Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (16 page)

“Fuck!” Kane gaped.
Syren chuckled. His legs remained spread wide, his ass winking at Kane who’d moved to stand at the end of the bed. It was like watching someone perform some weird sexual pose in yoga. Syren’s ass was in the air, muscular thighs straining as he held himself steady with only his elbows on the mattress, legs wide.
“Just so you know, Marshal, I’ve been doing yoga for almost ten years,” Syren said. “I also practice Krav Maga and uh, Brazilian jujitsu.”
Kane swallowed his tongue. “Ah, okay?”
“That means you can’t physically hurt me.” The pillow muffled Syren’s words, but Kane still heard them clearly. “Not unless I want you to.”
Well all right. If that was the way he wanted things. “Hold that position.” Kane thumbed his cock head and climbed onto the bed. He crawled between Syren’s legs and lay on his back, looking up, directly below Syren and ordered, “Now lower yourself. Slowly.”
Syren did. Kane moved into position. He opened his mouth, taking Syren’s waning arousal inside.
“Fuck!”
Syren’s body shook, his tight control wavering. Kane sucked him, tongue lashing around his cock head, dipping into Syren’s slit. Slick pre-cum fired his taste buds and melted on his tongue.
Kane moaned at the sweetness. He sank his fingers into Syren’s ass cheeks, holding him steady when he felt his muscles start rebelling. Syren grunted above him, hips working, humping Kane’s face as he fought to thrust deeper down Kane’s throat. Kane’s hips moved too, fucking air, the hint of a cool breeze around his sensitive cock almost too much.
And not enough.
He dropped his jaw, hollowed his cheeks and Syren sank deeper. Deeper. Then Kane swallowed.
The handcuffs wailed, rattling extra loud in the quiet. Syren was crying out too, jumbled words a mix of English and other languages as his hips sped up. Kane trailed a finger down his crack and pushed in.
Bittersweet cream flooded his mouth as Syren exploded. “Oh God. Kane. Oh God.”
“Hmm.” Kane swallowed him, one hand holding the base of his own cock to stave off his climax. When Syren finished spurting, Kane shifted away and allowed the other man to drop back to the bed.
“Fuck.” Syren twitched in place. “Damn.”
Kane sucked his bottom lip into his mouth—he didn’t want to give up Syren’s taste so soon. Smoothing a hand down Syren’s flank, he asked, “All good?”
Syren’s gaze wasn’t quite steady when he lifted his head. “Could be better.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Give me your mouth.”
Kane crawled up his body with a grin. He held Syren’s head steady with a hand in his hair and bent. Syren took his mouth, tongue thrusting and twisting around his, probing.
“Mmm.” Syren broke the kiss, mouth hovering over Kane’s. “Love the way you taste, Marshal.” He dove back in and Kane welcomed him with a nip. Syren sucked his tongue hard, yanking guttural moans from Kane.
Kane broke the kiss. “How do I taste?”
Syren licked him from chin to nose. “Like me. Like my cum.” He caught Kane’s bottom lip between his teeth. “You like it? My seed filling your mouth, coating your throat?”
Fuck. Kane humped the mattress. “I do.”
“Good. Let’s make it a habit.”
Kane chuckled and moved away. Spying the belt on the floor he picked it up and unfurled then held it, letting it drag over Syren’s back in the briefest of touches. Syren undulated with a low hum.
“The way you move,” Kane murmured. “Like a fucking belly dancer. It’s a sight.” He let the tip of the belt caress the swell of Syren’s ass and the curve underneath where ass and thigh met.
Syren fidgeted, fingers closing around the sheets.
“Feel every touch,” Kane spoke in a low tone, his gaze on Syren’s body as it moved along the mattress. “Close your eyes and picture me, every touch of the belt is me, kissing you, licking you.” He pulled one cheek aside and dragged the belt in between Syren’s dark valley.
Syren’s breaths turned to pants to match Kane’s. He bent his knees and rocked back. Kane took the belt away, letting its tip dance around Syren’s ankles and calves.
A frustrated sound left Syren. Kane smacked his ass.
“I know you love that, when I make your skin red.” He bent and kissed the spot he just slapped. “It’s so striking, the red of my handprint against the paleness of you.”
“Kane, please. Take me. Fuck me.”
Damn. Those words sent Kane’s blood to boiling in his veins. He grabbed the condom and quickly put it on. “What’s that, begging are we?”
Syren’s right leg had taken up a constant shaking. “It’s not begging. It’s—it’s…”
Kane lubed up two fingers and pressed inside Syren, sinking deep without too much resistance. He scissored them while stroking himself and prepping Syren.
“Yes. Yes.”
Kane removed his fingers then pushed in, dipping in his crown then remaining still as the guardian muscle at Syren’s entrance put up a losing fight. Before Kane began moving Syren was there, lifting off and sliding down Kane’s shaft as if he were born for it.
“Ungh.” The handcuffs shook when Syren pulled at them. “Goddamn handcuffs.”
Kane folded his knees and sank back on his haunches, eyes on Syren’s ass as the other man lifted off and sank down, over and over.
“Fuck.” Kane squeezed his eyes shut at the pleasure of the tight squeeze, but quickly reopened them. “That’s it,” he encouraged as Syren rode him. “Fuck yourself on me. Do it.”
Aroused cries filled the room, his and Syren’s. The smaller man used his upper body to propel his lower body onto Kane. He canted his hips and sank down.
Kane drove in, hard and deep.
“Kane. Fuck.” Syren clenched around him. “Killing me. So good.”
“Work me,” Kane said hoarsely. “Work me good.” He licked his thumb then rubbed at the spot where his cock and Syren met.
Syren’s cries grew louder. Kane’s thighs ached. The pulse at his left temple pounded. Syren rose and lowered himself, sliding down Kane’s length. A sight impossible to verbalize. The sexiest thing Kane had seen in a long while. The snug clasp of Syren’s channel the hottest and tightest he’d ever felt. Sweat beaded on his forehead and nape, dripping into his eyes, burning him. Kane blinked it away and focused on the vision of his shaft disappearing inside Syren. As if they were made for this. Their bodies built to fit so perfectly together.
Blasphemy. Maybe. Right then Kane didn’t care. He sank his fingers into Syren’s hips and pulled him back onto him.
A strangled yelp erupted from Syren. “Oh fuck. Right there.” His ass contracted painfully around Kane. “Right there.”
He begged so Kane gave it to him. He dragged Syren backward and pounded into him, hitting his spot as Syren cried out and the handcuffs clanged. There would be marks tomorrow.
His marks.
The thought sent heat spiraling down his spine, swamping his balls.
“Fuck me,” Syren cried out. “Make it hurt. Give it to me.”
Kane reached under him and cupped Syren’s balls, rolling them in his palm, squeezing.
“Ah. Ah.” Syren bowed. Kane tapped at his entrance with one finger then pushed it in alongside his cock. Syren stiffened then flailed. Seed poured from him, coating Kane’s fingers. The contractions in his ass pulled at Kane, drawing him closer and closer to the edge.
He pistoned into Syren, burying himself as far as he could then letting it take him. Bright light burst from behind his eyelids as he emptied into the condom protecting them. His scalp itched. His lungs burned. Kane groaned.
He felt drained. Empty. As if he’d given Syren all he had. His body collapsed and he fell forward onto Syren, his face mashed into the other man’s back. They stayed like that, no one speaking for God knew how long, until Syren shifted and the handcuffs rattled.
Kane forced himself to move. He unlocked the handcuffs then went into the bathroom where he got rid of the condom and cleaned himself then he wet a rag and returned to the bedroom and took care of Syren. Afterward, they went back to lying down, neither talking. This time his head was on Syren’s stomach and the smaller man’s fingers were sifting through Kane’s hair, nails scraping his sensitive scalp.
“Next time you come, bring results of your latest blood tests,” Kane spoke into the darkness. “I don’t want any barriers between us.”
Syren’s fingers paused. “Okay.” He went back to playing with Kane’s hair and Kane did his damndest to deny he’d just taken an irrevocable step into the unknown.

