Private Dances Page 5

  “Mmm.” He reached below and cupped Dale’s balls, weighing them, rolling them. So heavy. So hot.

  Dale’s mouth opened, a sweet cry sounding as heat pulsed into his hand. Oh, yes. Yes. He stroked the underside of Dale’s prick with his thumb, soothing a little, listening to the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the tub.

  “Hey.” Dale grinned, looking as if he were boneless. “Morning.”

  “Buon giorno, Dale.” He smiled back, leaning in to take a kiss. “It’s wonderful to see you in my bath.”

  “It’s pretty cool to see you in your bath.” That smile shone.

  “Wait until we get to Naples. Or Amalfi.” Oh, the things he could show this man. “What would you like to do today?”

  “Hell, today’s been the first day where I feel like me again. I’ve never been here to know. What do we want to do?”

  “Well, this is Rome.” Leaning back, he started washing Dale’s legs. “We could go eat something decadent or walk to the Piazza Navona or the Colosseo.”

  “’Kay.” Dale’s eyes were on his hands, just watching him touch, like it was magic.

  Perhaps it was. It certainly seemed it. “Or we could stay in a bit longer….”

  “We could. The bed is soft and big enough for two.”

  “And you no longer have jet lag.” He let his fingers wander up to the underside of Dale’s knee, no longer simply washing. Now he caressed.

  Dale chuckled, leg lifted, spreading. “No, I don’t.”

  “Mmm. Look at you.” He could, for hours. Really. Perhaps he could get Dale to dance for him later. Not like Dale did for money. Just some music and the man himself, lost in it. For now he’d settle for rinsing off what he’d washed and standing. “Come to bed with me, caro.”

  “I can do that, Gen.” That square hand took his, the sunshine and water making love on Dale’s skin.

  “Oh, good.” He needed another kiss, so he took it, that water-swept body slick against his, almost cool, but not for long.

  Dale stepped out of the tub, right into him, walking them backward toward the bedroom. They made it into a sort of dance, a waltz in half-time, both of them rubbing and moaning. Gen bit gently at the skin of Dale’s shoulder as they stopped, watching it redden.

  Dale blushed, gasped for him. “Oh. Oh, I…. That’s…. Wow.”

  “Is it? Shall I try it again?” He bit down a bit harder, letting his tongue rub back and forth between his teeth.

  “Gen….” Dale’s hands landed on his ass, fingers squeezing tight, digging into his flesh.

  “Mmm-hmm?” So responsive. So his. He smiled at the thought, pushing Dale down on the bed and spreading those golden thighs, bending to bite the muscle along the inside of one.

  Dale arched, hips and shoulders digging into the bed as his legs pushed against his hands, testing his strength. Gen pushed back down, spreading again, licking up along one leg until he could nuzzle Dale’s balls. Soap and water and musk and male—the scents were heady, fine, enough to drive him mad.

  Finally he opened his mouth and tasted, lifting the heavy sac with his tongue and pushing back and forth. His hands stayed busy, stroking, touching, the damp hairs on Dale’s legs clinging.

  “Gen. Gen, you…. You make me feel….” Dale’s body twisted, words lost as Dale reached for him, so needy, so strong.

  “Tell me. Tell me what I do, Dale.” The feel of Dale’s skin made him so hungry, so happy. He loved it. Craved it.

  “I never. Shit, I never wanted so bad, so much, you know?”

  “I know. Oh, yes, I knew that the first minute I saw you. You cannot imagine how angry I was when someone else tried to touch you.” His breath landed on Dale’s skin as he spoke. Then he moved his mouth, sucking Dale in.

  “Gen!” Dale arched, feet landing with a thud on the mattress as those hips pushed up toward him.

  “Mmm.” Hot, salty, soap residue—all of it combined to make a heady taste. Lovely. He cupped Dale’s balls with his fingers, his palm, rolling.

  Dale spread a little more, offering himself up, pushing into his touch. He slid his hand farther back and pressed his thumb to Dale’s hole, testing it. The heat astounded him, made him gasp even as he sank down on that sweet cock.

  “Yes. Gen. Yes.” Dale pressed down, a deep moan sounding as his thumb pushed into that tight heat.

