If The Seas Catch Fire(25)

The Italian unbuttoned his jacket and lowered himself into the crimson armchair. Most guys flopped down on the cushion and waited like a drooling dog for the show to get started. Not this guy. Arrogant Mafioso, royalty in name only, he sat like an overlord taking his throne instead of a sleazy * panting for dick in a chair where a thousand men before him had blown their loads.

The music came on.

Sergei assumed his usual provocative stance, standing close enough to f*ck with his mind and pulse while he ran his hands up and down his own sides. Here’s the goods. You like what you see?

“So.” Sergei gazed down at him. “You want more information, I assume.”

“Not this time.” Domenico met his eyes, and he grinned, knowingly and dangerously. “This time I want a dance.”

That was… unexpected. This was the moment when his contacts usually started speaking in code, and “a dance” wasn’t part of that code.

Sergei ran the tip of his tongue across his lip. “Just a dance?”

“Yes.” The long, lingering down-up Domenico gave him, his breath hitching here and there, raised goose bumps on Sergei’s mostly exposed flesh. When their eyes met again, Domenico spoke just loud enough for Sergei to hear him over the music, “I suspect with you involved, there’s no such thing as just a dance.”

Apparently he wasn’t here in any official capacity. And maybe he’d given up on his pursuit of more details about the night they’d met. Sergei would certainly keep his guard up, but if Domenico wanted a dance…

Sergei stripped down to his G-string, watching Domenico’s eyes widen. He swore he could feel the man’s pulse rising, especially when Sergei stepped closer and slid a knee between his thighs. Domenico parted them farther, and his fingers curled over the edges of the armrests. Maybe the arrogant overlord…wasn’t. Eyes wide and spine stiff, knuckles turning white, he suddenly seemed in over his head.

“You ever had a dance like this?”

He gulped, and a flicker of something—nerves?—broke the rest of the calm and cool fa?ade. Slowly, he shook his head.

“Rules are simple.” Sergei climbed onto his lap, sliding his hands over broad shoulders. “I dance. You don’t move. Don’t touch me. Got it?”

His eyes were fixed on Sergei’s abs, and as he nodded, he whispered, “Yeah.” He looked Sergei up and down. “My God…”

“Why did you come back?”

“I had to.” Domenico’s voice was just loud enough to be heard. “I can’t…” His gaze drifted up and down Sergei’s torso. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

Sergei swallowed. Gay wise guys weren’t unheard of, but they didn’t last long.

“What’s your name?” Domenico asked again.

Sergei shook his head. “It’s not important.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Do I ever get to know what it is?”

“Why do you need to know my name?” Sergei turned around and leaned back against him, pressing his ass against an incredibly hard cock and his shoulders against Domenico’s broad chest. “My name isn’t relevant. You don’t know what it is, but I’m still turning you on, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Yes, you are.” The man’s breath tickled the side of Sergei’s neck.

Sergei lifted himself up and faced Domenico again, settling onto his lap as he added, “That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

“I don’t need to know anything. I want to know.” He slowly ran his tongue across his lips. “Just like I want to know what it feels like to…” He trailed off, gazing drifting over Sergei’s body, and if Sergei had been able to breathe—what the f*ck is going on?—he’d have asked him to finish his sentence.

Dance. You’re here to dance.

Sergei ground against him, and the firm ridge of Domenico’s cock beneath his balls made his pulse soar. And not only that, it made him hard. Sergei often got into it when he was dancing, and sometimes if a guy was particularly hot, he even got a little turned on.

But not like this.

Domenico’s eyes flicked downward, and he gulped. “That… that G-string isn’t quite big enough for you.”

Sergei glanced down. “Isn’t when I’m like this.” And he was rarely like this when he danced. Fuck.

“Maybe you should take it off.”

“Can’t take everything off,” he murmured. “The… the law.”

Domenico’s eyes flicked up and met his, burning with lust. “You think I’m gonna report you?”

Sergei glanced back at the curtain. Then he stood and shimmied out of the G-string.

There was something deliciously dangerous and irresistibly sexy about this. Though a G-string hardly counted as clothing, losing it left him feeling like he’d just thrown off ten protective layers. Like he’d gone from fully-dressed to naked in just a few beats, and now he was against Domenico, cock and balls rubbing against the soft silk of his shirt and tie.

“You’re breaking the rules,” Domenico breathed, and Sergei swore he could hear his heartbeat in his voice. “Does that mean I can too?”

For five thousand dollars and that look in your eye? You can do any damned thing you want.