If The Seas Catch Fire by L.A. Witt

“Isn’t when I’m like this.” And he was rarely like this when he danced. Fuck.
    “Maybe you should take it off.”
    “Can’t take everything off,” he murmured. “The… the law.”
    Domenico’s eyes flicked up and met his, burning with lust. “You think I’m gonna report you?”
    Sergei glanced back at the curtain. Then he stood and shimmied out of the G-string.
    There was something deliciously dangerous and irresistibly sexy about this. Though a G-string hardly counted as clothing, losing it left him feeling like he’d just thrown off ten protective layers. Like he’d gone from fully-dressed to naked in just a few beats, and now he was against Domenico, cock and balls rubbing against the soft silk of his shirt and tie.
    “You’re breaking the rules,” Domenico breathed, and Sergei swore he could hear his heartbeat in his voice. “Does that mean I can too?”
    For five thousand dollars and that look in your eye? You can do any damned thing you want .
    “I don’t think you want to break the rules.” He wrapped his arms around Domenico’s neck, pressing his dick against the man’s chest and bringing his abs close enough to Domenico’s face to feel his breath. “You like looking without touching.” He slowly fucked against him, his own head spinning as the smooth silk turned his nerve endings to pure electricity. “Don’t you?”
    Domenico exhaled hard, the warm air whispering across Sergei’s abs and making him gasp. “I want… I want to touch you.”
    “I know you do.” Sergei leaned forward enough to murmur in his ear, “But this turns you on. Doesn’t it?”
    Domenico shivered beneath him. “Everything about you turns me on.”
    Likewise. It shouldn’t, but… shit.
    Sergei leaned down to let his lips almost touch Domenico’s neck, teasing him with their proximity, and as goose bumps sprang up on the Italian’s skin, they sprang up on his too. He was too turned on to think. More turned on than he should’ve been. And he didn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.
    Dizzy and breathless, he let his lips graze Domenico’s neck, and he was rewarded with a helpless moan that made his whole body tingle.
    And before he could think twice, he whispered, “My name—” He shivered hard, thrusting against him like he was thrusting inside him. “Sergei.” His pulse sped up—none of his contacts had his real name, but Domenico did. Why? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just needed… this time… “My name is Sergei.”
    “Sergei,” Domenico breathed, as if it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. “Are you close?” He looked up at Sergei, eyes wide and watering. “Please tell me you’re close.”
    “I…” Oh God, he was. Sergei had never gotten off in one of these rooms, never come during a lap dance, but he was right there on the edge, on the brink of blowing his load all over this Italian’s expensive shirt, and he should’ve backed off, but he wasn’t interested in coming to his senses. He wanted nothing else in that moment, nothing more in the whole fucking world, than to come.
    Sergei sat up, holding onto Domenico’s shoulders, and thrust against him, and Domenico groaned and whispered, “Ooh, yeah…”
    “Gonna…” Sergei gripped his shoulders tighter. “Oh shit…” His eyes rolled back, his balls tightened, and even over the deafening music, he heard himself whimper.
    “God, yeah,” Domenico groaned. “That’s… shit, that’s hot. Come, Sergei.”
    Everything went white. Sergei arched against him, thrusting against wet silk until a shudder almost knocked his arms out from under him. He slumped over Domenico, trembling from head to toe. This was the first time ever—since he’d discovered he could make a fortune by grinding against a man in a dark back room—that he’d come during a lap dance. That he’d even come inside this godforsaken building.
    And he’d come all over Domenico’s shirt and tie. For a split second, he thought Domenico would