Whiskey and Wry (Sinners Series) (17 page)

Damien’s lips pulled at him, closing on his length. The man took all of him in, slowly working down Sionn’s cock until he thought he’d go mad. Sionn carded his fingers through the man’s mane, pulling Damie’s soft hair between his fingers, and he threaded through the black, reaching down with his other hand to caress the splashes of ink on Damie’s spine. The tug and pull grew faster, a hot sleeve of wet suction he could feel even through the latex, and then a whisper of a finger along his opening nearly undid him.

“Fucking hell,” Sionn growled, yanking the man up. “Turn over. I’ve got to be in you, love. I can’t take this anymore.”

The bed creaked loudly, its springs protesting Damien’s rapidly shifting weight. He was quiet, panting as he glanced back over his shoulder, his blue eyes hooded and deep-black with arousal. Balancing on his elbows, he faced the foot of the bed, moving his knees apart to tilt his ass up for Sionn’s appreciation.

It was a sight he could grow used to. Wanton and vulnerable at the same time, the musician crouched there, open and desirable, the very essence of a sensual experience Sionn wanted to bury himself in. The pucker of Damien’s ass flexed, instinctive and inviting, and Sionn blew a kiss into the shadowy cleft, watching the skin purl in response.

Sionn slapped the man’s ripe cheek and left a pink mark on Damie’s pale skin, then cracked open the lube bottle and dribbled a line of it down Damien’s crease. He hissed at the cold, grumbling at it until Sionn bent forward and bit down on his ass, dimpling the skin with his teeth. The hiss turned into a growl, then a gasp, when Sionn’s fingers caught up the dripping lube and spread it around Damien’s opening, working at the edges of his entrance.

“Fuck. God, I forgot how good that fucking feels.” Damien bent his head forward, his hair falling around his face. “Sionn… Irish… come on, man. Just give me—”

“You are the most impatient—” He lost his control as Damie slid back, piercing himself on Sionn’s finger. Already swallowed up past the first joint, Sionn pushed farther in, working as much of the lube into his lover as he could. Damie gyrated around his intrusion, a foul stream of begging and cajoling coming from his hidden pretty mouth.

Leaning over, he poised the head of his cock at the edge of Damien’s furrow, seating his gloved tip into the man’s moist heat. Gripping Damien’s hips, Sionn ran his tongue over the ridge of Damie’s ear and nipped at the crinkled fold with his teeth.

“Hold on, Damie love,” he whispered, suckling the spot he’d bitten. “Let’s see how close we can fly to heaven.”

F
UCK
,
the guy was huge. Damien
knew
how big Sionn was. He’d had the man in his mouth, for God’s sake, but even the blunt edge of him poised at the lip of his body burned.

And he wanted more.

There were too many things swimming around in his head. People—memories—emotions. He needed to find something to hold onto. Something solid and comforting. A something like the Irish-accented, silver-eyed man who brought him coffee in the morning hours before the sidewalk filled with people and who hid a soft heart behind a gruff daily Dread Pirate Roberts ritual of reminding Damie he’d have to move on one day.

And it was Sionn’s voice who whispered in the darkness of his nightmares,
“As you wish.”

His fingers crumpled the old-fashioned quilt on Sionn’s bed when he grabbed fists of faded calico rings and ivory cotton. The room was much like Sionn himself, warm and comfortable, dressed with old polished wood, and smelling of lemon oil. He’d been unwilling to lie on the bed. It was too… welcoming, as if it could be a place he would finally be able to lay his head down and rest.

Then, in the circle of Sionn’s arms, Damien feared he would never want to leave, even when Sionn turned him out and moved on.

“Just think about now, D,” he muttered, arching his back to take the man into him. Now was all that mattered. He could hold onto his memories of Sionn, using them to warm him on those nights when he was dead inside. “Take what you can. Just like always.”

The burn was immense, a sticky almost-pain stretching him apart until Damien felt torn open. He knew better. He’d done this dance countless times before, but the slow, steady rubbing along his spine and the sweet, fluid sounds of a language he didn’t understand were a different rhythm than he remembered.

