TAKING OVER TROFIM (Dominion of Brothers series Book 4) (2 page)
Read TAKING OVER TROFIM (Dominion of Brothers series Book 4) Online
Authors: Talon P.S.,Princess S.O.
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Warning
This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes, a MM relationship, some violence, and Adult Language, which may be considered offensive to some readers. It is intended for sales and the entertainment to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
However, in light of recent censorships that are but a mockup of book burning. In the most common and recently used definitions of what is deemed unacceptable offending content, it has become prudent to clarify the level of content warning here for this title. This book does NOT contain any described rape. It does NOT contain any incest, bestiality, under-aged play or sexual scenes with anyone under the legal age.
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For everyone else, this book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may NOT find objectionable. Certain side effects are bound to happen should you decide to continue reading. Symptoms may include, but not limited to: Heavy breathing, warm sensation in chest and lower regions of the body, and sudden urges to wrangle your partner towards the bedroom, {with intentions to gain a deep feeling of satedness only great sexy can bring—}. Should this happen, do not become alarmed. It is perfect natural and very beneficial end-results are likely to occur. Your partner will thank me later).
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Trademark Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Vehicles:
ConQuest Knight Armored Luxury Trucks
Cadillac Escalade
Cadillac Coupe Deville
Mercedes E Class
Alcohol Brands:
Hypothesis by Roots Run Deep winery in the Napa Valley area of California.
Colognes:
Euphoria Men Intense cologne by Calvin Cline
Set Sail Martinique by Tommy Bahamas
Set Sail St. Barts by Tommy Bahamas
Misc:
Pelican™ cases - Pelican Products, Inc.
Under Armour® Apparel
Rick Day – photographer
Bruno Gmunder – photographer
Books:
Three Men in a Boat: To Say Nothing of the Dog by Jerome Jerome – (quoted from Kindle Locations 37-40). Kindle Edition.
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TABLE OF CONTENT
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PROLOGUE
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“Shit, shit, shit.” Trofim cursed after banging his knuckles for the hundredth time as he pulled hard on his sticks to keep in pace with his crew mates.
It was their first practice outside of the indoor tank hall and Pyotr was drilling them to break their winter stymy shells.
You could drill and practice your ass off all winter long, but there was something lacking in the static positioning of the floating barge they rowed in and you didn’t realize it until you were back on the river
. But in early March it was fucking cold, and despite Trofim’s fingers being frozen to the bone, he felt the pain of raw skin every time his hands collided.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Trofim cursed again.
“What’s the matter little brother?” Zane, who sat stroke seat, asked over his shoulder.
“Its fucking cold and I keep catching on my cross over.” Trofim complained. Zane wasn’t his brother, but as a team they were, so no one paid any mind to calling each other brothers.
“Then maybe it’s time you put some meat on that body of yours.”
“I do that and I’ll lose my job.”
“Next time wear a polar-tech. That’ll keep you warm.” Andres, who sat behind Trofim, butted in on the conversation.
“Cox’swain! Give me a ten!” Pyotr called from the bow and they all knew it was time to stop the chatter while Calon gave the warning.
“Power-10 warming up in five!”
Trofim tried to dial in on his body. But the cold was an issue. It was barely in the forties when they all started to arrive at the boathouse late afterboon when the sun was already on its way down, dipping down behind the city’s skyline of towering skyscrapers.
But the ice in the river had melted enough so that Pyotr was adamant the team left the tank hall and got down to some real rowing.
Trofim’s entire body burned. Part agonizing burn from pulling beyond the point when his body wanted to say fuck it and quit. The other part was the icy wind that breached his sweats and his Under Armor, and cut through skin clear to the bone. It was enough to make a man question his sanity as to why he was out here. And to think, tomorrow their practice was scheduled for six in the morning to row.
“POWER 10!” The call blasted ahead of him, his thoughts instantly scattered and his arms and legs did what they’d been trained to do. Pull without thinking, overriding the bitching and whining, to pull harder and faster. The eight of them remained in sync, folding over in the forward slider seats, then eight sets of navy and gray oar blades dipped into the water, and they all heaved back, pushing with their legs to propel their low profile scull down river.
Seven strokes—
fold—dip— pull
—
Eight strokes—
faster
—
Nine—
harder
—
Ten—
“POWER DOWN!” And they all eased back on the drive. Calon drummed on the hull to set the restored pace where they would remain until the next bridge. After that they would drop down even more to start cooling down before making it back to the boathouse.
“How you guys feeling?” Pyotr called out sounding as if he expected them to cheer back with exuberant raves. What he got was an ear full of grumbling and fuck offs instead. He laughed which didn’t seem normal, “It’s your first day back out on the head, so I’ll let the lacking enthusiasm slip. Come tomorrow though, I better have a team response or I’ll have Hemi chant us back in.” The reprimand from the captain was given.
“Hey, Pyotr!” Zane called up.
“Yeah?”
“FUCK YOU!” He shouted, “And ten!”
And just to put Pyotr in his place they were all dipping back in for another set of power pulls with a chant of
fuck you
added to the mix.
It was a shame,
Trofim thought
, not being able to see the smile his brother was likely wearing. Being the slave driver Pyotr was, he was probably loving this.
They slipped under the last bridge and Calon gave the order for the cool down. They all just stopped pulling for a couple of breaths as the shadow of the bridge pulled away and the afternoon light caught them again.
A seagull cried out overhead and Trofim glanced up. But it wasn’t the seagull he saw. It was
him
.
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CHAPTER ONE
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Trofim finished his shower, and went to his locker with nothing more than the towel tied at his hips. He needed to get out of there. Instead, he found himself dropping down to the bench, overwhelmed with old feelings. That face up on the bridge, looking down, just as his team rowed underneath— he knew that face, remembered it all too well. It still hurt to see him after all this time. Why Shay would suddenly show his face at their first outdoor practice seemed more than coincidence. It would be just like Shay Wilks to come sneaking around, but Trofim’s heart couldn’t take it.
“Are you joining us for dinner?”
Trofim heard the gentle question reach him through everything else that bombarded his mind. He looked over, finding his brother’s concerned face. He never could hide anything from Pyotr, and it was no mystery that what he felt now had started back in the fall at the championship race.
Shay had been there too. Shay was pulling stroke seat on the New Rochelle Master’s Rowing Team. Trofim was only grateful he hadn’t seen him on the river during the race or he would have likely created a similar wreckage of oars for his teammates as Shay had for his.
So he was told
. No doubt Shay’s father, former Senator Benjamin Wilks had been there as well and saw what caused his son’s failure. The New Rochelle Team would have taken third place in the Masters if it hadn’t been for that calamity. A wrecking ball Trofim was grateful to have been oblivious of.
Except when Shay came running up to congratulate him after receiving the championship trophy, Trofim nearly crash-landed off the back edge of the platform trying to get away. Seeing Shay again brought on a storm of old emotions, both good and painful. The worst of them was knowing Shay's father would see them too, and Trofim couldn’t allow that.
“Trofim?” Pyotr’s fatherly tone broke through the clouds in his head again.
“Sorry.” Trofim averted his eyes. Pyotr had just gone through the death of his lover’s sister, Kimmi, and both Cliff and he were still nursing the pain and grief of the loss. The last thing Trofim wanted to do was dump his five year old broken-heart melodrama on the man. “Nah, I’m good. I think, I’m just gonna grab something and head to Club Pain. Fashon will be expecting me there.”