Criminal Pleasures (16 page)

Deciding relaxation was paramount, Brendan got undressed and soaked in the tub for an hour. Then he poured himself a whisky and flopped down in front of the television. He flipped through the channels, quickly flicking past the station running old
Sopranos
episodes.

He settled on a vapid comedy film about a young woman who’d determined that her career was more important than finding love, only to discover that her cocky, verbally abusive coworker was Mr. Right.

Finally shutting it off, he went in his room and lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He looked around at his things, things he’d only recently unpacked while putting his new home together with placid optimism. He could almost believe that nothing had changed since then, that the rollercoaster of chaos he’d experienced recently was just a strange dream. And that’s when his phone rang.

He smiled when he saw Marc’s name on the screen, and fell back onto his pillows. “Hello?”

“It’s good to hear your voice,” Marc said. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Brendan said. “You?”

“Busy day. I did get a chance to talk to the bank across from your building. Unfortunately their cameras have no view of your front door. So we don’t know who broke in.”

“Oh. Well, that sucks. But hey, my door is cleaner than an operating room now.”

“You saw the graffiti?”

“Yeah. It was disturbing.”

He heard Marc sigh. “Well someone’s watching your place tonight, but they’re gone tomorrow. Just watch your back, okay?”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Brendan said. “But I’ve got to work and live and such.”

“I know. For now just try to keep your movements limited. Like if you have to go to the store, stay where there are a lot of people.”

“This is so fucked up,” Brendan said.

“I know.”

He struggled to come up with something else to talk about. “So how was your day?”

Marc chuckled. “Better than it started. Oh, you remember Karl? He asked me to pass his apologies on to you.”

“The chunky cop you slammed down on my hood?”

Marc’s laugh deepened. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I hope you believe me when I say that isn’t my usual behavior. I’m pretty even-keeled most of the time.”

“No, that’s okay. It was kind of hot, actually, seeing you go all Dirty Harry.”

Marc snickered. “Oh, man. Well that’s something, I guess.”

“He was baiting you, though,” Brendan said. “Actually...I was kind of surprised at how calm you were at first. That you allowed him to talk to you like that. Call you...you know.”

“Faggot?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, here’s the thing. I’ve found that if someone constantly takes jabs like that, they’re either scared of you or envious. Karl is both. That’s why I don’t let it get to me. He’s bothered by my youth and my professional success, but he can’t come out and say that, so he pretends he’s bothered by my sexuality. Something about me makes him feel threatened and powerless, so taking a few verbal pops at me every day sort of evens things out for him. Let’s him go on with his day. You don’t want those feelings to fester in a guy like that. Especially when his job entails carrying a gun.”

“Huh,” Brendan said. “Very noble.”

“I do my best to take things in stride. But I wasn’t about to let him get away with
touching
you. I have my limits.”

Brendan smiled.

They were silent for a long moment, then Marc asked, “What are you wearing?”

Brendan chuckled. “Boxers and a tee shirt.”

“Nice. Are you in bed?”

Brendan’s breath caught. “Yes.”

“Me, too.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. Brendan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch your cock.”

Brendan’s body responded instantly, his groin heating. Breathing heavily, he slid his hand down and ran it over his growing erection. “I’m touching it,” he whispered.

“Under or over your boxers?”

“Over.”

“Take them off,” Marc said.

Brendan’s eyes closed and his gut quivered. Damn, how did he do that with just words?
This guy has way too much power over me.

“Okay.” He set the phone on the pillow, and slid his boxers down, setting them aside. He stretched back on the bed, his boner in full bloom now, and picked up the phone. “They’re off,” he said.

“Get it wet,” Marc ordered.

Brendan glanced around, then walked to the dresser and grabbed the bottle of lotion. He fell back on the bed with it, then pumped a dollop into his hand. “Okay,” he said, “I’m getting it wet.” He coated his cock, massaging it up and down. He shivered when he heard Marc suck in a breath.

“Perfect,” Marc said. “Now I want you to think of me, straddling you. I’m stroking your cock as I look down at you.”

