“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.