He got it now, though. You didn’t walk into this with your eyes open; it sneaked up on you smile by smile, got in through a crack in your defenses, then dug deeper with each unguarded touch, every trust given, until one day you woke up and realized you’d given your soul to the sleepy-eyed devil cradled in your arms. And when he was gone, you didn’t only miss the sex, the good times… you missed everything, including the annoying habits, like the way his things messed up your perfect order or that irritating tendency he had to leave wet footprints all over the place after a shower. You found yourself fondly remembering his damn redneck music, grits for breakfast, having to hold on tight to the covers in the night or lose them, and always having to fight for the last clean towel because someone hated to do the laundry and couldn’t get used to the idea that there was a household staff for this kind of shit.

Sometimes, Misha had wanted to throttle Riley and ritually burn the man’s stuff, starting with those goddamn boots… but now all he could think was that he wanted it back. He wanted Riley back, shit kickers and all.

Mighty Mikhail Tokarev had fallen so hard he barely recognized the person in the mirror anymore.

He finished up, shook himself, then scowled down at his dick. “This is your fault,” he muttered, and gave it a firm squeeze.

His dick—far from being repentant—perked up at the attention.

Misha hadn’t touched himself much since Riley had left, too busy and upset to do more than mechanically clean the pipes, but Riley was almost within reach again. The thought made Misha Junior fill out and lengthen in anticipation. Misha stroked himself slowly, helpless to stop his hips from jerking forward eagerly at the sensation. He bit his lip to keep from moaning, but it felt too good to stop. He’d fucked Riley in this room once, had stood behind him as Riley relieved himself after a shower, riding the crack of Riley’s ass while Riley pissed, one hand on his hip, the other pressing against his middle just below the shallow dip of his navel until Riley was done and had flushed with a satisfyingly impatient slap of his hand.

Riley had shifted a bit and grumbled about personal space, about there being a time and a place, but he hadn’t stopped Misha or tried to squirm free. He’d just gone with it and let Misha’s passion carry him away as well.