Though the flickering strobes made it impossible to tell for sure, he thought Dom was shaking. He was definitely paler than the last time Sergei had seen him in this light.
Sergei was getting used to seeing Dom. In fact, he was starting to get a little excited whenever they were in the same room because it meant sex. It meant good sex. Except they’d agreed not to meet here anymore. Dom hadn’t been back to the club since the first night they’d slept together. Since then, they’d text, exchange a few seemingly benign messages, and a meet at a cheap motel.
But Dom was here now, and something in his eyes hit Sergei from all the way across the room. Sergei wasn’t supposed to care about him, but that look on Dom’s face definitely had him concerned. Had something happened? Had someone found out about them? What the hell was going on?
He pushed himself off the bar and slipped through the thin crowd to Dom’s side.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” He met Sergei’s gaze, and swallowed. Shaking his head, he whispered so softly it almost didn’t carry over the music: “I don’t… I don’t want to talk.”
“What do you want?”
As soon as the words were out, Dom’s eyes answered in no uncertain terms.
You. Sex. Now.
Sergei gulped. He glanced around. Two of the other dancers were negotiating private lap dances. Their stages would be clear in a matter of seconds. He could feel the gazes of his eager customers prickling his neck.
Shit. He couldn’t just disappear into the back. That was a good way for some vindictive asshole to drop an anonymous tip to someone in Dom’s circles, and they’d both be fucked.
He turned to Dom. “Meet me in the back. Ask the bouncer to show you to booth seven. Got it?”
Dom blinked a couple of times, as if he didn’t quit understand. Then he nodded. “Right. Booth… booth seven.”
“Good. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Dom disappeared into the back. Sergei watched him go, gnawing the inside of his cheek. He should’ve sent Dom on his way. Or at least told him to meet at a motel like they always did.
And that was perfect. Two weeks into it, Sergei enjoyed the routine already. He had to admit, he looked forward to the nights he spent with Dom. It wasn’t even the little thrill he got from sleeping with the enemy.
The sex was… God, it was amazing. And Dom had a way of not just turning Sergei on, not just making him feel like the only man in the world, but making him feel… worshipped. There wasn’t a man alive who couldn’t learn a thing or two from Dom about how to rock a lover’s world.
A lover?
No. Definitely not. Strictly speaking, maybe—they were sleeping together, after all. But it was just sex. Nothing more than a means for Dom to sow his wild gay oats before settling down like a good little Mafioso.
Having him show up here? Risky.
And Sergei still wasn’t sure why Dom hadn’t just told him to meet at a motel. Dom should’ve gotten the fuck out of here so Sergei could work, and they could blow off whatever steam they needed to later. Except Dom didn’t seem like he needed to blow off steam. Just thinking about the look on his face made Sergei’s gut clench.
“Hey.” Paco nudged him. “You gonna dance or not?”
Sergei swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah. I…” He shook himself. “On my way.”
Paco stopped him with a big, calloused hand on his shoulder. “You okay, kid?”
“Yeah.” Sergei shrugged out of his boss’s touch. “I’m good.”
He didn’t wait for Paco to stop him again, and hurried to the center table.
Immediately, half the men around the sidelines were on the move, damn near sprinting across the room to claim one of the seats. Those who weren’t fast enough stood behind them, and Sergei guessed they’d be extra aggressive when it came time to bid on a private dance.
The deejay kicked on some techno. Sergei grabbed onto the pole, took a deep breath, and started dancing. He thrust his hips. Undulated his abs. Shook his ass. He was absolutely convinced that one of the men watching him would catch on that he was distracted, so he poured himself into this even more than usual. He bent farther than he usually did, causing more than a few jaws to drop, and leaned closer to the men watching him. The effect was exactly as he’d hoped—the men squirmed as erections strained against zippers, and they threw twenties on the stage as if they were ones. By the end of his dance, Sergei had to be careful so he didn’t slip on a pile of bills and break his neck.
The music ended. All the regulars immediately started thrusting hundreds at him. The men who’d been standing behind the chairs leaned over the others, shoving thick stacks of bills at Sergei.