Brendan’s hand worked himself up and down, pleasure already uncoiling deep inside, tightening his ass. “Yes,” he breathed.

“I’m stroking your cock, and you can see in my eyes how much I want it. Can you see?”

“Yes, I can see you. You look so fucking good.”

“Can you see how hot I am for you, baby?”

Brendan’s stomach tightened at the words. He never thought he’d like hearing a man call him
baby
, but it sent his arousal skyrocketing, and his balls tightened. “Yes.”

Marc’s breathing quickened, and Brendan could hear sounds in the background.

“Are you touching yourself too?” Brendan whispered.

“I’m grabbing your cock and rubbing the head over my balls,” he said. “I want to put it in my ass, and slide down on it.”

Brendan groaned, his hips lifting. “Holy shit, Marc.”

“Can I take you in my ass, Brendan?” he huffed. “Can I have your cock inside me?”

Brendan’s grip tightened on himself, his movements quickening. “God yes, let me fuck you.”

“I’m sliding down onto you now,” Marc said. “Feel my tight heat all around you. Your dick feels so good in my ass...God, Brendan. I’m gonna ride you now. I’m gonna ride your cock until you explode inside me.”

“I’m gonna come,” Brendan said, his hand a blur as he jerked himself, the impending orgasm making him dizzy. “Oh crap Marc, I’m gonna come inside you. Ride me hard.”

“I’m slamming down on you,” Marc said, his voice deep and smooth through heavy breaths. “Give it to me, Brendan. Give it to me now!”

Brendan gasped as he came, seed shooting out of his cock and coating his hand and stomach.

“I’m coming,” Marc said, his voice tight. “Coming with you...”

Marc cried out and the sound of it sent a last scalding bolt of pleasure through Brendan’s groin. His body fell slack on the bed, his brow sweating as he caught his breath. He laughed into the phone. “Are you still there?”

He heard Marc’s slow, heavy breathing. “Still here,” he said. “Wishing I was there.”

“I’ve never done that before,” Brendan said.

“You’ve never had phone sex?”

He chuckled. “No, that was a first. I didn’t think it could be so...effective.”

Marc’s deep laugh rumbled through the phone, tickling Brendan’s ear. “I love how virginal you are,” he said.

Brendan laughed. “Well, I’m not
that
virginal.”

There was a long pause, then Marc said softly, “Hey, Brendan?”

“Uh huh.”

“Is it okay that I want to be the one to corrupt you?”

Warmth spread through Brendan at Marc’s words. Warning bells tried to ring, urging him not to trust the feeling, but he knew it was futile. He was hooked again, perhaps even more so than before. “You can corrupt me any way you want,” Brendan said softly.

Marc’s breath quickened. “I hope you mean that,” he said. “I’m gonna hold you to it this weekend.”

Brendan grinned, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Does that mean you still want to go away together?”

“Brendan.” Marc let out a long breath. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. When I’m not undercover, that is. Do you still want to go away with me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I’m glad. I’m gonna be pretty busy tomorrow, but I’ll get in touch when I can.”

“Okay.” Brendan smiled. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Gorgeous.”

Brendan set the phone down on the nightstand and curled up under the covers. He knew he had to get out of bed and go clean himself up, but he wanted a moment to just be still and savor the glow of contentment.

The feelings Marc brought out in him were so new, and while there was no question that he liked them, he was still getting used to it. His ingrained masculinity still fought against it, telling him he shouldn’t like having a man call him things like
gorgeous
and
baby
.  That it made him weak and soft.

But this was who he was, at least for now. At least until it crashed and burned, ended somehow, as it might very well do. He was a man enamored with another man.

Was he in love?
He’d never been in love before. He’d told Kyra Hall, his high school girlfriend that he loved her, but only because she’d said it first, and expected reciprocation.

Was this thing with Marc just sex, blurring his emotions? But love and sex were naturally intertwined. What was love if not desire? To be awed by another’s presence, to want nothing more than to merge with them, to get as close as physically possible. Brendan didn’t think love could be defined, there was no line where you crossed over and a little bell went off, alerting that you were now in the LOVE ZONE. All he knew for certain was that he wanted it.

