If The Seas Catch Fire(34)

“You want to be f*cked, don’t you?”

Dom nodded. “Yes.”

Sergei grabbed the partially open box of condoms. He tore one of the strip and tossed the rest on the nightstand. “You’ve done this before? Bottomed?”

“Not… recently.”

“I’ll go slow.” Slow sounded both torturous and amazing. As much as he wanted to pound Dom into oblivion, the thought of f*cking him slowly was enough to make Sergei’s hands tremble as he rolled on the condom while Dom got on his hands and knees.

Sergei put some lube on his index and middle fingers. Steadying them both with a hand on Dom’s hip, he pressed a slick finger against Dom’s tight hole. Carefully, patiently, he worked his fingertip in.

“Fuck,” Dom breathed as Sergei teased him open.

“Doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“N-no.” Dom shook his head. “Just… intense.”

“As it should be.” Sergei f*cked him with a finger for a moment, and then added a second. Jesus—he could have listened to Dom moan like that all damned night. Helplessly, hungrily, as if this—just being f*cked by a couple of fingers—was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt.

Sergei’s mouth watered. If Dom was this responsive…

He shivered. Gently, he stretched him, pushing his fingers apart as he slid them in and out.

“Just f*ck me,” Dom slurred. “C’mon. Please.”

Sergei chuckled. “Eager?”

“Very.”

“Good.” Sergei withdrew his fingers. He put some lube on his cock, and some more on Dom. Then he guided himself to Dom and pushed against him. After just a second of resistance, Dom yielded to him. Sergei eased himself inside—sliding in, withdrawing, sliding in a little deeper.

They were both panting already. Cursing in their native tongues and English and maybe some other languages that they couldn’t even identify. Sergei knew as many ways to tease a man as he did to kill him. Tonight, he didn’t care about impressing him with any hip-centric sex voodoo. The only thing that mattered was getting as deep inside him as he could, fast and hard. Sex wasn’t an art form tonight—Dom had tapped into some primal, animalistic side of Sergei, and there was no reining it back in. Not until he came. And Dom came. And they both came again.

Gritting his teeth, Sergei slammed into him. “This hurt?”

Dom’s head fell forward, and his shoulders rippled. “N-no.”

Sergei held his hips tighter and f*cked him even harder. “How about now?”

Dom cried out, and God knew if it was pain or pleasure, but he didn’t try to stop him. He dug the heels of his hands into the bed and rocked against him, and it was even getting painful for Sergei now. Fuck, but he felt good.

Little by little, Dom fell apart, swearing and shaking, hopefully unaware of how difficult it was for Sergei to concentrate on keeping a steady rhythm. Sergei’s muscles burned. After a full shift at the club, he should’ve been completely exhausted, but he kept f*cking Dom, kept slamming into him, silently begging him to—

Dom cursed aloud in Italian, and clenched around Sergei. “My God…”

And for the second time tonight, Sergei lost it, this time deep inside Dom. He thrust as hard as he could, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing in his own mother tongue.

Dom relaxed. Then Sergei did. Together, they sank down to the bed, and Sergei panted against Dom’s shoulder.

“Holy f*ck,” Dom murmured. “That was…” He trailed off, slurring something in Italian.

“That’s good, right?”

“Very. Very good.”

Sergei kissed the side of his neck. His arms were wet noodles, but when he could trust them to hold him up, he carefully pulled out, and then got up to get rid of the condom.

When he returned to the bed, they shifted around and collapsed on the pillows, side by side. Not cuddling, but not on opposite sides of the mattress either.

For the longest time, neither of them spoke. Sergei couldn’t quite believe he was lying beside a Mafioso. A Maisano, of all people. And it had occurred to him that it would be a hell of a “f*ck you” to the family, knowing he’d been inside one of their own, but he didn’t feel that way now. Dom was one of them, but he was different. He hadn’t been selfish like the last man Sergei had been with, or rushed like the one before him.

Dom cleared his throat. “I, um… I noticed your accent earlier. Russian?”

Sergei nodded. Nerves, he guessed. Not sure what to say after a tryst like that, so he was making small talk.

The attempt at conversation didn’t get off the ground, though, and the silence set in again.

After a while, Dom turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Listen, you already know what I am.” His eyebrow rose slightly. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that discretion is… a priority.”

The dangerous undercurrent in his voice sent a chill through Sergei—either he trusted the promise to keep things quiet, or he’d already decided Sergei wouldn’t have the opportunity to let his secret out. The presence of that .357 tingled on the ends of the hairs standing on the back of Sergei’s neck.

Sergei wasn’t afraid of him, just… alert. If Dom tried anything, he’d be expecting a terrified stripper to fight back. Surprise, motherf*cker…