“Oh, no.” Irons said, jerking his cock into my face, “No, I’m definitely up for that. But be fucking quick, will you?”
Liam was ready behind Irons. He dropped Irons’ belt around his neck and had a freezer bag. Irons’ cock pulsed from the bottom to the top as he jerked. I twisted the scarf and dropped my other hand to Declan’s stiff cock and, as soon as I squeezed and pulled him a few times, Declan came, too.
Irons twitched and shook as his cum coated the inside of my throat.
Epilogue
“Wasn’t she marvellous?”
“Don’t we have ourselves a fucking miracle here? Isn’t she just a living fucking goddess? How fucking lucky are we?”
Declan and Liam’s heads met for a long, wet kiss over my bare stomach and under the covers. Beneath the silk sheet, Liam and Declan both licked, nibbled and teased up my thighs.
All four of their massive, expert hands caressed me from my throat down over my breasts and all over my stomach, and their two eager mouths sucked, licked and pulled at my petals, around my hood, and flicked over my clit, making my back twist and roll like a tsunami. I clawed in their hair as their tongues invaded me and their hands held me down.
I peeked under the sheet and tried to reach for their cocks but they wriggled away. Liam stroked Declan’s massive pole to show me, as a tease, “Like a little of this would you?”
Declan peered up at me over the bulb of Liam’s throbbing cock and he flicked it with his tongue, “Or maybe Mr. Liam would be the charm for our nymph, our backdoor beauty,” and he licked Liam’s cock and popped it into his mouth with an evil grin.
We rolled on the waves of the waterbed and California sunshine cut across the penthouse suite, reflected off the ultra blue of the infinity pool.
The men’s hands kneaded my buttocks and my breasts and drove me on and over, up to a plateau and over the edge, cascading in crashing waves. Again I gushed into both of their mouths.
“Come on, little Queen of the Quiver.”
“Princess Cum,”
“Come for us now.”
“Right NOW!”
I lost track of which cock was in who, whose mouth, whose wet tongue trilled on my clit and made me arch and claw. We rolled and caught each other and stroked and squeezed and under the covers we were one. Their tongues and fingers were all over me, trilling, thrilling, vibrating and driving me over in a swirling, gathering wave that rose and crashed, polled and swirled, rolled and spilled to burst again.
In the golden light we dozed, unable to tell whose arm or hand was which but all of us complete and happy.
Until the knock on the door.
Liam put on a robe. Declan shook his head with a snarl and jumped into a pair of jeans. “Who the fuck is it, and what do you want?” he growled at the closed door.
Two more loud knocks were all the answer he got.
He peered through the spyhole and his head jerked back in surprise. His eyes were narrow as he pulled open the door. I heard a voice and I recognized the hard rumble right away, although I couldn’t tell if it was Horst or Gunner.
“We just stopped by to thank you.”
“How the fuck did you know where we were?”
“We’re most grateful. You saved us a very awkward job.”
“Ja,” That must have been the other twin, “Probably two. I expect we’d have had to do both of them sooner or later.”
“Anyway, thank you. I expect we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
“I don’t expect anything of the fucking sort,” Declan said, “Not unless you expect to get your identical fucking heads blown off.” And he slammed the door.
Liam said, “What the fuck do you think Irons was playing at back there?”
“Whatever it was, he must have been in something very fucking deep. He’d have to have gotten himself into a desperate situation to have gotten us to do the judge.”
“He obviously knew the fucking stakes well enough.”
“Closest thing we ever had to a volunteer candidate.”
Dear Reader,
I do hope that you enjoyed the story. I had such a great time with Declan, Liam, Courtenay and the twins, oh, not forgetting Irons, of course, that I couldn’t stop writing.
There’s a free bonus epilogue for you if you’d like it.
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click here
and tell me where you’d like me to send your copy.
(And I’ll tell you why this extra piece is not in the published book. ;) )
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LOVE THE BAD BOY ACTION?
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JACKER
A bad boy
He jacked her car, she hotwired his heart.
Kidnap and betrayal, breathless action and a romance that’s too hot to handle
The icy blast of the shower shocked some of the last night’s fog from my head. I rolled my shoulders, trying to work some of the stiffness out. Stretched my neck to one side until a rattle of clicks popped. Then the other way. It helped, but not much.
