by Alexa Land
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.
“Wow,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Your ex is an idiot.”
“Yeah, I know. Like the whole hetero thing could possibly work out well.”
“That’s not why he’s an idiot. It’s because he didn’t take you to bed every single day that the two of you were together. What a wasted opportunity! And definitely his loss.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks for saying that.”
“It’s a simple fact.”
Dmitri and I contemplated each other for a long moment. And then he said hesitantly, “Would you please have that drink with me?”
I knew that in all likelihood, this man was a criminal. He was someone I absolutely should not get involved with. He was potentially dangerous – maybe even a killer, for all I knew.
But he was looking at me now with such raw vulnerability, with such undisguised hope, that it made my heart flip over in my chest. Ok, so maybe the whole sweet-and-vulnerable thing was an act – in which case, he was a frighteningly good actor. But God, if it was real, if anything he was saying or doing contained even a grain of truth, then I had to know him. I had to be with this person. I ached for him with every part of me, and I just was not going to deny myself this.
I reached out and took his hand in mine, and said, “I’d love to.” He smiled at that, and I grabbed my keys and jacket and we walked hand in hand back toward the club. It felt so natural to hold his hand, and so incredibly good to be close to him – surprisingly so.
At the club we headed around to the back of the building, where a big guy with a secret service-style earpiece snapped to attention when he saw his employer. Dmitri said, “I’m going to be in the garden, and I want absolutely no interruptions. Make sure everyone knows that.”
“Yes sir.”
The man held the door open for us, and we entered the building and climbed three flights of stairs, then cut through a tastefully decorated office before finally emerging onto the roof of the nightclub.
The scene was right out of a movie. A lush rooftop garden was hung with strand after strand of white light bulbs, clusters of potted plants and wooden patio furniture with plush white cushions punctuating the space. “Wow,” I murmured, and then I smiled. “If you’re bringing me up here to seduce me, you’re laying it on a bit thick.”
“I’m not bringing you here to seduce you,” he told me, leading me by the hand across the space to a little outdoor kitchen. He popped open a mini fridge and handed me the same brand of beer I’d been drinking in the club. And he said, “I’m bringing you here to get you drunk.” He winked at me and grabbed a beer for himself, then took me to the far end of the rooftop garden, where we settled onto a comfortable love seat.
Only now did I glance up, away from the beautiful man and the beautiful setting, and gaped at the stunning vista before me. From the club’s hilltop location you could see a lot of the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin headlands. “That’s some view,” I murmured. “If it was light out, I could probably tell how the waves were breaking at Fort Point from here.”
“You surf?”
“Yup. Since I was little.”
“I’m impressed. That always seemed incredibly risky to me.”
“That’s kind of funny, coming from you.” In his line of work, he couldn’t very well be the cautious type.
He knew what I was referring to, and sighed quietly as he stared out at the bay. And th
en he said, “You have me at a disadvantage. My reputation has obviously preceded me, and I have to wonder what you know, or think you know, about me. Whereas I know very little about you. I don’t even know if you go by James or Jim or Jimmy.”
“None of the above. I go by Jamie,” I told him, then turned to study his classically perfect profile. “How do you know my name?”
“I make it my business to know who’s in my club. When your i.d. was scanned upon entry to the VIP lounge, I got a message on my cell phone showing me your driver’s license.”
“That’s got to violate several privacy laws,” I told him lightly, still looking at him as he gazed at the view. “And I don’t know how you remembered my i.d. in particular, given how many people were in the club.”
He turned to me now and flashed me that brilliant smile, dimples and all. And he said, “I always remember the truly beautiful ones.”
I rolled my eyes at him and said, “Don’t start pulling that flirty playboy shit on me now, Teplov. Just when I was starting to like you.” He looked concerned for a moment, then grinned happily when I winked at him and slid closer and rested his head on my shoulder.
“Tell me about yourself, Jamie,” he said, interlacing his fingers with mine.
I blurted, “You already know all the high- and low-lights. I’m a twenty three year old virgin. I surf. I’m Irish. End of story.” Suddenly I was back in cop mode, my mind racing to piece together a cover story.
Because I couldn’t tell him the truth. There was no way. I could just see me admitting, I’m an undercover cop sent here to gather information on you. He’d run from me so far and so fast that I’d never see him again.
And I didn’t want that to happen – for my own personal reasons, not for the job.
He said gently, “Yeah, I really don’t like talking about myself either. It’s fine, I promise not to push.”
I relaxed a bit and took a sip of beer, staring out into the distance. I knew I couldn’t really open up to him, but I wanted to give him something. So I said randomly, “My youngest sister Maureen is getting married in December. She’s actually making us groomsmen wear green tuxedos, which if you ask me is taking the Irish thing way the hell too far. Can you picture it? Nine grown men dressed like the Grinch. I’m trying to think of some way out of it, but she’s my little sis, so basically I’m completely trapped.”
He grinned at that. “How many siblings do you have?”
“Three sisters – two older, one younger. Maureen is only twenty. I can’t believe she’s getting married already.”
“I have five sisters, all of which are younger than me, and all of which are married. So I can empathize. Though none of them made me wear green when I was in their wedding party,” he said with a smile.
