If The Seas Catch Fire (17 page)

Dom took his time, though. He was big enough he could’ve made this hurt, but he was too careful for that. He eased himself in until Sergei’s body yielded to him, and even then, he moved slowly, taking ages to slide all the way inside, then all the way back out, then all the way back in again.

“Fuck…” Sergei’s head spun. He couldn’t hold himself up, so he sank down to the bed, and Dom followed.

And… there. Skin. Sergei was stretched out beneath Dom now, and they touched everywhere, from their feet to Dom’s lips in Sergei’s hair. Even when Dom almost pulled out, he didn’t break contact—his body still touched Sergei’s, and when he slid back in, Sergei sighed with both arousal and relief. He pressed his forehead into the pillow, arching into Dom’s chest.

Stubble scraped his shoulder, and then soft lips met his skin.

“You feel so good,” Dom breathed. “God, you just…”

I do feel good. I feel fucking amazing.
Overwhelmed, Sergei shut his eyes, squeezing a hot tear free.
Holy fuck.

Dom groaned. He whispered something in Italian, something that may or may not have been meant for Sergei’s ears, and a shudder rippled through him. Hot breath rushed across Sergei’s shoulder. Dom thrust a few times, then buried himself all the way inside and groaned.

With a heavy sigh, he relaxed, though he didn’t put his weight on Sergei. “My God.”

Sergei exhaled.

Dom kissed the back of his shoulder. “You didn’t come.”

“It’s okay.” Sergei found Dom’s hand and laced their fingers together, ignoring the fact that a touch like that should’ve been out of place between them. Or the fact that it wasn’t out of place right then.

He turned his head, and Dom’s lips met his.

Yes. This was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

I don’t have to come. I just don’t want you to go.

*              *              *

Sergei knew damn well he had no business getting too attached to Dom, and he told himself he wasn’t. He had to admit, though, he really, really liked this—lying beside Dom, his arm draped over Dom’s broad chest and his head resting on a powerful shoulder, with a strong arm around his own shoulders. The hand laying gently on his upper arm, the slow rise and fall of Dom’s chest, the warmth of his skin—it was luxurious. Almost as addictive as the sex. Maybe more than that.

It was no wonder their late night liaisons were inching farther and farther into the mornings after. And the fact that Dom was one of
them
… it barely even registered anymore. Right or wrong, dangerous or not, he was just Dom.

After God only knew how long, Dom broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough.” Dom absently ran his hand up and down Sergei’s arm, probably oblivious to how much Sergei loved that gentle, affectionate contact. “Why do you work at that club?”

“Hmm?”

Dom’s hand stopped. “You’ve got an amazing body, but… I can’t imagine stripping is the only thing you can do.”

Oh, it isn’t.

He was much too raw to talk about what he did in the club, but it was better than thinking about what
else
he did. Sergei shifted a bit, lifting himself up on his elbow so he could see Dom’s face. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with stripping. Do you?”

“I—well…” Dom stammered, his cheeks turning pink. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I guess I just…” He touched Sergei’s face. “I guess I was just curious. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Sergei hooked his leg over Dom’s, slipping his bare foot under Dom’s other calf. “And it isn’t like I’m going to strip forever.” He laughed quietly. “There’s… a point of forced retirement, you know?”

“I suppose there is.” Dom combed his hand through Sergei’s hair, fingertips grazing Sergei’s scalp and sending goose bumps prickling down his spine. “What will you do after that? I mean, ten, fifteen years from now—what do you think you’ll be doing?”

Sergei swallowed.

It doesn’t matter to you. You’ll probably be in prison. Or dead. And I’ll be in another hemisphere, moving on from this life.

Sergei cupped Dom’s cheek, the stubbled skin warm beneath his palm. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

Dom gave a subtle nod, as if that was enough of an answer. No judgment, no approval or lack thereof—simply an acknowledgment that the question was answered.

“What about you?” Sergei asked.

“What about me?”

“In ten or fifteen years, do you think you’ll still be…”

Dom sighed. “If I’m still alive, I’ll still be in Cape Swan, still a part of my family’s organization.” He drew a soft arc along Sergei’s cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “If I saw an alternative that didn’t involve a bullet, I wouldn’t be part of it in fifteen minutes, never mind fifteen years.”

