[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Romantic Suspense, M/M, HEA]
MMA fights, the Dixie Mafia, and courtroom theatrics add explosive spice to the Big Easy’s steamy nights. Tate Bronowski is a man with a past trying to make a life in New Orleans and the world of Mixed Martial Arts. Deacon Delacroix is the best defense attorney in Louisiana, confident, cocky, and beautiful.
When MMA fighter Beau Toussaint is beaten to death, Tate, whose fingerprints were found at the scene of the crime, is the main suspect. While a slew of others become involved in the case, their lives intertwined in a dangerous mix of lies and love, it seems everyone’s a suspect.
Meanwhile, Deacon and Tate are brought together in a fit of lust, want, and need, and Deacon fights to keep his beloved MMA fighter off death row and in his arms forever.
A Siren Erotic Romance
Franco D was the best competition Tate had faced in a long time. The kid would only get better the more fights he had under his belt. The match went the full time limit, each man scoring high marks. Tate finally pinned the younger man and was declared the winner. Tate helped Franco up, giving the younger man a one-armed hug and a thanks for the great match.
Tate wiped the sweat from his face. When he pulled the towel away, his eye caught sight of an angel sitting in the front row with incredible flashing emerald eyes. Tate hopped down from the ring, tossing his towel at JD he walked over to the green eyes. His eyes never leaving that beautiful face, Tate didn’t even register the snicker from the man sitting next to his angel.
“You guys know you look kinda gay staring at each other like that,” Murphy pointed out with a chuckle.
“Shut up, Murphy,” Deacon said, not even looking at him. “Deacon Delacroix.” He stuck his hand out to Tate.
“Tate Bronowski. You have the most incredible green eyes.” Tate shook Deacon’s offered hand, hanging onto it until Murphy discreetly coughed to get their attention.
Murphy looked at JD, who was trying to keep a straight face. With a wink, Murphy and JD both slapped their respective friends in the back of the head.
“Hey! What the hell, JD?” Both Tate and Deacon rubbed their heads.
“You guys seemed a little stuck,” JD said. Both men blushed.
Tate looked at Deacon again. “Wait for me to get cleaned up. We can grab a beer or something.”
The night only cooled the humid Louisiana air just enough so a body didn’t feel sticky with sweat. Sasha watched Robby lying on his stomach with both Casey and Little Boo sitting on his back. Casey was resting her chin on his head, giggling at the cartoon they were watching. Little Boo was slumped against her sister’s back, thumb in her mouth, sound asleep. The sight was so perfect Sasha almost started to cry again. Robby was the father the girls should have had.
Claire watched her niece watch the sheriff with her little girls. She never agreed with her brother ending the budding romance between Sasha and Robby when they were teenagers. But Sasha’s father had been fixated on the fact that Robby Bell’s great-grandmother was half-Creole and Nez Perce Indian, and not the fact that Robby treated his daughter like she was the most precious thing in his world.
“He still loves you very much,” Claire said, coming to stand next to Sasha.
“I know,” Sasha said sadly.
The buzz of the neon lights in the homicide squad room almost drowned out the chatter of the detectives in the room. Detective Milberg clicked through the two dozen different fingerprint matches from Toussaint’s Ford. So far at least four sets were from working girls. A couple sets were from guys known to be in Toussaint’s crew. The last print had Paul sitting up and paying attention.
“Hey, Mike! Didn’t Bronowski say he had never seen Toussaint’s car?”
Mike came over to Paul’s desk. “Yes, he did.” Mike read over Paul’s shoulder. “Well isn’t that interesting. Bronowski has a record.”
The mug shot showed a considerably younger Tate. He had been convicted as a juvenile for assault at the age of fourteen. He was only a week from his fifteenth birthday, and because he was still under fifteen when the assault had occurred, Bronowski was charged as a juvenile. He spent six years in a youthful offenders’ prison and was released when he turned twenty-one.
“Shit, he was originally charged with attempted murder. He beat another kid so bad he was in a coma for three weeks and suffered permanent brain damage.”
Cassidy Roullard, the department’s file clerk, dropped a stack of papers on Paul’s desk. “Here is the list of customers who ordered boots from Markova in Louisiana.”
“Thank you, gorgeous,” Mike said with a wink. “What do you think the odds are that Mr. Bronowski ordered Markova boots?”
* * * *
The French Quarter was in full party mode. The streets filled with pedestrian traffic instead of automotive. Music spilled out from numerous clubs on Bourbon Street.
