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Abruptly, he sat up and gave me a little push as he whispered, “Get in. Hurry.” I swung my legs into the car and slid across the seat, and he dove in after me and pulled the door shut behind him, an arm around my waist as he put his head in my lap.
A group of people walked by then, talking loudly. I stared at them as they passed, but they didn’t glance our way. When finally they rounded the far corner I exhaled, and Dmitri sat up and smiled at me.
I took a good look at him in the light from a nearby street lamp. I expected him to look smug, but instead, he looked surprisingly shy and adorably tousled. I studied him as I pulled up my jeans and zipped them with some effort, and he ran his hand down my arm as he said, “Thank you for letting me do that.”
I grinned at him. “You’re thanking me? I think you have that backwards.”
And then he said softly, “Would you please hold me? Just for a minute?” I stared at him in surprise. He looked so young, and so vulnerable. Completely gone was the confident, arrogant guy from the club – the playboy, the drug lord, the mafia boss.
All that was left was just a boy.
I pulled him to me and kissed him, and he climbed onto my lap, straddling me, and clung to me. I held him tightly, feeling a slight tremor in his lean body as his lips parted to allow my tongue entry.
Before long, my cock stirred to life again. And of course he felt it, since it was pressed between his legs. He pulled back slightly and met my eyes as he whispered hesitantly, “If you want to, you can take me home with you and fuck me all night.”
I stared at him for a long moment, and then I murmured, “How are you the same guy? How can you be so sweet and vulnerable now, when you were so cocky back at the club? I don’t get it.”
“When I’m in that world, I do what I have to do. I play a role. Right now, with you, there’s no reason to pretend.” He kissed my cheek and wrapped his arms around me a bit more securely. And then he whispered, “If you don’t want to take me home, you can fuck me right here. I have condoms, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”
“Dmitri–” I began.
“Please don’t say no,” he whispered, and I ran my hand around the back of his head and kissed him again.
But then I told him, “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to have sex with you. It’s nothing personal.”
He looked crestfallen, but then he nodded in understanding. “I totally get it. You knew my name. You know who I am, what I do. I can see why you wouldn’t want to fuck me.” He slid off my lap and gingerly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, not meeting my eyes.
“I do know who you are, but that has nothing to do with it.”
He sat up a little straighter and said, “It’s fine. Really. I don’t blame you.” He pulled a silver business card holder from the pocket of his black suit jacket and handed me a card. “Look, if you ever change your mind, that’s my private number. Or if you just want another blow job…whatever you want, feel free to call me.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but still couldn’t look me in the eye.
And then he swung the door open and began to retreat down the sidewalk, back toward his club. I jumped out of the car too, and called after him, “Stop for a second.” He ignored me. “Christ,” I muttered. Then I called after him, “Look, it’s not you, it’s me – and wow do I feel like an idiot saying that!” He didn’t stop. So I yelled after him, “Dmitri, I’m a virgin. So, no, I’m not going to fuck you in the back of a Hyundai. And I can’t fucking believe I’m yelling this on a city street!”
He froze in his tracks, and then turned to stare at me. He remained rooted there for a long moment, tilting his head to the side as if trying to make sense of me. And then slowly, he walked back to where I stood and said, “You’re kidding.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like I would kid about that.”
“But…how?”
“Really? That’s the question you’re going with?”
He grinned at that. “Yes. Followed by: how old are you, and is it a religious thing? Good Irish Catholic boy, and all that?”
“I’m twenty three and yes, I’m an Irish Catholic boy, but not a good one. And the reason I’ve never had sex is because my longtime boyfriend, who recently dumped me so he could go off and pretend to be straight, was a good Irish Catholic boy and therefore never wanted to fuck me.” Man, was it true confession time, or what? I couldn’t quite believe I was spilling my guts like this. But I just couldn’t let him take my rejection personally. I couldn’t let him think he’d done anything wrong, not after giving me the most exciting sexual encounter of my life.