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

“Every day of my life.” Dom’s voice sounded hollow. Haunted, even.

“But you can’t? Ever?”

Shaking his head, Dom looked in Sergei’s eyes. “If I could, I would. But other people have. And Corrado always finds them. Wherever they go, he finds them. And when he does…” The shudder finished the thought.

Sergei chewed the inside of his cheek.

Dom smoothed Sergei’s hair. “You do know it’s dangerous being with me like this, right?”

Dom, you have no idea…

Sergei just nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Yeah.” Sergei leaned in and brushed his lips across Dom’s. “I do.”

For a heartbeat, he thought Dom might question him, ask him why he kept coming back for more when the danger was so clear and present. Instead, Dom wrapped his arms around him and drew him down into a long kiss and a warm, gentle embrace.

Sergei sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Dom hadn’t asked. Because this—the way they were holding each other and kissing, bringing every one of Sergei’s erogenous nerve endings back to life—was the only answer he had. He needed this for reasons that didn’t rationally outweigh the risks. As careful and calculated as he was, as much as he avoided unnecessary risks, Sergei couldn’t make himself turn away from Dom now.

So he didn’t.

He sank into Dom’s embrace, pressed his hardening cock against Dom’s hip, and lost himself in the last man on earth he should’ve touched.

Dom and Sergei went their separate ways shortly before sunrise. On autopilot, Dom drove home, undressed again, and collapsed in his own bed, but sleep didn’t come.

It was weird, Sergei needing him instead of the other way around. He’d started thinking Sergei was doing this because, hey, he knew getting together with Dom meant guaranteed sex, and sometimes an effortless sure thing was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Except last night, it was Sergei who’d asked for it, and Sergei who’d been almost shaking with a need Dom couldn’t quite put his finger on. Dom had been serious when he’d told him this shouldn’t be a one-sided arrangement, but he hadn’t been expecting that.

In the darkness, he sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. He was glad he’d been able to give Sergei what he needed. Hopefully it had been enough. And he was more than a little thankful that Sergei took care of his needs too.

Dom refused to let that give him any kind of hope that there was—or might eventually be—more to this. Though he would’ve sawed off a limb to have a real, honest to God relationship with a man, it wasn’t happening. Sergei had walls up and Dom had obligations. Sex was as far as this thing could go. It couldn’t and wouldn’t last forever.

As it was, Sergei drove him to distraction. Dangerously so. When Dom’s obligations or his need to preserve his image kept them apart, he thought of nothing except how to make time to see him again. He dodged dates with Brigida Passantino now that she was back in town. Bowed out of social engagements whenever possible. Found any and every opportunity to text Sergei with
busy tonight?
or
I’d like to see you
.

And Sergei nearly always obliged. Sometimes it was three in the morning after he’d worked a shift at the club. Sometimes it was in a shithole motel by a truck stop two hours out of town in broad daylight. Sometimes it was at one of the seedier places as soon as the sun went down. Whenever, wherever—Dom was hooked on Sergei like half of Southern California was hooked on the coke his family processed through Cape Swan.

But there were only so many times Dom could body-swerve his own life. Whether he liked it or not, he was a Maisano, and his uncle wasn’t going to accept many more excuses where Dom’s bachelorhood was concerned.

So, in between finding every possible chance to get fucked by Sergei, Dom had finally made that date with Brigida. In a few hours, he’d meet her at the restaurant where Floresta and Mandanici had ambushed him, and they’d try this again.

And all the while, as he put on the face of a longtime bachelor who was serious about settling down, he knew damn well he’d be aching for another hit. For one more night that he could lock away in his memory so he’d have fantasies for later. Something to keep him sane while he spent the rest of his life as a committed heterosexual in between committing capital crimes for an organization he despised.

Jesus. I really am in hell.

*              *              *

At the urging of his uncle and her father, there was extra security this time. Dom had adamantly refused a bodyguard for his daily life but relented for this, and as he sat in the restaurant and waited, he tried to ignore the looming shapes hovering behind him.

