The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,140
his kiss.
After a moment, Danny touched his forehead to Carmine’s and whispered breathlessly, “I had to see you tonight. I needed…” He trailed off into a sigh, then claimed Carmine’s mouth again.
He didn’t need to finish the thought. Whatever it was Danny needed, Carmine was sure he could taste it all in this hungry kiss. Or maybe that was just what he needed. After wanting Danny all this time, after thinking at first that he was out of reach and would never so much as look at him without eyes full of contempt, then later thinking a few stolen kisses in his office was all he could ever ask for, after being so afraid there was nothing he could do to save Danny from Agosto il Sacchi, Carmine needed everything Danny’s kiss both promised and begged for right now.
Danny broke the kiss, but before Carmine could protest, Danny started on his neck, and Carmine thought he was going to melt right to the floor. Those soft lips were sinful against his own, but skating alongside his throat, they were divine.
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced.” Danny’s warm breath rushed alongside Carmine’s throat. “I just… I just… I needed to be with you. And I couldn’t wait another night.”
“But we’re—”
“I know.” Danny trailed gentle fingers through Carmine’s hair. “Thing is, I’ve lost a dear friend. I’ve nearly been killed myself. And that’s all this year. The gang wars have killed two of my brothers. The Spanish Influenza killed…” He sighed, lifting his head to look in Carmine’s eyes. “It’s death every way I turn, and even if it’s only tonight, I want to feel alive.” He stroked Carmine’s cheek and whispered, “I want you.”
Carmine stared at him, disbelieving not only that Danny wanted to feel alive with him, but that everything Danny had said may as well have come from his own lips. Each day seemed like one long, tiresome struggle to fend off death, and tonight…
Tonight, he didn’t want to fight anymore.
So he didn’t. He drew Danny back in, and when their lips met again, there was nothing left to fight. There was nothing to do at all but surrender to the gentle touch of a man who shouldn’t have made him feel this way.
“We can’t make a sound,” Carmine breathed.
“Not a sound. Promise.” Then Danny claimed another kiss, a deeper and longer one this time, his mouth muffling a low moan that Carmine couldn’t quite hold back.
Carmine could scarcely believe this was real. Danny was here, and they were safely in this bedroom, behind locked doors and curtain-shrouded windows. No one to see them. No one to interrupt them. No voyeuristic stranger or opportunistic vice agent watching through steam.
Just Carmine. Just Danny. Just tonight.
He pulled Danny closer and growled into his kiss, “As much as I love the way you wear this suit…get it off.”
Danny’s lips curved into a grin just before he kissed him again, and he started clumsily unbuttoning his waistcoat between their bodies. Carmine helped, though his hands were no more useful than Danny’s.
The radiator kept the room warm, but it was cool compared to the heat of Danny’s body, especially as they stripped away all the barriers between them. Shoes kicked out of the way. Buttons and belts undone. Jackets and shirts over shoulders. With each layer they shed, they were a step farther away from Irishman and Venetian-Sicilian, from thief and gangster, and a step closer to what they were—two lonely men seeking heat and tenderness in a cold and brutal world.
At last, they were naked, and they climbed into Carmine’s bed together. Beneath the covers, Carmine sank down on top of Danny, hot skin pressed to hot skin from their chests to their legs, and he groaned into a kiss as Danny wrapped his arms around him.
This wasn’t the first time Carmine had held a man’s naked body against his, but it was rare that he had someone like he had Danny tonight. There was no trace of the furtiveness of a rushed coupling in a subway washroom or the exhilarating fear of a stolen moment in the shadows of an alley. There was no one here to catch them. No fear of a police raid or an undercover vice agent.
And this wasn’t a fairy who’d caught his eye in a speakeasy or a park. This wasn’t a stranger he’d taken into a dark, steamy corner of a bathhouse, and who’d vanish afterward like a mirage into the semi opaque clouds.