“Really? They’re all younger than twenty six, and they’re all married? How old are they?” I asked incredulously. Immediately I realized letting his age slip was a mistake. I was seriously not cut out for undercover work – which was pretty damn obvious, judging by the fact that I was currently cuddling with a suspect.
“There are two sets of twins, ages twenty two and twenty four, and then there’s the baby, Ani, who’s twenty one and yes, married already.” He glanced at me and said, “And you have been doing your homework, you even know how old I am.”
“You’re kind of famous in this town,” I told him, which was true.
“Or infamous, as the case may be.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
He looked at me intently and said, “Please, Jamie – don’t believe everything you’ve heard about me. If I could ask you for anything, it would be to judge me based on our interactions, not on rumors.”
“I’m doing exactly that,” I told him. “It’s why I’m here with you now.”
“Thank you,” he said, and gently swiveled my head toward him with a finger under my chin. When his lips found mine, the kiss was soft and sweet, undemanding.
“You really aren’t what I expected,” I told him when we broke apart.
“But I was. Earlier, in the club. That was exactly what you’d been expecting, right?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I squeezed the hand that was still interlaced with mine.
“I apologize for subjecting you to my boorish behavior,” he said, and cuddled against me.
“So, I have a serious question for you,” I said, and he sat up and looked at me curiously. “Are you still going to like me in the winter when my hair goes back to being light brown?” And then I grinned at him.
He laughed at that, the same joyous, uninhibited laugh I’d been treated to earlier. And he said, “I really don’t like blondes at all. Except for you, and you’re not really all that blonde.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh please. You couldn’t have more of a blonde fetish if you issued bottles of peroxide at the door to your club.”
“I’m serious. I make sure all my sex partners are blondes because that way, I figure I’m pretty unlikely to fall for any of them.”
“Ok, that’s weird. And what would be so wrong with falling for one of your sex partners?”
“It’s not part of the plan,” he told me, his eyes once again fixed on some point out in the bay. “It’s important that I keep my distance.”
“So, what exactly are you doing now, here with me?”
“Going way, way off plan,” he said, and returned his head to my shoulder.
You and me both, I thought.
I was still trying to get my head around the blonde thing, and I said, “Really, though. What would be so wrong with falling for someone?”
“I’m engaged to be married. To a woman, in case you’re wondering,” he told me quietly, and I thought, oh Christ, another gay man who wants to pretend to be straight. Awesome.
I tried to keep my tone light when I said, “Ah. So, when’s the wedding?”
“In ten months, nine days,” he glanced at the silver watch on his wrist, “and nineteen hours.” He sighed quietly and set his beer on the ground, then wrapped his arms around me. I kissed him gently.
So, ok. Despite the questionable ethics of messing around with an engaged man, this news wasn’t a deal breaker. If he wanted a ten month bachelor party before settling down, I wasn’t going to judge. Far from it. I decided right then and there that I was just going to enjoy what little time I had with this man, because I wanted him that much.
Dmitri deepened the kiss and pulled me on top of him, twining his fingers in my hair. He pushed up with his hips, rubbing his cock against mine as I unbuttoned his shirt and unfastened his belt, then slid his zipper down. I sucked one nipple and then the other until they were hard little beads between my lips, then pulled his pants and boxers to mid-thigh.
I sat back to look at him, admiring his smooth, finely muscled body, and murmured, “You’re so incredibly beautiful,” as I ran my hands down his sides. And then I bent down to take his thick, hard cock between my lips. There was already a drop of precum waiting for me, and I moaned against his shaft as I savored his taste and took him deeper into my mouth.
“Oh God Jamie, yes,” he panted, and then tugged at my t-shirt. I released him for a moment as he yanked the shirt off over my head.
The little loveseat didn’t give us a lot of room to maneuver, so we tumbled onto the floor of the rooftop garden. Dmitri unfastened my jeans and yanked them and my underwear down, then spun around and took my hard cock down his throat while I sucked him. We 69ed each other quickly, frantically, and in just a few minutes we came almost in unison. I cried out around his big cock as my cum shot into his warm, wet mouth, and within seconds his hot load was hitting the back of my throat.
Afterwards, he flipped around and crawled into my arms, hugging me tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, nestling into the space between my neck and shoulder. He really was the cuddliest person I’d ever met, and I absolutely loved that.
I smiled and said, “Right back at ya,” before kissing the top of his head.
He h
esitated for a moment, and then looked up at me hopefully. “Would you spend the night with me, Jamie? I know you don’t want to fuck me yet, and I don’t mean it like that. I just…I’d really like to fall asleep in your arms. Please?”
There were a million reasons why I should say no. But as I looked down into those big blue eyes I found myself murmuring, “That sounds wonderful.”
It was getting pretty cold out there on the roof, so we didn’t linger. After dressing quickly we went into his office, where he ran a brush through his sexy dark hair and pulled out his cell phone and fired off a series of quick texts. Then he took my hand and led me downstairs.
We emerged into a tiny private parking lot behind the club, which held half a dozen cars. I gaped at the incredibly flashy black Maserati parked a few feet away. “I suppose that’s yours.”