One bodyguard. I agreed to
one
bodyguard.

But no. Corrado had to insist on three.

Well, at least he wasn’t getting his ass kicked tonight. Which was good, because as exhausted and achy as he was from another night with Sergei, he was in no condition to put up a fight.

At exactly seven o’clock, Brigida Passantino walked into the restaurant, and every head turned. Though Dom didn’t feel an ounce of sexual attraction to women, he could definitely see why other men fell all over themselves for her. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, and the black dress was
made
for her tall, slim figure. Knowing what he did about Brigida and her sisters, the dress struck him as a compromise between father and daughter—short enough and low enough for a woman who wasn’t afraid to show some skin, but still modest enough for Passantino to let her out of the house. Dom grinned to himself. Though the older generations of men in this town were still stuck in the 1950s, and saw women as currency to be exchanged and objects to be admired, there were women like Brigida who would stand on their own two feet and be who they were regardless of what their fathers thought.

“
I’m a grown woman,
” he could almost hear her snarling in her powerful, dangerous father’s face. “
I’m meeting this asshole like you wanted. You’re not telling me how to dress too.
”

And then there was the way she moved. Her long strides, her posture—it all screamed not just confidence, but fearlessness. She strode across the restaurant, shoulders back and head high, not giving her security detail a second look as they followed her. He had a feeling she’d be just as bold without a pair of heavily armed men at her back.

As she approached, he stood. Biaggio had taught him young to pull out a lady’s chair, but something about the way she held his gaze told him that wouldn’t go over well.

Instead, he extended his hand. “Brigida?”

She smiled warmly and shook his hand. “You must be Domenico.”

“Just call me Dom.”

“All right. Dom.” She released his hand and reached for her chair, which didn’t surprise him. As she took her seat, he took his, but moved a little slower so that she sat down first but wouldn’t think he was making a big show of it. One of her older sisters had berated Luciano for holding a door for her on a date a few years ago. According to her, chivalry and chauvinism were synonymous, so Dom decided to err on the side of simply and subtly being a gentleman.

“Wine?” He gestured at the leather bound wine list.

“Of course.” She picked up the list. “Do you have any preference?”

He shrugged. “I could go for something red, but whatever sounds good.”

She opened the list, lips quirking as she perused the options. “How about a Domaine Romanée Conti?”

“Sounds great.” He was about to flag down the waiter, but Brigida beat him to it, making eye contact and politely beckoning him over.

When the waiter arrived at the table, Brigida ordered the bottle, handed her the list, and dismissed her. Then she met Dom’s gaze, and her confidence faltered slightly.

“You… don’t mind…” She waved a hand toward the waiter.

“Oh, no. Of course not.” Dom smiled. “You had the list, after all.”

“True.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been out with some guys who get their noses out of joint if I step all over them trying to impress me.”

Dom chuckled. “Well, I’m not going to stop you if it means sparing everyone my horrible French.”

Brigida laughed, and… wow, she really had a smile that could light up a room. “Just don’t tell my dad we ordered anything French, okay? As far as he’s concerned, if it didn’t come from Italy, it isn’t worth drinking unless it’s champagne.”

Dom laughed too, bringing his water glass up to his lips. “I don’t know if I’d go that far with champagne.”

“Same here.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think I’d rather drink horse piss.”

Dom choked on his water.

Brigida covered her mouth, smothering a laugh. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been here two minutes and I’m already being crass.”

“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 fucking 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, fuck…” 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.

Dom was tempted to grab Sergei’s ass, pull him up, and suck his dick until he lost his mind, but instead, he whispered, “Come on me again. Like you did the first—”

Sergei swore in Russian and started fucking against him, the chair protesting beneath them as his hips rocked and his dick slid up and down Dom’s abs.

“God,” Dom whispered. He ran his hands along Sergei’s hips and sides. “I think about that night all the time. You were so…” He looked up, gazing into Sergei’s heavy-lidded, watering eyes. “You were so fucking hot.” He grabbed the back of Sergei’s neck and brought him down, and Sergei whimpered when their lips met, and his thrusts became frantic, the friction so hot it should’ve been painful.