  His eyes tried to roll, but Gen kept his focus, pushing harder, sucking harder. He wanted everything Dale could give him. Everything.

  From the sounds to the scent to the way Dale moved, dancing between his hand and his mouth, entire body rippling, his Dale was an addiction. Gen lost himself in it, lost himself in the taste and feel of Dale’s sweet body, his mouth and hands working and working. He licked the fingers of his free hand, then pressed one inside Dale beside his thumb.

  “Oh. Hell, yes.” That deep voice rumbled, the accent thick and rich, almost as salty as the drops that pushed into his lips.

  Pulling back, Gen licked the tip of Dale’s cock and watched that face as he pushed and pushed, his fingers so deep, the feeling raw. Dale’s lips were parted, wet, cheeks flushed and dark, Dale caught in his touch.

  Dio. His cock throbbed, making his whole body shudder. “Dale. Will you let me, caro? I would be inside you.”

  “Oh, damn. Please. Please, Gen. I’m wantin’.”

  “Sì. Sì.” He eased away, moving to find something slick. His own spit would not do; he would never hurt Dale. Never. There. Lube. He got his fingers wet before pressing into Dale again, stretching. Dale leaned up, mouth on his shoulder, his neck, soft words brushing against his skin, begging him and wanting him.

  “Mmm. Tesoro. You’re so hot. So good. Are you ready? Am I rushing?” He wanted in. Now.

  “Ready. God. I want you. Want to feel it.” Dale’s hand gripped his ass, tugged him right where he needed to be.

  “Good.” Moving between Dale’s thighs and settling his prick against that tiny hole felt unbelievable. His cock pushing in felt even better. He thought he might come just from that.

  “Uhn.” Those bright eyes were fastened to his, wide and hot, watching him as if he was fascinating.

  Gen laughed. “Indeed. Move with me, Dale.” He rocked, his cock pressing in and sliding out. In and out. The rhythm felt as old as time.

  “Better… better than dancing.” So much more than dancing on the stage, this was his.

  “I love the way you dance, amore. This one is for me, sì? Only me.” Breathless now, Gen worked his hips harder, clutching Dale to him as he slammed in over and over.

  “Uh-huh. This… this is yours. I… I don’t sell this.” Dale groaned, moving faster, harder, their skin slapping.

  “No. Not this. Never this.” It occurred to him to touch Dale’s cock, to reach for it and stroke it.

  “Oh. Oh, hell. Just like.” Dale’s eyes rolled, belly going taut.

  “Mmm-hmm.” All he could do was watch, thrust and pull. Yes.

  They lost their rhythm, both of them tumbling together, both crying out. He filled Dale as deep as he could, let his hips still as he poured out. His face felt hot, his balls empty, and he could not take his eyes off Dale’s face.

  Dio, he must be in love. Gen laughed with the joy of it.

  Dale grinned, dimples deepened. “You look different here.”

  “Do I? I suppose I must. Traveling for business is stressful. I’m glad I found you, though.” Some things were worth the trip.

  “Yeah? Funny what you can find in strange places.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is, caro. And what you hold on to.” They snuggled down, and he decided they could sightsee later. For now, they would just lie together. And hold on.

  Chapter Five

  MAN, GEN’S house was….

  Damn.

  Dale wandered around, just looking, shaking his head. He’d seen churches that were smaller than this. For real. God, his baby apartment would fit in Gen’s bedroom. Still, he reckoned Gen had enough energy to fill the whole place, top to
bottom. He stopped and looked at a painting of a naked guy and a fat baby angel and a big-assed fish.

  Well.

  Okay.

  He was into fishing and sorta made his living on the naked….

  Fat baby angels were a little…. Uh. Different.

  He jumped as Gen eased up behind him, arms closing around him. Hot lips landed on his neck. “Do you like that one, caro?”

  “It’s something else, sure enough.” His head fell forward a little, a shiver buzzing down his spine.

  “I always thought the cherub a little overblown.” The puff of air that accompanied the word blown had him grunting.

  “Well, I guess fat baby angels are fun to paint. Lots of folks did it.” Man, Gen was like a heater behind him, his whole body wanting to move, to push closer to it.

