If The Seas Catch Fire(57)

“No, no, it’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“So much for behaving on a first date, though.” Though she almost sounded sheepish, that wink was anything but contrite.

He winked back. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She grinned. Then she tapped a long nail on her menu. “I guess we should settle on something to eat. Do you recommend anything here?”

“Depends.” He opened his menu. “You’re not a vegan or anything, are you?”

Brigida snorted. “A vegan? I’m Italian. I’d starve.”

Dom nodded, chuckling again. “That’s what I thought. In that case, you really can’t go wrong with any of their steaks…”



*



Shoes littered the floor at their feet. Hands ran under clothes and over hot skin. Soft lips skated across flesh. The bed was still too far away, but they’d get there. Eventually.

Slender fingers ran through his hair, making his scalp tingle, and then gripped it and pulled his head back. Lips and breath on his throat. Jesus. His knees were about to go right out from under him. And if they did, well, the floor wasn’t that far down, and the floor was horizontal and sturdy—good a place as any.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Corrado and Passantino would have his head if they found out about this, but Dom didn’t give a damn.

He slid his hand downward between them and cupped Sergei’s thick erection.

Sergei hissed sharply, breaking the kiss. “And I thought… thought I wouldn’t hear from you tonight.”

Dom grinned, squeezing enough to make Sergei squirm. “I’m just glad you were free.”

“As if I’d say no,” Sergei murmured, and kissed him again. “Kept thinking about you tonight.”

“Did you?”

“Mmhmm. You think about me when I’m not there?”

“All the f*cking time.” Dom slid his hands down Sergei’s back, pulling him against his hard cock. “You want to know what I think about when I’m not with you?”

“Do tell.”

“That first night.” Dom shivered. “In the chair.”

Sergei licked his lips. “When I came on your shirt?”

“Oh yeah.”

“We broke a lot of rules that night.”

Dom ran his hands up Sergei’s chest. “Pity we couldn’t have broken more.”

Sergei grinned. “There’s no rules tonight. We can do whatever we want.”

“Yes, we can.”

“Take off your clothes.” Sergei freed himself from Don’s embrace and nodded toward the armchair beside the table. “Then sit.”

“My clothes?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it.” Sergei still grinned, but in his eyes was the commanding, take-no-shit stripper who’d gotten in his face the same night he’d gotten on his lap. Oh hell yes.

Dom stripped, and then threw a towel on the chair since, well, God knew what else the furniture in here had been used for. As soon as he was seated, Sergei—fully dressed and visibly hard—straddled him, his shirt nearly touching Dom’s face and his bulge grazing Dom’s chest.

He started to reach for Sergei, but hesitated. “May I?”

“Yeah.” Sergei leaned in closer, resting his hands on the back of the chair. “Please do.”

Dom slid his hands up Sergei’s chest, the fabric of his shirt pulling beneath his touch. This was even hotter than he’d anticipated. The juxtaposition—clothed stripper, naked customer—was a tease to end all teases. Though Dom could put his hands on him, he couldn’t touch him, and it was Sergei’s clothes, not his own, that kept their flesh from meeting. He could touch, but he couldn’t feel. Not quite. Muscles moved beneath the surface, but the shirt tempered the heat of Sergei’s skin.

Despite the lack of music, Sergei danced. Twisting, undulating, grinding—no wonder men threw wads of money at him at the club. An electric thrill surged through Dom. They could fall all over him, but how many of them could touch him? See him fully naked, in the throes of an orgasm? How many of them knew what his skin tasted like? What his kiss tasted like?

Sergei sat back a bit, and peeled off that rumpled shirt.

Jesus. He could look at this body a million times, and never stop marveling at the sculpted perfection. He brought his hands up, and a violent shudder rippled through him as he put them on Sergei’s lean, bare torso. Sergei kept on dancing, writhing, undulating, and as he did, he took Dom’s wrists and guided them. Suddenly they were part of the dance too, cresting muscles just as they contracted, sliding down them in the same moment they relaxed, palms and fingertips following lines that curved, straightened, curved again.

Dom pulled him closer, so Sergei’s clothed cock and balls rubbed against his bare chest. He kissed him, ran his hands all over him. There was no music, but Dom’s heart thumped hard enough to make up for it.

“Can I…?” He struggled to catch his breath. “Your clothes…”

“Yes,” Sergei murmured, rubbing his groin against Dom. “Definitely too many—oh, f*ck…” He tilted his head back as Dom unbuttoned and unzipped his tight pants. Between the two of them, they pushed Sergei’s pants and boxers over his hips, revealing his fully erect cock.