All his life he’d been told how fortunate he was, that he had so many blessings, and should be grateful. But this was the first time Brendan had really
wanted
something, wanted it so deeply that nothing else seemed to matter. So wherever this thing with Marc led, he aimed to follow it. To its bitter end.

Chapter Seventeen

Brendan had court again Thursday morning, a fairly simple divorce proceeding with a side helping of child support details. After it was over, he stopped at a deli for an Italian sub, and thought of Gina DiPietro. Thus far, she hadn’t returned the paperwork he gave her, and hadn’t been in touch. He was relieved, but also a bit wary. Granted, she had a lot on her plate. He didn’t know if they’d reopened the restaurant, and her father was in prison, after all. But the thought nagged at him that maybe Gina had decided Brendan wasn’t the best person to handle her case after all. And he hoped it had nothing to do with the graffiti that graced his front door earlier in the week.

A day and a night had passed since he’d talked with Marc...since he’d done
more
than talk with Marc on the phone that night. He wasn’t concerned that Marc had forgotten about him. In fact he was reluctantly starting to trust him. But he’d had time to process and think about what Marc told him at The Pub that night, about Patrick Quinn, and his brother Paul. And now he found he was worrying
about
Marc.

Maybe the DiPietro family did believe that their cousin Marcello was back in Italy, maybe they didn’t suspect him at all. But still. Marc had been instrumental in putting Patrick Quinn, a man who’d ordered the murder of a judge and a cop, in jail. Were there more brothers out there in the Quinn family? Friends, who’d be looking for payback once again? Or had Brendan seen too many gangster movies? Cal claimed that organized crime had been more or less dismantled in this area, that it didn’t possess the teeth it had in the varsity years. But that didn’t change the fact that Marc had worked undercover and succeeded in catching a dangerous man, a man who’d killed. And Marc lived less than two hours away—too close for comfort, in Brendan’s opinion.

And of course all these thoughts led back to Brendan fearing for his own lily white ass.
Someone
believed Brendan was a snitch. And for the first time since discovering this, he found himself hoping it was
only
Carmen DiPietro who thought so.

When he arrived back home that evening, there were no strange men sitting in cars, watching his home. He was on his own. He felt like a bit of a paranoid lunatic, but he repeated the ritual he’d been conducting ever since his door was vandalized—checking all the rooms in his loft before locking himself in.

He did some laundry in anticipation of his weekend away with Marc. Tomorrow was Friday, and while his gut churned with excitement at the prospect, he grew cranky as the night went on and he still hadn’t heard from him. As his clothes spun in the dryer, he plunked down on the sofa and proceeded to overthink every detail of the past week. Marc had been so nice to him, so affectionate, and in the overwhelming haze of lust that had been clouding his mind, Brendan conveniently forgot that he still didn’t know this man very well.

The more he pondered it, the more doubt and embarrassment crept into his mind. Brendan had been so easy to woo, so willing to throw caution to the wind and bask in Marc’s attention. He’d worked himself into an obsession too quickly, deciding with little evidence that Marc was a great guy, that he was quite possibly
the one
.  But based on what? That the guy cooked him breakfast? That he called him on the phone and made his dick hard? Marc was gorgeous and sexy. He might have a dozen other love interests for all Brendan knew. It wasn’t as though he’d outright asked Brendan to be his boyfriend. Sure, they’d had some tender pillow talk, but that was no guarantee that he was thinking the way Brendan was.

But he tried not to fall into that negative thinking. Brendan had been on the receiving end of such assumptions in the past. Others tended to think he was a self-assured player with a little black book full of eager suitors to sample at his whim, when in fact it was just the opposite. Because he was deemed intimidating, he wasn’t pursued nearly as often as people thought. Maybe it was the same with Marc. Maybe Brendan was the first person in a long time that had balls enough to approach him.

Or maybe he just feels horribly guilty about what he put you through
.

“Or maybe I should stop over analyzing everything and just enjoy it while it lasts,” he said. “And stop sitting alone and talking to myself, while I’m at it.”