Pulled my fingers through my hair, gripping it. Shook my head in the chilling flow. Took a breath in before sticking my chest right into the freezing stream. Man, that wakes you up fast. That and coffee, and I’m good to go. Cold water rinses a thick head clear in no time.
What they call mixed feelings was what I had, washing away the scents of last nights girl. The memory made me smile some. Stiffened and re-awakened my cock, facing forward for the new day. Pecker, as they say, up.
The side of my head was still sore above my ear. As I reached across my shoulder a stab of pain shot over my shoulder blade. What happened? Oh yeah, the idiot in the bar. Big guy with a razored Mohawk cut, a Marine from a nightmare, big daddy drawl, pawing that quiet girl who obviously didn’t want him around.
“You know you want it, babydoll.” Ugh, his voice. Why do guys act like that? More to the point, though, why is it, at the first sniff of trouble, my feet are steering me right at it?
First, I’d tried telling him nicely. “Pal, she’s just not into it. There are lots of girls. One of them will jump for your charm. Leave this one alone, okay?”
That was the bit I did wrong: telling him what to do. He hadn’t made up his mind until then. But I knew it; I got it wrong on purpose. I knew he’d take a swing.
He was built like a double-trunked Redwood. Why the fuck would I start a fight with a guy like that? If that first punch had landed, I’d have been out for the count.
I stepped out of the way of his Flintstone-club fist. Spun with my forearm hard into his stupid face. Hooked my ankle behind his. Slammed my left hand into his nose.
He hit the tiled floor with a crack.
There was a murmur around the bar. A bar fight in Bernie’s isn’t exactly headline news. But the crowd was on my side. That always helps. He moved to get up. I stood over him, ready to put my foot on his chest. Could have slid it up to his chin. And he could see how easily I could do it.
A sound rolled around the bar like a bowling ball. I definitely had the crowd. The guy got up to leave.
He was headed for the door. I turned back to the bar to see that the girl was okay. No making a move, just wanted to make sure she was all right. Okay, I’d watched her slink in and she was hot. Off the scale. So I wanted to make sure she was taken care of, and maybe I was thinking the best way to take care of her might be if we spent a little quality time.
That way I could make sure she was under something secure and protective. Like me. No way did I feel entitled to a prize, but I thought it only fair to give her the chance to offer.
That was when I felt the steel legs of the chair hit hard along my shoulder blade and across the side of my skull.
I lurche
d forward and went down. My arm waved and I took a table full of glasses with me as I stumbled. Beer and broken glass everywhere. I turned and scrambled up fast. Grabbed the center leg of the small round table in both hands. Jabbed the wooden top straight at his face.
It connected, but without much force. He was still standing. I threw the table at his body and as he fended it off I hit him hard in the throat. He staggered backwards. Reaching. Stumbling. His arms flailed. I shot my fist to knock upward into his jaw. As he crumpled, I reached for a pool cue.
Standing over him, I held the point of the cue against his eye. Quietly, I asked him, “Are we done here yet?”
The murmur around the room gave me a satisfying glow.
He nodded as he scrambled backwards on his heels and elbows. This time I watched him, held the pool cue by its end, and kept it pointed at his eye. Watched him scuttle all the way out of there.
That all accounted for the throb on my shoulder and the pain on the side of my head. It wasn’t what gave me the headache.
When she looked up from the bar—stopped hiding her face and her fabulous body in the protective hunch of her elbows and her rounded shoulders—as she unwound her back, straightened up and turned toward me—she looked like a model. It was like the lights went on. Boy, I do remember now. She was really grateful.
She bought a bottle of tequila and said we should take it to her place. Who was I to refuse? And I’m still long, fat, aching, and twitching, all along the part of me where she showed her appreciation the most.
Now those are some happy shower thoughts, right there. Mm, I could still hear her quivering moans. Feel her clawing my chest as she woke the whole street to tell them my name.
The water bounced and cascaded over me and I shook my head in the flow. No time to think about any of that now. There was a car to be stolen, and if I was late, my life might be on the line.
~<>~
It was still early when I parked up by the apartment building where Tynie lived. His rented apartment was on the fourth floor of a gray, concrete slab in a mess of gray, concrete slabs. The elevator was not reliable, and it always had an acrid, lingering smell of some kind, so I used the stairs.