Tate followed Deacon past the line of people waiting to get into Spencer’s, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. Tate had never been to Spencer’s. He had stood in line a few times but never made it to the door. Once they walked through the door, Deacon hooked a finger through one of Tate’s belt loops.
Deacon looked over his shoulder with a smile. “Don’t want to lose you in the crowd.” Tate laughed. He was a good head and shoulders taller than everyone else. They weaved their way upstairs to the VIP room.
Curt was watching Gabe kick one of the club’s regular performer’s ass at a game of darts. Watching his lover’s sweet ass twitch in his sinfully tight Levi’s was making Curt’s mouth water. He caught a glimpse of someone stepping into the room, and a big smile formed on his face.
“Deacon! Thank God. Someone who can beat Spencer at darts. I think Zac’s about to start crying, with all the cash he has lost tonight.” Curt got up, grabbing Deacon in a tight hug.
Gabe threw his last dart, not even looking or turning toward the dartboard. He eyed the building who had followed Deacon in. “Who’s the Sasquatch?” Gabe asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Gabriel, behave. This is Tate Bronowski. Tate, these two are my best friends since forever. Curt Rhodes and Gabriel Spencer, better known as High Rhode.”
Tate shook Curt’s hand, but Gabe still had his arms crossed, glaring at him with intense electric-blue eyes. Finally Gabe offered his hand, giving Tate’s bigger hand an almost-painful squeeze, pulling him forward a little.
“Son, you fuck Deacon over, and as big as you are there won’t be enough left to put in a matchbox. We understand each other?”
Tate nodded. “Perfectly.”
Curt ordered another couple pitchers of beer and some Jack, and they all sat down. Deacon sat down close to Tate, and a big platter-sized hand settled high up on his thigh. Not quite touching his cock but close. Giving the bigger man a sideways glance, Deacon laced their fingers together on his thigh.
Gabe went down to the stage to introduce Zac. Tate was telling Curt about Crew’s and the afterschool programs they had, hinting that the kids would really love it if they came down and taught a couple music lessons. Curt agreed before Gabe returned.
Gabe came back, and Curt looked at him over his shoulder. “Hey, Wednesdays or Thursdays?” Curt asked, like Gabe had been in the whole conversation.
Gabe plopped down next to him. “Thursdays are always good,” he answered, Curt swung one of his legs over Gabe’s. “Thursdays at about 4:00 p.m. good?” he asked Tate.
“That’s great. All the regulars are at the gym by then. The kids are going to love this.” Tate was so excited.
The rest of the night went by in a blur of drinking and laughing. It was after 2:00 a.m. when Deacon asked Tate to come home with him.
Deacon barely got them inside his door before Tate had him pressed up against it, kissing Deacon like he was a starving man eating a steak. Deacon cupped the large erection rubbing against him.
“Is this big thing for me?” Deacon asked with a devilish twinkle in his green orbs. Tate hissed as Deacon squeezed him gently.
Deacon flipped them, Tate’s ass against the wall. He dropped to his knees, his fingers making quick work of releasing Tate’s aching cock, wrapping his hand around the thick, hard velvet length. Puckering his lips, Deacon blew air across the leaking tip.
“Holy! Fuck!” Tate’s head slammed back against the wall, and his hips bucked forward.
Deacon looked up at Tate through his thick eyelashes as he sucked the mushroom head into his mouth, going down until his lips were stretched around the base. Tate thunked his head against the wall. No one had ever deep throated him like Deacon did.
“Fuck!” Tate roared. Reaching down, he yanked a startled Deacon to his feet. “Bedroom, now!” Deacon grinned a little. Tate gave him a questioning look. Deacon laughed then said, “Upstairs, first door on the left.”
Tate bent, picking Deacon up over one broad shoulder. They made it up the twenty-plus stairs in seconds with Tate’s long legs taking the steps three at a time. Tate tossed Deacon into the center of the king-size bed, pinning him with his bigger body.
“Going to lick you open and fuck you deep.” Tate growled into Deacon’s ear before quickly taking both of their clothing off. He stared at Deacon’s pale-gold beauty. “So sinfully beautiful, baby.”
Pushing Deacon’s legs back until his knees touched his chest, Tate licked a path from his balls down the crack of the freckled ass to the rosy pink pucker. Quick, steady thrusts of Tate’s tongue, and the puckered hole slowly opened for him. He slid first one finger inside him and then another. Deacon bucked every time he hit that secret spot.
“Jesus fuck, Tate! Want your cock in me now!”
Tate rose up on his knees, lining his cock with Deacon’s stretched hole. “Ready, baby?” Tate thrust forward, burying himself up to his balls inside Deacon’s moist heat.