A sound woke him. Kane turned over in bed and cracked an eyelid open. Syren sat at the edge of the mattress, at Kane’s feet, smoking. His pale skin gleamed in the dim light and the end of the cigarette glowed orange-red every time he inhaled.

“Thought you were quitting.”
Syren shrugged. “Thought so too.”
Kane sat up. “Did I make you relapse?”
Syren looked at him through swirling smoke with a half-smile. “I think we can both

agree a fuck like we just had deserves a celebratory cig break.”
“I don’t like it.”
Syren paused. Tipping his chin upward, he blew out smoke then spoke. “Yet

Kane frowned but didn’t answer. What was Syren really asking? They sat in the dark room in silence until finally Syren dragged fingers through his hair.
“I gotta go.” He stood and Kane noted he wore his pants and shoes.
Kane blinked up at him. “What’s happening? Where are you going?” And what was with the feeling of déjà vu that swarmed him?
Syren buttoned up his shirt and shrugged on his jacket. “Sorry.” He dropped a kiss on Kane’s brow. “Business, I promise.”
“It can’t wait?” Kane squinted at the clock on his nightstand. What kind of business did Syren have at 11:48 at night?
“Can’t wait. I’m sorry.” Syren sat next to him and cupped his jaw. “Loved watching you sleep, Marshal.” He smiled. “Kinda loved waking up next to you as well.”
Kane scowled. “But you’re leaving.”
“Can’t be helped.” He grasped Kane’s shoulder and kissed him, soft and sweet, but consuming all the same. “I’ll call as soon as I can.” He stood and walked to the door. “Thank you for tonight.” He winked and disappeared out the door.