  “Indeed. They represented youth and innocence. Though they always have the most lascivious grins.” Loving on him, Gen kissed his neck and shoulder, hands starting to move on his front.

  “Mmm. Innocent’s only so much fun, darlin’.” They started to dance a little, Dale humming low.

  “This is true, tesoro. I like to be naughty. But you have seen nothing of Rome.”

  “Then you should show me what you like best.” He wasn’t much for being a tourist—he didn’t have a clue how to do it—but he wanted to know Gen.

  “Oh! I should. We should go out for food too. There is a place down by the Tiber where they smash an artichoke between two bricks and cook it and serve it with sauce.” Gen turned him in a jazzy circle, dancing him about so happily he had to smile.

  “I like artichokes.” Gen had taught him that—slippery, spicy bits of artichoke sliding on his tongue, his skin.

  “Mmm-hmm. And it’s in the old Jewish ghetto, which is one of my favorite parts of the city. We can cross right over into Trastevere….” Whatever business Gen had been doing that left Dale on his own to look at paintings must be done, because Gen towed him to the bedroom and started handing him clothes.

  He tugged on his jeans and boots, Gen’s enthusiasm contagious, exciting. God, the fine son of a bitch made him happy.

  Those odd bluish-green eyes all but glowed for him as Gen bounced around, dressing in linen slacks and a silk shirt. “Oh, and we must get you Italian shoes, hmm? Yes, I think so.”

  “My boots are okay, Gen. You got a coat I can borrow?” Man, he’d never had a cold Christmas.

  “Of course I do. And I am not saying your boots offend me, caro.” Gen came and kissed him, rubbing his arms. “I simply mean that everyone should have one pair of Italian shoes.”

  He leaned and returned the kiss, tongue sliding against Gen’s lips. “I bet I’ll be the only cowboy stripper with a pair.”

  Humming, Gen opened for him, the little laugh blowing over his lips. The man had a huge lust for life. It amazed him.

  He still hadn’t quite figured out how on earth he’d gotten so lucky. Still, he was glad he was, and he’d take the ride as long as it lasted.

  When Gen finally pulled him out of the house, wearing a wool coat that cost more than his monthly rent, the sun was going down. “Not to worry,” Gen told him. “Dinner does not even begin here until nine.”

  “My time is just now getting put back to rights.” He tugged his hat down a little against the cold. “Y’all eat awful late, though. It doesn’t give you heartburn?”

  “No, because we make eating a sensual, long-lived affair. Our meal tonight might last as long as three hours.” Gen caught his hand and squeezed a moment before guiding him off toward a little square that then opened up to a main road.

  He found out Gen’s house sat near the Pantheon, a huge old temple with a hole in the dome, and that was right near the Piazza Navona. The piazza had these enormous fountains with naked guys, and it was all lit up at night.

  “Y’all do like your pretty naked guys.” He drawled it out, as deep and hick as he could, winking over at Gen and nudging the man.

  “We do. They say we are so Catholic. Everything here is pagan somehow.” He got a wink in return and a flash of bright white teeth. “Come, we will walk along the river.”

  Dale knew he was gawking, but it was all so new, so interesting. So big. “I guess y’all were pagan a long time before you got the Pope, though.”

  “We were. Tomorrow we will go to the Colosseo. It closes at dusk, and you need to see the inside. It… awes me. Makes me feel tiny.” Gen glanced at him. “Your Grand Canyon does the same thing.”

  “I feel like that at Big Bend. You look and look and think about how you’re nothing and you’re something all at once.”

  “Sì. Exactly. Oh, look at that.” One of the big mansions—Gen called them palazzi—was all lit up, twinkle lights and candles in bowls and all, all of the windows glowing. “How pretty.”

  “Oh, now….” He stood and smiled. “I wish my momma could see this. She’d love it.”

  “Would she? What is she like, your mother?” Gen started moving again, wandering on a seemingly aimless path.

  “She’s…. She’s very religious, very proper. Very nice. She doesn’t hold much with my lifestyle, really, but she sorta… lives and lets live.”

  Laughing, Gen nodded. “That sounds like my nonna. She disapproves in general of my life, but she loves me, sì? She always supports me.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. They’re mommas.” And he did his damnedest never to be alone with her.