He couldn’t find any place in his mind when sex wasn’t a plunge into hot, quick pleasure. There were no faces in his fragmented thoughts. No one person emerging from the ocean of masks and pain. Damien strained to recall anyone, pushing at his recollections until his head hurt more than the push of Sionn into the depths of his heart.

He’d meant to think body, even as his mind whispered,
No, Damie. He’s pushing into your heart
.

Damien
knew
he’d meant to believe Sionn’s cock spearing through him hurt… even slightly… but there was nothing there but the pressure and then a sliding pleasure he couldn’t contain. Sex was never pretty. He’d never known it to be. Then Sionn gently lowered him to the bed, sliding a pillow beneath the hollow of his belly, and Damien saw a flicker of something intangible at the edge of his pleasure, a wrapping of sensations around him he couldn’t grab as it slid by.

“Are you ready for me,
a rún
?” The whisper was lush with promise, and Damien nodded, biting into the meat of his hand as Sionn angled himself in. His hands covered Damien’s, wrapping his square-nailed fingers over Damie’s knuckles. “I’m going to take you now, Damie boy. You let me know if I hurt you. I can’t stand the thought of hurting you, love. I just want to make you feel… good.”

The burn returned, a searing almost too much to bear when Sionn pushed the rest of his cockhead into Damien’s body. Hissing, he took it, breathing in large mouthfuls of air and pushing out, knowing the rest of it would soon follow.

It did, and his breath left him, replaced by a surge of warmth and fullness.

The kisses along his shoulders were timed with each of Sionn’s slow, rocking thrusts. A slide of hard flesh out, and soft, warm lips would skim along his muscles, brief hummingbird dips of affection that were gone in the moment before Sionn would fill him again.

When Sionn said he was going to take his time, Damien had no idea of the lengths the man would take to prolong the torture. Each tingling brush of cock on his nerves was brief, canted to tease rather than hold Damien in a grip of pleasure.

He couldn’t tell how long they stayed together, Sionn curled up over him, his thighs bracketing Damie’s folded legs. Damie lost track of where he ended and Sionn began; the soft rustle of their bodies sliding apart then joining again became his entire world. The press of Sionn’s chest on his shoulder blades anchored him in place, and the heat of his legs on Damie’s hips kept him from losing control. Even the rub of his cock against the soft pillowcase was a sublime torment of bliss scented tart with raspberries and sweat.

At some point, they shifted, a keening of need suddenly building up between them. Sionn’s callused fingers found his dick, and Damien gasped at the roughness on his head, Sionn’s thumb finding the too-delicate slit with the edge of his nail.

“Come on, Irish.” He dropped his forehead to the bed, sweat dripping from his scalp and down his cheeks. “God, please. Fuck me.”

Sionn’s hips took up a brutal pace, each thrust matching Damien’s growling mewls for more. The sensations lurking inside him unfurled, expanding out to invade him nearly as much as Sionn’s cock filled his ass. If anything, the man was going deeper, grabbing at Damie’s core and shaking him down to his spine, leaving behind a lightning strike of crackling pleasure that barely had time to simmer before another followed.

It was too much for Damien to take, and he bucked, slamming his cock into Sionn’s grip. Wet from lube, the man’s palm covered his shaft, working into a steady beat Damien couldn’t match. Overwhelmed, he bent his shoulders and drank in the pounding, reveling in the slap of Sionn’s balls against his and the stretch of his taint by the man’s thick cock.

The storm in him exploded, its fury hitting him in a torrential downpour. His entire body released, pouring out his climax through his cock and then his nerves, shaking him apart into little pieces. Still, Sionn continued to thrust into him, pounding through Damien’s pleasure, riding its crest to find his own relief.

Damien cried out, his cock trapped in the clench of Sionn’s hand as he was milked dry. His ass tightened, enough of a pull on Sionn’s dick to send him over the edge, and a rush of intense heat filled Damien’s cleft, the rush of Sionn’s seed trapped in a fold of oiled latex.