Syren folded his hands in his lap and tried not to glance down at the dark marks on his wrists. Kane’s marks were everywhere, some seen, most felt, but he had bigger things on his mind than reminiscing about his lover’s touch.

He sat in the back of Delatorre’s limo alongside his boss as they drove back to his LA house after making a brand-new deal with a drug supplier. They’d all shaken hands, exchanged a boatload of cash, and Delatorre got what he came for—a face-toface with his new business partner and as much cocaine as his guys could fit into a rental truck.

They rode in silence, Delatorre fiddling with his phone. Syren tried not to fidget. He’d waited so long and now that moment was at hand, and he couldn’t calm himself down long enough to breathe. His heart beat loud and fast, reverberating in the tips of his fingers and toes. The plan had to work, all the strings he’d pulled, the asses he’d had to kiss over the years. All the palms he’d greased and shit he’d overlooked. They all had to come together to work. Smoothly. With none the wiser.

Much more was at stake now than when he’d originally concocted the elaborate ruse. His heart was all tangled up in making sure everything went as it was supposed to, as he wanted it to. If the Feds fucked it up, he’d have their heads. Individually. Syren didn’t trust them.

Took one shady bastard to recognize another.
One moment all was quiet and the next tires were squealing, lights flashing and Syren was up, doing the best goddamn acting job of his life. He grabbed the back of his seat and looked over his shoulder at the black SUV gaining on them.
“What’s that?” He turned to the driver. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, sir.” The driver met his eyes in the rearview. “Should I stop or…?”
“No. No.” Delatorre spoke up before Syren could respond. “Please pull over, Enzo.” He remained unflappable, not a hair out of place or a frown marring his face. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Enzo did as ordered and they waited, surrounded as they were by huge SUVs and more than half a dozen men approaching on foot with weapons raised.
“Any idea what’s going on?” Syren asked Delatorre from the corner of his mouth.
“Nothing but more harassment, I’m sure.” Delatorre spoke in smooth Portuguese. He shifted with a heavy, put-upon sigh. “We’ll have to lodge a formal complaint. Call Peter and have him do it once we’re done here.”
Syren nodded.
The doors of the limo were yanked open, as if in a coordinated move. “Hands up. Now! Now!”
Syren raised his hands in the air. “Anyone care to explain what this is all about?” He lifted his gaze and met the eyes of the man whose service weapon was aimed at his forehead, dead center. “We’ve broken no laws, officer.”
Varun Patel rolled his eyes, quick enough for Syren to see and he stifled the grin. Patel didn’t like him, he simply tolerated Syren in order to get his case solved and closed.

“That’s agent to you,” Patel snapped at Delatorre, but his gaze remained locked with Syren’s. “Save the bullshit, all of you. We’ve got you on tape. CCTV has the deal you just completed in 3D.”

Delatorre didn’t speak, but Syren felt the sudden tension and his body followed suit, terror rising before he remembered it was over. He wouldn’t have to deal with the beatings anymore.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Syren barked at Patel, “but I want to speak to someone in charge of this fucking circus and we want our lawyers.”
“Out.” Someone grabbed Syren by the shoulders and dragged him out the limo. He winced at the pain in his shoulders, but cursed when he heard his jacket rip.
“Hey, no.” He wrenched away from the agent and wagged a chastising finger in his face. “No. This is a fucking five-thousand-dollar jacket,” he growled. “More than you make in a month. I’m filing a complaint.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” The man behind him brought him to a standing position and handcuffed him behind his back. Not as fun as when Kane did it, that was for damn sure. “You’ll get to do that soon enough.” He pushed Syren forward to one of the SUVs.
He really would have to file a complaint. What was with the rough handling? He tried rotating his shoulders with little success. Damn his delicate bones and easy-tobruise skin. But only in that particular context, because when Kane had him handcuffed, delivering slaps to his ass, Syren loved the idea of being all red and marked up for him.
“Head down.”
Syren huffed in outrage when the agent pushed him up into the SUV. Settled in the backseat he watched as Delatorre received the same treatment feet away, his mouth moving a mile a minute. Probably cursing a blue streak and threatening to sue everyone involved.
Yeah.
Pretty soon he’d know exactly how futile resistance was.