The balconies on each floor that connected the apartments had most likely been open when the blocks were built, but now they had hard curtains of smeary plastic. The owners of the block most likely put it up to stop people throwing each other off and into the street, or maybe it was to stop themselves.
The plexiglass must have been transparent when it first went up. Scratches on the inside and out, discoloration from the weather, and age had all blurred the view of the outside world. The gaps around the edges created stomach-level slices of cold air.
I banged hard on Tynie’s door and waited a moment. Then I banged again, harder. I shouted Tynie’s name. After a few moments I hit it again, five or six times.
“Tynie! Tynie, come on, will you?”
After a few seconds, Tynie’s voice came from the back of the apartment.
“Ryan! Is that you?”
I banged on the door again. “Tynie, you know it’s me. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
After I hung around a little longer, I beat on his door again ten or a dozen times in a row.
“Give it a fucking rest, will you?!” A voice from the apartment next door.
“All right!” I shouted back. “Come on, Tynie, the neighbors are getting mad.”
There was some noise from the back of Tynie’s apartment. I heard him shuffle toward the door. When he dragged it open, slouched and hanging his messy head of black hair, he still pretty much filled the doorframe.
“Ryan,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “We don’t have to go and work for Gregor, do we? I don’t want to go work for Gregor, Ryan.”
When we were in high school together, Tynie had been known as “difficult.“ He had rarely talked to anyone there, and when he did, it was either by shouting or throwing something. Usually furniture.
He was a genius with computers, at math, and with engines. Anything to do with vehicles, Tynie had an uncanny talent for. He was even pretty good at driving them, so long as it didn’t involve interacting with any other drivers. Tynie was temperamentally unsuited to traffic. Never even got a license.
He took a test in high school. When he was asked to parallel park in a somewhat restricted space, he just rammed the cars in front and behind to knock them out of the way. No more drivers’ ed for Tynie after that.
“Today we do, Tynie. Today, we got to work for Gregor.” I didn’t like it, either. The more I knew of Gregor, the less I wanted to be around him.
The money was good, but he wasn’t great company, and neither were the guys he worked with. And neither Tynie nor me were cut out to be career criminals. Not Gregor’s kind, at least.
Gregor was a big-time bank robber. Very serious—big-time crime, big-time stakes. He was hard-assed, no compromises, and a violent reaction was never far below the surface.
Tynie might’ve been reassured if I’d told him I wanted to stop working for Gregor as soon as I could. Tynie didn’t do well with uncertainties, though. Black or white, yes or no. Tynie was kind of binary. He got uncomfortable around the gray areas.
He couldn’t hear “soon” without saying, “Now! Why not now?”
It was never good to discuss things with Tynie that you weren’t certain about. Better to reach a conclusion first, then tell him. He could deal with that, whatever it was.
“We’re working for Gregor today, Tynie. Ready to go?”
Still looking at the floor, he said, “I’ll get my gamepad.”
Tynie’s gamepad was a tablet of some kind, part Fisher-Price, part homebrew, in a multicolored rubber case with odd-shaped bulges. He either built it or had modified it from a hybrid of commercial tablets. When he wasn’t using it for work, he was hunched over it, lost in a game.
He followed me down the stairs to the RAV4 in the parking lot.
“It’s a BMW today, isn’t it, Ryan?” Tynie nodded as he climbed into the passenger seat and strapped himself in. Already, he was pulling something up on his gamepad.
“Yup,” I said driving out of the lot, “Either Corporate Brad, or the Dragon Lady.”
Tynie was already absorbed in a game. Without looking up, he said, “Corporate Brad.”
We slid out into the angry jostle of morning traffic. “Why?”
“He’s very neat.” He frowned in concentration at the game. “He takes better care of his car than that woman.”
I would have preferred the Dragon Lady, mainly for the off-chance of another look at her cute slave girl. She gave me a warm feeling, way down inside. And the glow reached out, too.
What Tynie said made sense, though. Over the past few days, I’d staked out three BMW SUVs. All of them were black, top of the range S7s and in great shape.
Tynie’s call was good, and I liked to let him make decisions when I could, so we would hunt Corporate Brad first. Corporate Brad was what we called the anxious, skinny guy with the thin spectacles and close-cropped hair. Whatever he was, he probably wasn’t corporate in reality.
Three Hitmen: A Triple Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 2) Page 14