The tired hit him hard. Replete and worn out, his thighs suddenly ached, and the tightness in his ass became a press of fatigue along the hips. Sionn pulled free, leaving Damie as slowly as he’d entered. Damien remained in place, hunched over a come-splattered pillow, too weary to do anything more than wish he could move. Every inch of him throbbed, and his release still resonated through him, tiny shockwaves of pleasure singing beneath his skin.

He barely heard Sionn dispose of the condom, then shivered at the touch of a cloth reaching to wipe away the mess of their sex. Strong hands lifted him up, rolling him over until he could stretch out his aching legs. Those same hands worked out the kinks in his thighs, the tongue that had skimmed the sweat from his spine now touching the part of his lips, sinking him into a long, passionate kiss.

“I think you broke me,” Damien finally gasped.

“Couldn’t have, Damie love,” Sionn rumbled. “I’ve got plans for you later that need you being whole.”

He was trembling, an odd feeling as his muscles stretched back into shape. His ass grumbled at him, throbbing to remind him of the man who’d been in him, as if the sheer heft of Sionn’s hot body spooning up behind him could be missed. Sionn worked the quilt and a sheet over them, the linens warmed by their sex, then yawned, nearly splitting his jaw apart. Sleep tugged at Damien, promising sweeter dreams than the horrors that had stalked him since he’d woken up in Skywood, but his mind refused to fall into its seductive coil.

Damien didn’t want to miss a moment of Sionn’s arms being around him or the weight of the man’s leg casually flung over his shins that held him against the soft mattress. There was never enough time to capture the moments in his life when everything was
good
. His headache still lingered, but so did the echoes of time spent under the stars with Miki, their dreams spun out of cotton candy and moonlight. He wanted to hammer the brightness of Sionn’s pleasure into his mind, engraving each touch with a sweeping flourish.

No one’d ever made his body and heart sing as sweetly as Sionn Murphy. His brain stung, pierced through with the shattered return of his life, a mosaic of sharp, effervescent pieces he needed to fit together. Amid the chaos, Damien stood, sheltered in Sionn’s embrace.

“Do you need something for your head?” Sionn’s breath ruffled his hair. “Are you doing all right there, Damie?”

“I’m fine,” Damie slurred, laughing softly when the man rubbed at his scarred chest. “Seriously, I think you… damn. Just damn. How much time do we have before we head over to your uncle’s place? Can I crash for a bit?”

“We’ve got all the time in the world,
a rún
.” He kissed Damien’s teeth-scored ear. “Sleep for now. I’ve got the alarm set so we’ll have time to shower. Your clothes are already in the dryer. I’m worried they’ll be falling apart from being washed so much.”

“What’s that mean? Aaron? A roon?” It wasn’t the first time Sionn’s Gaelic slithered past him, but he’d finally caught on that one phrase.

“
A rún
. Uh-ROON.” He enunciated until Damien caught the phrasing. “It means… well, it’s sort of like secret, like a treasure. Something found and known only to a few. That’s how I think of you. Something beautiful and dark, hiding in plain sight. But, Damie boy, you’re a secret I’ll have to be sharing soon enough.”

“Not just yet.” His eyelids were heavy, weighted down with fatigue, and Damien fought to keep them open. He was going to have to give in. It was too warm… too comfortable in Sionn’s arms to do much more than fall in and drift on the thing they were creating between them. Damien pulled Sionn’s hand up and kissed the man’s knuckles, taking care to touch each one to his lips before snuggling back against Sionn’s tall frame. “For right now, let me be your secret. I’m totally good with that, Irish. Totally.”

Chapter 10

Miles of black

Whiskey and rye

Keeps the band warm

And our damned souls dry

—
Whiskey and Wry

D
AMIEN
was nervous.

It was a silly thing. Nerves. Especially since it wasn’t like he was going to meet Sionn’s parents or ask them for his hand in marriage. It was a dinner. With relatives. An aunt and uncle. Probably a sweet older couple with a few cats or a shivering little Chihuahua that would hump his leg every time he stood still long enough for it to get a good hold. Simple enough. Sure, he sucked at getting along with anyone remotely resembling a parent, but it shouldn’t matter. They were going there solely so Sionn’s uncle could be talked into helping him get his shit… and life… back together.