The Syndicater: A Dangerous Dark Romance (Dark Verse Book 6)
The Syndicater: Chapter 23

‘Oh fuck, Tristan!’ A curse left her lips as his hips pounded into her, folding her into a pretzel, her legs over his shoulders, his hand on her neck.

Their eyes stayed connected, the contact carrying the same weight it had since the first time their gazes had locked. His cock thrust in and out of her, the power behind each making her feel like the mattress under them was going to give, the bed frame creaking, pelvis slapping, lips inches apart.

His blue eyes stared into her soul, pupils blown so wide the blue was a rim around them, and Morana panted, her body turned on to a degree it hadn’t been since her recovery.

Between all the pain medication and her left shoulder, between taking care of Xander and replaceing Luna and being social in Tenebrae and being exhausted by the time they came to bed, replaceing time to fuck had been difficult. It had reminded her of the old times, of tension building between them with each glance, heating their bodies with each touch, without there being a resolution. Unresolved sexual tension had been a thing of the past since the moment they got together. Thankfully. Morana was horny enough for him to be shameless about the fact that fucking Tristan Caine was one of her favorite activities in the world, just next to kissing him, the only way of burning calories she supported wholeheartedly.

So, after days of going without getting into his pants, Morana had decided after the party that she was going to get what she wanted no matter what.

And so she’d gone all out with the strappy silver dress, the same one she’d worn in that casino years ago when he’d shot her arm and then proceeded to hate fuck her like nobody’s business in the shower. Tristan’s eyes had flared seeing her in it, especially because she had filled out more in the last few years of being happy, and that flare alone had been worth the effort.

‘I’m not wearing anything underneath,’ Morana had whispered in his ear, giving him a saucy smile before leaving him standing with the others and heading to the cottage. Thankfully, Xander had fallen asleep in one of the rooms in the mansion, so they had the entire space just to themselves.

As she’d expected, Tristan had stalked after her within minutes, not even saying farewell to whoever he’d been in conversation with.

Morana had taken off her heels and run through the grass barefoot, adrenaline filling her veins as she’d almost made her way to the cottage, down the hill, and with so much buoyancy in her heart, a thrill of the chase getting her hormones high. It had been then, running and her blood rushing in her ears, that he had caught her from behind, his arm going around her waist and picking her up. He’d thrown her over his shoulder and carried her into the cottage like the caveman she called him, barely making it in before dropping her down and pushing her against the door. Their hands had grabbed at each other in desperation, hers taking his cock out and him picking her up, no foreplay, nothing, just him sliding right into her.

Morana had grabbed his shoulders, her head tilting back as a moan of deep-rooted pleasure left her, the feeling of completion that she had only ever found with him making her eyes roll back in her head.

‘I’m going to fuck you like I hate you.’ His hands had gripped her under the ass, his words turning her on even more. She loved it when he fucked her like that, their early days of going at it some of the hottest.

‘I’ll hate fuck you back,’ she’d told him.

That was all it had taken before he had pounded her into the door, rattling it on the frame so hard she was surprised it hadn’t broken like some of the other furniture that had become victims to their shenanigans over the years. They had both come within minutes, both of them too-keyed up to hold on for too long, before he had carried her up to the room, still inside her while she leaked and stained his pants. He had dropped her on the bed and stripped before ripping her dress off and leaving her in nothing but her glasses, his eyes going over every exposed inch of her skin, from her hardened nipples to her little belly to her leaking pussy.

And then, he had kneeled on the bed, pushed her legs back, and folded her in half, rendering her immobile, and thrust inside her again.

His mouth came down, close to her, so close she flicked his lips with her tongue, tasting the sweat on his upper lip, feeling dirty and messy and so fucking hot it felt like it would never be enough. It never would be. If there was one thing Morana had learned in the last two years, it was that they would never get enough of each other, that this deep, intense need would never go away. In the beginning, she’d had her occasional days where she’d wondered if it was too good to be true, but now she never did. He was more committed to her than she had even expected, his eyes, his body, his heart, everything solely on her. He had once promised her that she would never walk into a room and question his loyalty, and he’d been right. No matter where they were, every time she walked into a room, the first thing she felt were his eyes on herself, and they never strayed, not once, to any other person unless someone was directly saying something that mildly interested him.

She tried to move her hips and push back against his movement, but the position she was in didn’t allow even a little bit of leverage, her effort only making him slide in deeper.

