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“Oh?” Vitari dangled the glass in his fingers and leaned on the bar. “How are you going to stop me? Hold me down? Fuck me up?”
“I haven’t decided.” His heart pounded, sensing this was heading toward wild and wonderful sex in a stolen yacht in the middle of the Caribbean, after being shot at and almost losing Vitari all over again. Sex he could do, especially as it distracted him from the dark, terrifying reality happening all around them.
If he stopped to think, he might break down, so he wasn’t going to stop, or think. He was going to drink the ridiculously expensive champagne, catch Vitari’s eye, and imagine all the wicked things Vitari was thinking about right now that undoubtedly involved Francis spreading his legs. His heart thumped. Heat pooled in his groin.
“You know what we should do?” Vitari grabbed the wine bottle by its neck and gulped straight from it.
Francis watched his throat undulate. Soon, he’d kiss him there. He could already taste him. Smell him. God, it was animal-like, this attraction. This need.
Vitari backed up and spread his arms. “Fuck in every room. Over there, on your knees. There, against the couch. I’ll kneel for you. There, by the TV, spread your legs and I’ll fuck you from behind. This yacht is ours, we’re free!” He laughed and his brilliant eyes sparkled, asking permission, seeing how far Francis would go.
And he’d go all the way. “Don’t I get a say in where?” he replied coyly.
“Then say it. Where do you want to ride my cock, Francis?”
Francis cradled the glass and scanned the plush interior, pretending to consider the options when he already had a vivid idea of what was going to happen where, and when. “Right here.”
“Oh?” Vitari sauntered back to the bar. “You have something specific in mind, Padre?” He drank again from the bottle, and Francis upended his glass and gulped down the expensive wine.
“I do, actually.” He held out his hand and Vitari handed over the champagne. “Come here.”
“Fuck, I love it when you’re mad at me.” Vitari came around the bar and cocked a hip against the mahogany bar top, then folded his arms, playing hard to get.
“Take off your shirt.” Francis already breathed too fast, trying to keep his racing heart pumping, or maybe all that blood had gone to his cock, now painfully hard.
Vitari undid a few buttons and pulled off his shirt, then flung it aside with no care for where it landed. “You going to demand I drop to my knees and suck your dick, Padre?”
He had been about to say exactly that, but he couldn’t let Vitari think it had been his idea. He needed a new plan of attack.
“Turn around.”
Vitari tilted his head, no longer as certain he knew where this was going. “All right…?” He turned his back, and for a moment, Francis lost every single thought in how Vitari’s bare muscles moved in the soft ambient lighting. He wasn’t even sure what to do, until he was doing it, gently dribbling cold champagne down Vitari’s spine. Vitari swore, then fell quiet as Francis pressed his lips to the liquid and kissed upward. It almost felt wrong, to relish in such things, but good too, good because it had been wrong before. Not anymore.
Francis tore off his own shirt and after dribbling some wine on Vitari’s shoulder, he leaned in and licked and sucked his warm skin clean. He brushed his chest against Vitari’s back, absorbing his every stuttered breath and needful moan. Francis spilled more wine and lapped it up. He swept his left hand around Vitari’s hip, then dove downward, teasing his fingertips along his waistband. They both knew where his hand would end up, but not yet. He wanted to make him moan some more, maybe even make him beg on his knees.
Vitari was always so powerful, so in control. This was a side to him nobody saw, nobody but Francis. And he knew it belonged to him, and only him.
“Give me the wine,” Vitari growled.
Francis took a gulp and handed it over. Vitari swallowed some too, then set it aside and turned on the spot, bringing him face-to-face with Francis. He’d had something wicked on his mind, but as their gazes met, that glee faded, and his face turned serious. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not yet. I’m clearheaded enough to know a miracle when I see it.”
“I’m no miracle.” Heat warmed his face, and he tried to turn his head away, to hide it. Vitari was the miracle, coming back from the dead, saving Francis over and over.
Vitari hooked his chin and made him face him. “You are to me.”
He bowed his head, the praise uncomfortable, then caught sight of Vitari’s jutting erection trapped in his pants and had the perfect distraction. Quickly, he unzipped Vitari’s fly, then shuffled the trousers down and freed his fine length of dick. It deserved admiration, and perhaps he was a little drunk, because Vitari’s cock had rarely looked finer.
Vitari grabbed the expensive champagne and tilted it, spilling a dribble down the shaft, avoiding the head. “Lick it off, Francis.”
His fingers dove into Francis’s hair and guided him down. Although Francis needed no encouragement. He licked up the thick shaft, tasting sweet wine and Vitari. “You going to take it, amore mio? Swallow my cock, Padre.”
He wanted that, wanted to swallow his cock and make him lose his mind. Francis tilted his head, peering up the glorious length of Vitari’s fine body, and swallowed his dick deep.
“You’re so fuckin’ perfect.” Vitari tugged on his hair and thrust, clearly trying not to and failing. The thick width of Vitari’s dick filled his throat. Francis gagged and pulled off to catch his breath but kept stroking. Power. He was the one on his knees, but Vitari was at his mercy.
