If The Seas Catch Fire(26)

“I don’t think you want to break the rules.” He wrapped his arms around Domenico’s neck, pressing his dick against the man’s chest and bringing his abs close enough to Domenico’s face to feel his breath. “You like looking without touching.” He slowly f*cked against him, his own head spinning as the smooth silk turned his nerve endings to pure electricity. “Don’t you?”

Domenico exhaled hard, the warm air whispering across Sergei’s abs and making him gasp. “I want… I want to touch you.”

“I know you do.” Sergei leaned forward enough to murmur in his ear, “But this turns you on. Doesn’t it?”

Domenico shivered beneath him. “Everything about you turns me on.”

Likewise. It shouldn’t, but… shit.

Sergei leaned down to let his lips almost touch Domenico’s neck, teasing him with their proximity, and as goose bumps sprang up on the Italian’s skin, they sprang up on his too. He was too turned on to think. More turned on than he should’ve been. And he didn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

Dizzy and breathless, he let his lips graze Domenico’s neck, and he was rewarded with a helpless moan that made his whole body tingle.

And before he could think twice, he whispered, “My name—” He shivered hard, thrusting against him like he was thrusting inside him. “Sergei.” His pulse sped up—none of his contacts had his real name, but Domenico did. Why? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just needed… this time… “My name is Sergei.”

“Sergei,” Domenico breathed, as if it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. “Are you close?” He looked up at Sergei, eyes wide and watering. “Please tell me you’re close.”

“I…” Oh God, he was. Sergei had never gotten off in one of these rooms, never come during a lap dance, but he was right there on the edge, on the brink of blowing his load all over this Italian’s expensive shirt, and he should’ve backed off, but he wasn’t interested in coming to his senses. He wanted nothing else in that moment, nothing more in the whole f*cking world, than to come.

Sergei sat up, holding onto Domenico’s shoulders, and thrust against him, and Domenico groaned and whispered, “Ooh, yeah…”

“Gonna…” Sergei gripped his shoulders tighter. “Oh shit…” His eyes rolled back, his balls tightened, and even over the deafening music, he heard himself whimper.

“God, yeah,” Domenico groaned. “That’s… shit, that’s hot. Come, Sergei.”

Everything went white. Sergei arched against him, thrusting against wet silk until a shudder almost knocked his arms out from under him. He slumped over Domenico, trembling from head to toe. This was the first time ever—since he’d discovered he could make a fortune by grinding against a man in a dark back room—that he’d come during a lap dance. That he’d even come inside this godforsaken building.

And he’d come all over Domenico’s shirt and tie. For a split second, he thought Domenico would get upset, but then the breathless Italian whispered, “That was the hottest f*cking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“G-good.” Sergei licked his lips as he struggled to hold himself up on shaking arms.

“Can I touch you?”

Sergei swallowed. It was strictly against club policy, but so was coming on a guy’s shirt during an illegally naked lap dance. Nothing about Domenico pegged his danger radar now—chances were, he had no idea who Sergei really was, and at least the men near the top in his world were usually civilized when it came to those not involved in the Mob.

“Yeah,” Sergei panted. “You can—”

Domenico cupped Sergei’s face and kissed him.

Every instinct Sergei had honed as both a killer and a stripper screamed at him to shove the man back and get the f*ck out of there, but…

But.

Domenico’s fingers twitched against the sides of Sergei’s face. His lips were softer and gentler than he’d thought they could be. If not for the coarse stubble abrading his chin, Sergei might’ve forgotten this uncertain tough guy was a Sicilian wise guy. That he was Domenico Maisano, for God’s sake.

He couldn’t help it—his curiosity got the best of him. He opened to Domenico’s kiss, and let himself be pulled in closer as Domenico gently explored his mouth. Against his better judgement, he slid a hand into Domenico’s hair, cradling the back of his head as lips and tongues sent Sergei’s pulse into overdrive. Domenico was tentative, and yet bold at the same time, his hands light on Sergei’s skin even as his mouth demanded more.

Eventually, Sergei lifted his head. Domenico stared up at him, and goddamn, he looked as surprised as Sergei felt. They were both out of breath, Sergei’s hips pressed against Domenico’s rock-hard dick, and even though Sergei had already come, that look in Domenico’s eyes sent his heart rate surging upward.

The bass in the lounge thumped against Sergei’s nerve endings, reminding him where he was, why he was here, what the laws and common sense said he could and couldn’t do.

Knees shaking, Sergei got to his feet, thankful for the muscle memory that kept the motion graceful and deliberate when he felt this clumsy.

As Sergei pulled on his G-string, Domenico rose. He didn’t say a word, and they both cleaned off and straightened their clothes, Domenico tugging at his tie and his sleeves while Sergei shimmied into the barely-there leather shorts.