‘Tristan,’ she begged, telling him to move more, move harder, move faster, and his hand on her neck tightened, fingers pressing into the side of her throat and keeping her useless as he used her body as he pleased, at the pace he wanted, dialing her arousal to an even higher degree.

Heat began to pool in her abdomen, getting hotter and hotter with each slide of his cock in and out of her, the walls of her pussy gripping him tight, wanting to keep him in place and weeping when they couldn’t. She whimpered as he hit somewhere deep inside, almost blurring the pleasure to pain, the angle of his thrusts touching a spot inside her that made her mind almost blank every time he touched it. She gripped his wrist with her hand, holding onto his neck with the other, her mouth opening as he seated himself so deeply inside her on a downward stroke that his pelvic bone rubbed over her clit, making her almost blackout with the sharp, sudden sensation that overstimulated her. Her skin felt clammy, her breaths coming out too quick as the heat coiled and coiled and coiled and he moved and moved and moved and she tried to tell him to slow down because it was becoming too much. She was going to fall, shatter apart into smithereens, but no words came out, just sounds, sounds of her moans and his grunts and their skin and her wetness and the bed, creaking and creaking, and suddenly, he went in too deep.

She almost did black out, right before a scream left her throat and the coil snapped.

Her orgasm shook her entire body, making her eyes clench shut as her muscles squeezed around her, her limbs jittery and her spine arched, her breasts smashed into her thighs and nipples pebbled into points that almost hurt.

Her orgasm triggered his own, making him rock his hips once, twice, before he came inside her again, flooding her for the second time that night, his body going lax on her for a second as he caught his breath, before he moved and lay down to the side. They both stared up at the ceiling in silence for a few moments, panting, letting their hearts calm down and come back down to earth.

Distant noise from the party penetrated their bubble. A clock ticked somewhere in the cottage. Her heartbeat drummed in her years.

She turned her neck to look at him, running the back of her left hand over his scruffy jaw, catching her breath. ‘I love it when you hate fuck me.’

At her muttered words, he turned to his side, going up on an elbow and resting his head on it, his eyes, his energy, lighter than it had been before. Finding his sister had done wonders for his demeanor. Though he was still a grouch, now he was a grouch who took a joke.

He leaned forward, running his lips along her jawline, down her neck, and over the scar left by the bullet. His lips pressed into it, kissing it softly, before replaceing her lips, tasting her the way he did that made her toes curl.

Morana pushed him back against the bed, their lips coming apart, joining again, smiling and locking together. His hands wandered down her naked back, cupping her ass in a grip that always made her breath catch, his hold the only kind of possessiveness he allowed himself to express usually. His rough fingers teased the skin at the edge of her pussy, their breaths mingling harder as her blood heated, the small tracing motion making her core tighten as desire coiled low in her belly.

Tristan leaned back against the headboard, widening his stance, and Morana pulled back, breathing heavily, his hot eyes and blown pupils sending a current right to her core. He kept looking at her, his chest heaving, and Morana felt his fingers tighten over her ass, pulling her up in one motion, bringing her higher on the bed over him.

“Again?” he asked in a hoarse voice that tugged right in her groin.

“Again,” she replied, her breasts heavy, nipples aching as they pressed into his chest.

Before she could blink, he picked her up in one of those crazy moves she’d fantasized about for weeks while watching him work out in their home gym, and one of those moves, a bicep curl thingy he did, always shot her libido right through the roof no matter how many times he demonstrated it. She expected him to pull her over him. She expected him to spread her while filling her with screams. She expected him to cup her ass with both hands and hold her still while he drove into her.

But Tristan did none of those things. Morana blinked in surprise as she felt his naked erection against her thigh as her legs wrapped around his waist. His big, rough hand came to grip her neck in a move that was so Tristan, his blue eyes blazing with that combination of lust and love that made her heart pound, that combination of wild and soft that made her throb.

“Tristan?” she murmured, not understanding what he would do.

“Patience, wildcat,” he whispered softly, and Morana groaned, feeling his length rub against her small nub, sending a thrill of pleasure over her nerves.

“Screw patience,” she panted, moving her hips to get more friction. “Actually, screw me. Now.”

