If The Seas Catch Fire(45)

Focus. Dance.

Like he had on the stage, he threw himself into this dance as much as he could. Grinding against the customer’s thick erection, rubbing all over him until the man’s breath was coming in hot, heavy huffs. The client bit his lip, shifting in the chair. A rush of breath rushed across Sergei’s abs.

Just like Dom’s did when—

Sergei bit down on a curse. Every lap dance customer who could breathe did that. It wasn’t just Dom.

Get a grip, idiot.

Mercifully, though, the song eventually wound down. Sergei rubbed a few more times against the prominent hard-on, and then rose.

“OhmyGod,” the man slurred, and wiped a hand over his face. “Thank… thank you.”

Sergei grinned and held up the cash. “Thank you.”

Dazed and unsteady, the client left.

Sergei exhaled. Finally. He’d covered himself—no one in the club had any reason to believe anything was going on besides business as usual.

Quickly, he put on his clothes and straightened his hair, but before he moved to the next booth, he paused, holding his own gaze in the dingy mirror on the wall.

This was dangerous. Sergei was in Cape Swan to kill Mafiosi, not f*ck them. Doing this at all, especially here, could get them both killed. Except he knew that wasn’t likely. Dom’s life depended on maintaining the illusion that he was straight. He was about the safest man in town for Sergei to f*ck, because he relied even more on discretion than Sergei did.

He pushed his shoulders back and stepped out of the booth.

Before he’d reached number seven, Roy stopped him. “Hey, kid. That Italian guy, he asked for you. Said you—”

“He’s waiting in seven, right?” He gestured at the curtain.

Roy glanced at it, and nodded. “Yeah. So, you and he are cool?”

“We’re cool.” Sergei forced a smile. “Relax.”

“All right.” Roy backed off and returned to his perch near the end of the row, where he could see and hear if anyone needed his help. He was a bit overprotective, but Sergei appreciated it. Wasn’t like the strippers—even Sergei himself—were armed to the teeth when they were dancing in G-strings.

Heart pounding, Sergei stepped into the booth.

Dom rose unsteadily.

“Sorry it took so long,” Sergei said. “I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dom wrapped his arms around him and kissed him, sending electricity right down to Sergei’s toes.

When they separated, Sergei whispered, “What’s going on? You’re practically shaking.”

“Yeah, I…” Dom avoided his eyes. Though the light was dim, it was enough to reveal the color blooming in his cheeks. “It’s not something I can talk about.”

Sergei chewed his lip. He was well-versed in omerta, the unbreakable code of silence within the Mafia, so it didn’t take much to figure out that whatever Dom couldn’t discuss was related to what he was. Which meant Sergei didn’t want to know.

And he shouldn’t have cared, but standing here in front of Dom, seeing how shaken he was by something he couldn’t talk about, tugged at something in Sergei’s chest.

“We can’t do this here,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“I know. And I… I should’ve just texted you. But…” Dom met his eyes. “I needed to see you.”

Why? Why me? What can I possibly do to fix whatever you just saw?

It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know what had sent Dom here, only that he was here.

Sergei glanced at the curtain. Then he faced him and whispered, “You can’t make a sound, or I’ll lose my job.”

Gulping, Dom nodded.

“Sit.”

Dom obeyed, and Sergei turned up the music. Then he climbed onto Dom’s lap, straddling him, and claimed a deep, hard kiss.

Dom’s hands were immediately on him. All over him. They were unsteady, but not like they were the first time they’d f*cked. It was as if he was no longer uncertain about touching a man, but uncertain about… everything. Like he needed an anchor. Or reassurance. Or something.

Between the two of them, they unzipped Dom’s pants, and as soon as Sergei’s fingers were around that rock hard cock, Dom broke the kiss and let his head fall back.

“Oh God,” he breathed almost soundlessly. “Yes. Please.”

Sergei stroked him, and leaned down to kiss his neck as he whispered, “Tell me what you want.”

“You. That’s… that’s all.”

“But, you’re—”

“Don’t.” Dom shivered, thrusting into Sergei’s hand as much as this position allowed. “Just need to… forget.”

Forget what?

But Sergei didn’t ask questions. He pumped Dom’s dick harder. He wanted to turn him around and f*ck him, but he was certain the slap of skin on skin would attract one of the bouncers. Or someone would just know and they’d get caught and then he’d be out of a job in the place where his contacts came to give him the truly lucrative work.

And besides, no condoms. No lube.

Damn it, no space.

“Can you hear me?” Sergei whispered in Dom’s ear.

Another whimper, this one an obvious affirmative and the sound of a man about to come unglued.