a disaster it seemed. It didn’t matter how charming, suave or good looking they were, every man Trofim attempted to be involved with felt like a hostile invasion of his senses. They wanted to take over, appointing themselves as his manager or body guard. A stay over was as intrusive as having moved in without invitation. They rearranged things, too openly shared their opinion about the clothes Trofim wore in his last premier he was hired to appear at. They bragged about this and that as if it were necessary they impress him with the latest
whos
and
whats.
Names and faces, many of which Trofim had already met and worked with. To him, the named were just more people or the next job. There were few people in this world he thought were special and every one of them was back here in New York where he should have been all along. Dating was often like having his own walking, talking, gossip columnist. Or being slave to a fumbling Master without any of the masochistic bonuses that normally went with being owned. That’s what others had always done; try to change everything, but gave nothing in return.

The only thing Shay had done to Trofim’s bathroom was add a towel to the rack on the wall and placed his shaving kit on the counter. In his shower, a bottle of body wash sat in waiting, a new scent, from one of the lines of colognes Trofim was often modeling for. That’s what Shay was, an addition to life. Though in just these past few days Trofim was discovering the evidence that during his own absence, Shay had tried to inscribe Trofim into his life by any means he could, rewriting it in his own mind to say Trofim was still there. Like the collection of magazine pages he claimed to have, or the colognes Shay bought. Or the fragrance line shower gel. He guessed Shay had purchased it just to simulate some kind of connection with him while he’d been gone. Probably telling himself the product was very likely touched by Trofim’s hand when he held it up in front of the camera just before the shutter was snapped off.

Somehow that both touched and disturbed him, so purposefully, he grabbed the towel reserved for Shay and wrapped it around his hips after finishing his shower to create another secondary connection. It was a small thing he could do to combat the trouble that still haunted his thoughts with words from last week still echoing in his head from their fight—

~~Because he seized everything when you left, Trofim! — My money, my inheritance from my mother. Hell, even my passport! Everything, so I couldn’t go after you. He got some judge to declare me incompetent and he took everything!~~

It explained a lot, yet left so many, even more, disturbing questions in its wake.

Trofim reached out and wiped the fog from the mirror to meet his reflection. There was still trouble there.

It wasn’t a matter of falling for Shay all over again, he’d never stopped. He had never been over their relationship. But being back also meant being in fear of Shay’s father. Pyotr had said they will all deal with it when the trouble arose, but that didn’t mean it would be easy.

He finished his morning ritual and found Shay was still dead to the world with no signs of rising anytime soon. He crawled onto the bed next to him just wanting to feel the warmth of his lover’s body against him. The sheets and down comforter tangled around Shay’s waist and legs, leaving his heavily scarred back exposed. Trofim ran his fingers lightly over the straight lines that were several pale shades lighter from the rest of his skin. The golden skin that once covered his arms was absent. A sign Shay was most likely no longer on the rowing team.

Carefully, Trofim traced more lines, trying to determine if any of them were new. While the bed covers hid most from his sight at the moment, he knew they ran from mid-back down across Shay’s buttocks, with several more on the backs of his thighs.

Trofim had had studied them so many times, touched, and kissed them. But, right now, some morbid idea had Trofim wishing he had also counted them and burned them to memory when they were together before. That way he’d know if anything had changed. All those years back, it had taken a lot of persuasion to get Shay to explain them. It wasn’t until his mother passed away near the end of his second year in college that Shay confessed.

Shay’d told him how he was six or seven the first time, all because he lost a fistfight with another kid in the neighborhood for being
too huggy
. At least that’s what Shay thought it was about. The next time he was twelve. Shay’s father caught him jacking off to a men’s fitness magazine. His father had dragged him out to the stables, had him strung up in one of the stalls, and whipped with a riding crop until his skin bled. When Shay was fifteen, he got caught screwing his best friend in his bedroom while skipping school. Wilks used the training whip that time. A beating that apparently didn’t stop until Shay’s mother used her own body to protect and shield Shay from further punishment. These stories were only the more memorable ones, the ones that had left scars as a reminder so they were never forgotten. Throughout Shay’s life, his father had carved his hatred into Shay’s skin whenever he could.

Trofim knew there had to have been more. Getting Shay to talk about it was the hard part. When Shay’s mother passed away they talked about her often and how she tried to protect him from his father’s wrath. Shay had sworn his father had never once laid a hand on his mother up until the one time he tried to run away. All that changed. He’d been sixteen and his father’s intensions to control his life at every step had gotten increasingly over bearing. So Shay ran away from home. Ben Wilks gave Shay’s mother a black eye and sent a picture of her to one of Shay’s closest friends, knowing it would reach him.

It’d been a clear threat, warning Shay his father would do worse if he didn’t return home. Guilt stricken that his actions caused harm to his mother, Shay reluctantly abided his father’s warning. Only this time when his father whipped him, there was no shielding him from the abuse.

When Shay’s mother died of lymphoma a few years later, she left Shay a sizable inheritance, one his father couldn’t touch. It was supposed to be Shay’s ticket to escape the brutality. Until now, it’d bought him some freedom.

Trofim glanced up at the clock, it was nearly seven now. If he didn’t get a move-on the rowing team would launch without him, and he’d be stuck doing his training in a solo shell. An endurance he wasn’t ready for. But no way was Pyotr going to let him slide without a row. Not with him heading out of town and missing four days of training next week.

He planted a kiss to his unconscious lover, grabbed a jacket, and headed out for the boathouse.

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Despite his best efforts, Trofim wasn’t able to gear up in time to claim his seat in the eight man shell. The rules were: be on time and don’t hold the team up. So if you were late, they hit the water without you.

Trofim bounced on the dock watching his breath fog in the cold morning air, watching his teammates skim away without him. “Shit— shit— shit.”

Darko was still stooped down on the edge of the dock where he’d given the team a shove off, presently glancing over his shoulder at him. Darko then darted his eyes toward the double-seater with a suggestive wink.

Trofim sucked in a grateful breath and grinned sheepishly then quickly went to fetch the double-seater. Darko was a power house rower but anything was better than going-it alone.

They pulled the 15 foot composite-made sculling boat from the rack and slipped it into the water then set the oars into their tracks.

“You’re pulling stroke.”

“What?” but the instant look from his brother said the call was not up for debate and Trofim let his shoulders droop in defeat, “Ah, man.”

“Hey now, if Pyotr found out I cut you any slack, he’d come at me. And sorry little brother, I love you, but I am not going to bear your babes.”