His lips quirked up even as his eyes glazed, that primal look in them making her heart batter like a ram. She felt his other hand settle on her ass, using their combined fluids to push two fingers into her rear as he lifted her a little higher, his erection pulsing right against her entrance, their eyes locked. Over the years, she had learned he was an ass man through and through. The first time he’d done that, she’d been surprised but it had rocked her world so hard she now begged him. He did take her ass some days if he was in the mood, but sometimes, when they were insatiable, he penetrated her with his fingers and his cock, filling her so completely with himself she felt like he could never get out.

That’s what he did right then. With his fingers in her ass, in one smooth motion, he thrust his cock up just as he pulled her down.

Morana cried out, her head falling back as intense sensations assailed her, her walls clamping on his length and eyes closing as her fingers dug into his shoulders for support. Before she could catch her breath at the feeling of being so full, Tristan lifted her again with one hand, stuffing her in the back with his with the other, sliding his cock almost completely out of her before suddenly impaling her down on him, his hips bucking up into her, her loud cries drowned against his tongue.

Picking up the motion, he repeated it again, and again, and again, lifting her and pulling her down, pulling out and thrusting up, the angle allowing him to move so much deeper inside her, pleasuring nerves she didn’t know she possessed.

Her walls clenched around him, again and again, with each motion of his hips, convulsing around his erection as it slid home again and again, her eyes closed, small bursts of pleasure assaulting her, combining into a tighter fold, making her whimper louder and louder. Morana pulled away from his mouth, openly panting, hearing his own ragged breaths matching hers, his arms never stopping, his hips never pausing in their pistoning motion.

‘Oh fuck,’ Morana breathed out in between gasps. ‘Oh god.’

Tristan stared at her intensely, the way he did, leaning his head forward and biting a nipple with his teeth. Morana shuddered at the overload of sensations attacking her from everywhere, clenching him so tightly he let out a very caveman noise. Her walls clamped around him at his guttural growl, and suddenly, the sensations inside her intensified in that familiar but addicting way, the friction between their bodies making her simper in pleasure.

She bit her lip, gasping as Tristan kept hitting the small spot he had discovered inside her, a spot so sensitive to his touch it could trigger beasts of orgasms and had, much to their pleasure.

“Oh god, I’m going to come,” she uttered beside his head, her hand grasping him for support as her hips started thrusting back on their own, her other more desensitized hand going between their bodies to rub on her clit, knowing he would never drop her, her finger furiously moving over the bundle of nerves.

“Then fucking come,” Tristan growled against her jaw, his teeth nipping the skin and Morana felt her toes curl, the heat infusing in her blood as it started from where her finger rubbed her clit and where he moved and moved and hit her so hard with each damn thrust and her walls started quivering around his shaft but he kept pumping it in and out and in and out and up and down and up and down and never stopped and…

With a mangled scream, Morana felt wave after wave of ecstasy wash over her, an orgasm more potent than either of the others she’d had that night. She felt Tristan’s fingers pull out, his arm wrapping around her back, pulling her right into his chest as he pulsed inside her, twitching, coming with a raw sound from his chest, his face buried in her neck, his cock spasming inside her trembling walls, filling her with his essence, her own hands smushed on his chest.

They breathed heavily for long seconds, staying locked together, not moving, just coming from the high they got every single time.

‘I love it when you love fuck me too,’ she told him, dropping over his chest, content, her ear pressed over his thundering heart, hearing it slowly calm back down to its normal beat, matching it so hers did too.

She could feel his amusement at her post-coital blissful words and she relaxed into him, content as a kitten, which reminded her.

She drew loops around his muscular chest with her finger. ‘When are we getting a cat?’

His hand stroked the line of her spine lazily. ‘A cat for you. A dog for Xander. It’ll be a madhouse.’

The exasperation in that whiskey and sin voice made her giggle. She folded her arms on his chest, ignoring the twinge in her left after the vigorous activity she had put it through, and rested her chin on her hands, looking down at him.

His eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face.

‘You’ll enjoy it,’ she assured him. She hoped. ‘Your sister will come back with us, right?’

‘No idea,’ he told her gruffly. ‘I hope but I’m not pushing her for anything. It’s too soon and she’s…she needs time. We both do.’

‘That’s okay,’ Morana pressed a kiss to his heart. ‘We have all the time in the world.’

A small smile lifted his lips, her favorite thing in the whole world—his dimple—popping out as he kept her eyes closed, stroked her spine, and let her snuggle into his heart.