  “Or grandmothers. Ah, here we are. Dinner.” The place was kinda downstairs, half-underground. It smelled amazing and had a kind of quiet elegance that was almost intimidating but not quite.

  “Mmm.” He took his hat off, ran his fingers through his hair. “Smells good, Gen. Maybe as good as that hotel cobbler….”

  “Oh, I am not sure. Watching you eat that was a divine thing.” That look scorched him down to his socks. Right on through.

  “That whole night was pretty damn divine, sir.” Lord, he was going to start sweating.

  “It was indeed.” Yeah, now he was getting a megawatt smile with eye crinkles. He was saved from crawling right over the table by the waiter, who spoke real decent English and explained the menu to them. The artichoke thing sounded good, and he could swear Gen bounced.

  He chuckled and let Gen order, jonesing on the way Gen got into food and wine and every fucking thing.

  When the artichokes came, he almost forgot to eat his. Gen put on a show, sucking the leaves, licking his fingers, the tender stuff disappearing bite by bite. And Gen was moaning like they were doing it right there at the table. He found himself sitting and staring, eyes going heavy-lidded as he watched Gen’s lips.

  “Is it not to your taste, caro?” Gen asked, low-voiced and hot-eyed.

  “I….” He wouldn’t know. “A man could live on watching you.” Well, hell, that sounded like the world’s biggest ijit.

  “Oh, I can understand that.” The last leaf disappeared between those well-shaped lips before Gen leaned his elbows on the table. “For now I get to watch you.”

  “Oh.” His cheeks went all hot and he shifted, scooted on the chair. He was never going to survive this whole meal.

  Then he managed to get himself a bite of artichoke and, sweet Christ in heaven….

  So good.

  “You see now, hmm? The lightest sauce, the most tender leaves. It’s a delicacy. Tomorrow we will have to go to Trastevere and get baby artichokes, deep-fried.”

  “Oh, now. I’m a Southern boy. I do like my deep-fried food.” He grinned and dug back in, licking his fingers and loving it.

  “Then you will love Rome. We will explore thoroughly before going to my home on the coast.” Gen’s rich voice held a distracted tone, the man watching his lips and tongue like a hawk.

  “I can think of a couple things I’d like to explore….” He went back to eating, his nerves all lit up and buzzing.

  “Can you?” Gen sipped his wine, still watching him, and when he finished the last bite, he noticed Gen’s free hand. The fingers stroked the fine
linen tablecloth like they would work his own skin.

  Well, hell. That made his skin feel tight, made things that didn’t need to wake up and pay attention get all heavy and interested. “I. Yeah, Gen. Yeah.”

  “Oh, good. For all I can think of is devouring you. Too bad Alonzo will be offended if we ask for our primi and secondi in a box.” That man. Lord. The things he could suggest with a look.

  “Anticipation makes it good, though, yeah?” His foot slid over, so careful, so quick, nudging Gen’s ankle with his toe.

  He could play some.

  “Y-yes.” Oh, he’d made Gen stutter. That was something.

  They got little pasta dishes then, Gen’s with a bright green sauce, his with this fresh tomato stuff that tasted bright and amazing.

  “Is yours garlicky?” It was something, wasn’t it? Sitting in Italy, drinking wine that went straight to his head, and feeling like he was something.

  “Yes. I made sure neither of us would offend the other.” Winking, Gen forked up a bit of pasta, doing that European eating thing where he never changed hands with fork and knife.

  Of course, that got his eyes caught on those fingers, got him to thinking what all they could do.

  Damn.

  Gen’s foot moved against his, sliding, making him remember where his was. Between that and the fork-licking and the happy sounds, he didn’t figure he’d make it through the pork chop thing with the figs.

  Of course, his entire previous experience with figs was of the in-a-Newton variety, so there was no guarantee he’d survive it anyway….

  The entree was as good as everything else. Really. And of course Gen shared his too, both of them trading bites across the table as Gen’s foot made tracks up and down the inside of his leg. Thank God they decided not to stay for dessert.

  “We’ll have to get gelato on the way home,” Gen said. “You must try it.”