Operation 12 When Love Lies #4
His body knew the lens, hands knew timing, breath knew when to catch, when to deepen, when to let bass roll out low enough to sound private even though millions were listening.
He shed his shirt completely.
Then the scene shifted, the camera lowering, following the long lines of him as he walked through the room.
Furi stretched his long, lean body across the black satin sheets on the bed, enclosed within a canopy of sheer black curtains, the fabric falling around him in smoky panels.
The silk pants were removed after, handled with the same slow restraint.
The camera lingered over his back, on the curve and strength of his spine. Furi exhaled, deep and raw, the sound gritty enough that Syn wanted to put his fist through the screen.
That sound belonged in their bed, against his mouth.
Furi rolled slowly, arched and shifted with sensualness. The moans were quieter at first. Breathy. Then deeper. Rougher.
The camera panned down his left hip.
Syn went still.
There, in bold, beautiful typography, inked into Furi’s skin like a vow, was his tattoo.
So Full of Syn.
Syn had kissed, bitten, held, and claimed those words.
That was his fucking name.
Syn’s breath turned harsh as he flattened his hands on the counter to keep from punching the laptop until it was small pieces of nothing.
Those words had been a filthy, sweet joke Furi had said after a long night of passion, then turned it into ink.
Syn had pretended to be exasperated when he’d seen it, then had spent half the night caressing it with devotion. He loved that tattoo because it was outrageous, possessive, tender, and so completely Furi.
Now it was part of goddamn porn video.
Syn forced himself to keep watching.
He didn’t know why. Punishment, maybe. Evidence. The cop in him needing the whole scene before he rendered judgment.
Furi’s performance built in an easy passionate rhythm.
Those talented fingers were wrapped around his thick cock. His grip was firm as he stroked, slow and steady, sliding his hand from the base all the way up to the swollen head.
His long legs were spread wide, one knee bent and laid to the side, opening him up so the dark hole between his cheeks peeked out, the tight ring clenching slightly with each pump of his fist. Each stroke making his shaft twitch, pre-cum leaking from the tip and coating his fingers.
He pumped faster, hips rocking forward sensually, like some exotic dancer.
Syn sat frozen as the scene reached its end.
Furi twisted his fingers in the soft linen. His beautiful hair spilled across the side of his face, and his mouth opened on a deep, guttural moan that Syn knew too well.
Then he heard it on a single breath.
Barely audible, but no doubt in his mind, Furi sighed his name.
Syn.
Whispered it the way he did when he was buried so deep inside Syn he saw stars.
The video ended, panning away from the come spread across Furi’s abs.
The screen showed an elegant black title card offering replay, related content, bonus interviews, behind-the-scenes stills, and the next scheduled release date.
Syn didn’t move.
He was soft, not a flicker of arousal in him, not one damn spark. His body had gone cold. The resentment took up too much room for anything else. It worked up his arms, stomach, chest, throat until it hummed behind his teeth.
The dishonesty was too much.
Furi had lied.
Did he really think he could hide something this massive?
That was the part Syn kept circling like a complex crime scene.
If only Furi had come to him first, sat him down, told him they were drowning, and that snake Mack had made him an offer, and he was considering it to save them.
He would’ve said a hard no. He knew that…and so did Furi.
So instead, Furi had lied straight to his face, and Syn had already pieced together when he’d done it.
The weekend before last, Furi said he needed a couple of days away. A camping trip with his friend Doug. A chance to clear his head, and Syn had believed him because his partner wasn’t a liar.
He’d wanted Furi to go and have some fun, to get away from the shop, and bills and Syn’s own foul mood filling the house like poison.
He’d kissed him goodbye. Told him to ride safe and call if he needed anything. Told him he loved him.
And instead of doing that, Furi had gone to record this.
Syn didn’t move from the counter and stayed that way until he heard the low, familiar rumble of Furi’s Harley turning onto their street.
He forced his breathing to stay controlled.
Because if he let it loose—
Furious
Syn’s truck was in the driveway when Furi turned onto their street.
The sight punched a cold hole through the middle of him.
It was a little after nine, which meant Syn was late leaving for his night shift. He should’ve been gone already.
Furi slowed his bike.
For one desperate second, he thought about backing out, riding around the block, giving himself five more minutes to figure out the perfect way to say everything.
No!
He’d spent a week swallowing the truth until it scraped him raw going down.
Furi dragged in a breath, then another, swung off the bike, and forced his legs to move.
He came in through the garage door, keeping his steps quiet on the couple of steps into the laundry room.
