Hell, who was he kidding?
As they tumbled into bed, half-dressed and fully hard, he didn’t just love the way Dom kissed. Everything the man did drove him insane. This was supposed to be for Dom’s benefit—getting gay sex out of his system before he married—but it was feeling less and less like charity with each passing night.
And this time, like every time, Dom touched and kissed Sergei as if this was the first time. Sometimes he’d watch his hands run over Sergei’s skin, as if marveling at the sight of himself touching another man. When they had sex, Dom never rushed, not even when he was trembling with arousal. He kissed him like he really wanted to taste him—gently exploring his mouth, cradling the back of his neck as if to say “stay here, just a moment longer.”
No wonder Sergei couldn’t help coming back for more.
“You want to be on top?” he murmured between kisses.
Dom moaned, shivering against him. “Yes please.”
They separated long enough to get a condom on. As Dom put on some lube, Sergei turned around on his hands and knees.
Sergei was usually on top, but more and more, he was enjoying letting Dom top him. The man took his time, tonight as always—easing himself in, giving Sergei time to yield to him and relax. Which was especially good because unlike some of the other men in his family, Dom was definitely not lacking below the belt. His cock was thick, stretching Sergei enough to make his eyes water, and Sergei clawed at the bed and rocked back against him, eager for more, more, more.
Dom steadied his hips and moved faster, not quite thrusting, but close. Sergei closed his eyes, gripping handfuls of the sheet and slurring curses as every stroke took his breath away.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Dom murmured, running his hands all over Sergei’s back. “Jesus, you’re—” His breath hitched. He picked up a little bit of speed, and whatever he said after that didn’t make it to Sergei’s brain.
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 fuck—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, fucking 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 fucking 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 fucking 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.”