If The Seas Catch Fire(38)

Then Dom leaned forward, urging Sergei down with his body weight, and they sank to the bed. This should have set off every alarm bell in Sergei’s mind—being underneath a bigger, stronger Italian was dangerous as f*ck—but all he could do was melt beneath Dom’s hot skin and slow, rocking strokes. What wasn’t to love about this trembling man stretched out over him, balls deep in him, cursing in his ear as he rode him into the mattress?

Sergei felt around and found Dom’s hand, and they clasped their fingers together. Weirdly intimate? Affectionate? God, he didn’t know. He just needed to hold on to something, to Dom. As much as he could in this position, he rolled his hips, f*cking against the mattress as Dom thrust deep and hard. All the while, they gripped each other’s hands painfully tight, as if they could somehow get more leverage that way or… or something. Sergei didn’t know. He didn’t care. He only cared about holding on, and letting go, and the orgasm that Dom was pushing him toward with every deep, breathtaking stroke.

Sergei heard himself curse, and didn’t even know what language it was, only that he was falling apart, and Dom just kept right on f*cking him that way, and then Sergei was coming, shuddering, moaning into the pillow as Dom kept him coming, and coming, and coming.

Then Dom groaned behind Sergei’s ear, and his rhythm became sharp, uneven thrusts, each knocking the breath out of Sergei as Dom tried to drive himself just a little deeper before he shuddered, swore, and relaxed.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Their hands relaxed, but didn’t let go. Sergei was panting as hard as Dom, and God bless him, Dom had the presence of mind to keep his weight off Sergei’s ribs so he could breathe.

Finally, Dom pressed a soft kiss to the back of Sergei’s shoulder. He let go of Sergei’s hand, pulled out, and got up. “Be right back.”

“’kay.” Sergei rolled onto his back, mostly to get away from the wet spot, and stared up at the dingy ceiling. Jesus. He could not get enough of this man.

As Dom came back to the bed, his legs not quite steady beneath him, Sergei grinned up at him.

And to think—I thought you were like all the other Mafiosi.

That thought sobered him. Dom was a Mafioso. Though everything ceased to exist while they were in the middle of driving each other to mind-blowing orgasms, it was all still real once the dust settled again. Sergei was still a man who killed men like Dom.

Dom eased himself down beside Sergei and draped his arm over him, dark hair and olive skin contrasting sharply with Sergei’s fairer skin. “I’m going to be dead on my feet tomorrow.” He kissed Sergei’s cheek. “But it’s f*cking worth it.”

“Damn right it is.” Sergei lifted his head and kissed Dom on the mouth. They faced each other on their sides. For a long moment, they lay in silence, Dom trailing his fingertips along Sergei’s skin, watching himself draw lazy loops and swirls as Sergei watched him.

After a while, Sergei said, “You’re not like the other Italians in this town.”

Dom’s fingers stopped. “Is that a compliment, or…?”

“Yeah.” Sergei laughed. “Trust me, it’s a compliment.”

Dom chuckled, sliding his hand over Sergei’s waist. “In that case… thanks.”

Sergei ran his fingers down Dom’s arm. “I guess you don’t… you don’t seem like the Mafia type.”

“What is the Mafia type?”

“Well…” Sergei swept his tongue across his lips. “I don’t know. Not you.”

Dom released a long breath. “I wish it wasn’t me, believe me.”

Sergei furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“If I had the choice, I wouldn’t be what I am.”

“Then why are you?”

“Like I said… if I had a choice.”

Sergei held his gaze, wondering how far to push the question. He was curious as hell—a Mafioso who didn’t want to be? Since when?—but was it his place to ask? Dom wanted him for sex, not questions about a career he apparently didn’t want.

So instead, he slid closer, running his hand over Dom’s hip, and glanced past him at the ancient alarm clock on the bedside table. “It’s almost three. I probably shouldn’t keep you much longer.”

“I shouldn’t be here in the first place.” Dom combed his fingers through Sergei’s hair. “Damage is already done, I think.”

“Does that mean you want to stay for a while?”

“That depends—how many condoms did you bring?”

Goose bumps sprang up along Sergei’s spine and a shudder nudged him even closer to Dom. “More than enough.”

“Good.” Dom tipped up Sergei’s chin and kissed him. “Think we might need them.”

Oh God yes. More of you? Fuck yes.

He didn’t speak, though. He nudged Dom onto his back. Straddled him. Kissed him.

And didn’t ask any more questions that night.





Chapter 12


After every night he spent with Sergei, Dom felt strange returning the next morning to the only life he’d ever known. He may as well have taken a hundred-year vacation from his own existence, and coming back to it was like materializing in someone else’s world.

But he didn’t let it show. He didn’t dare. This morning, as he did every time after checking out of the seedy motel, Dom had gone home, showered, put on a suit, and driven down to the office where he ran his part of the family’s operation. To the untrained eye, this was a temp agency where blue collar workers came in for short term employment, not where deeply indebted immigrants came to pay off the hefty bribes that would eventually earn them their citizenship.