The house was dark.
Furi hooked his keys on the small peg by the door and stepped into the kitchen, feeling for the wall switch. He flipped the light on and damn near jumped out of his boots.
“Shit!”
He jerked back hard enough to hit his shoulder on the doorframe, slapping his hand to his chest.
Syn was sitting at the breakfast counter…in the dark.
He hadn’t moved when the light came on. Hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t said a word.
He sat with both forearms braced on the counter, shoulders squared, spine rigid, his expression set in flat stillness.
His black and gray hair was a mess, as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it until he no longer cared how it looked.
His jaw was locked so tight the muscles above his cheek ticced. Those dark eyes blazed like burnt onyx in his direction.
A laptop was open in front of him, its screen black and dead.
Furi’s heart stopped. He was too late.
“Corbin,” Furi started, voice low and hesitant.
He took a couple of steps forward and halted when Syn stabbed a key on the laptop.
Illustra’s website was already open to his page. The banner scrolled across the top with his name in bold lettering beneath the headline Mack had plastered everywhere like a damn victory flag.
HE’S BACK!!!
Furi stared at the screen for a heartbeat, then at Syn, and whatever courage he’d left with from the bar, thinned to almost nothing.
Syn was too calm, however, his glare betrayed him.
It wasn’t wild or crazed…it was focused.
Syn continued to stare at the screen for a long, silent moment, then raised his brows and nodded once as if he’d reached some conclusion.
“That’s beautiful work, Furi,” he said dryly. His voice stripped of warmth. “Really. Quite an impressive performance.”
Furi didn’t say thank you. The work probably was beautiful, but Syn’s remark wasn’t a compliment.
It was pain wrapped in a suit of defensive armor.
“Did you read the comments?” Syn asked.
Furi’s stomach dropped.
“No.”
Syn finally glared at him. “No?”
Furi shook his head once.
“Let me enlighten you.”
Syn cast his gaze back to the screen, his voice even.
“‘Furious needs to open an OnlyFans. I’d pay stupid money for a taste of that.’” Syn scrolled again. “‘How much for a private showing? Name the price. I’ll buy the whole night.’” Another scroll. His jaw flexed. “‘Damn, so glad he dropped that ball and chain and came back where he belongs.’”
Furi closed his eyes.
Syn kept going.
“Here’s another one.” His tone colder. “‘Whoever had him locked down was holding back a national treasure. Welcome back, king.’” Syn gave a short, ugly chuckle.
“These are my favorites. ‘Hope Furious stays single this time. He doesn’t need another insecure jealous boyfriend.’ ‘Tell whoever had him playing house that fun time is over. Furious belongs to us now.’”
Furi recoiled so hard, he felt the beers threaten to come up.
No, he hadn’t read the comments. He’d refused to. Told himself he didn’t care, that the only part of this that mattered was the money and what it could fix. He’d ignored the noise, the subscribers, the posts, the tags, all of it.
He’d been a fool for thinking not looking at them meant it wouldn’t affect them.
He crossed the kitchen, reached past Syn, and snapped the laptop closed.
“I didn’t read them,” he said softly. “Because I don’t care what anyone is saying.”
Syn slammed his fist down on the counter so hard the salt and pepper shakers jumped.
“I care!”
Furi yelped, not from fear of Syn hurting him, never that, but from the rage and devastation in his voice.
It was the first fracture in Syn’s control, the first flash of the wound beneath the locked-down composure.
He’d done this. So he’d take it.
Furi gulped around the sorrow lodged in his throat. “I know. I know you do. But please understand why I did this.”
Syn narrowed his eyes. “Understand why you lied to me?”
The words landed clean.
Furi inhaled a shaky breath. “You know why I did it.”
“No,” Syn said. “I know what you did. Don’t confuse the two.”
“I’m your partner, Corbin.” Furi gritted. “You don’t have to take care of us on your own.”
Syn nodded slowly, the movement making Furi’s skin prickle.
“Right.” Syn’s mouth twisted into something far from a smile. “So how much did you get paid to lie to me?”
Furi drug his hand over his mouth, his jaw, his beard, anything to buy him a few seconds before the truth ruined him. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d say no.”
Syn’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t ask you that.”
“Corbin, please.”
“How much!” he roared.
“It’s not about the money.”
Syn came off the stool so fast it tipped over. He grabbed the laptop with one hand and hurled it across the kitchen.
It hit the far wall with a violent crack. Shattered plastic and metal exploded before it fell to the floor in pieces.
Furi stilled, shoulders aching from tension, head throbbing.