Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

  “Cheater,” she accuses.

  “Don’t argue with the guy in charge,” I tell her and suck each of her fingers into my mouth.

  “Oh my God!”

  I angle to bring those same sensations down the flow of her ribs, licking and kissing each one before I go back up for another tour of her firm tits. While massaging one with the palm of my hand, I tantalize the other; rubbing it with the overnight shadow of stubble that’s grown over my jaw, I swipe my wet tongue across the intimate flesh.

  I remember when we were driving towards Shrevesport and her tits were confined underneath the thin fabric of the Longhorns t-shirt she was wearing, braless. How badly I had wanted to expose them and do just what I’m doing now.

  My own wildfire surges through my core and into my dick. I don’t know how much longer I can wait before I explode—I wonder if it’s possible to come with no friction whatsoever because, truthfully, I feel like that would be no fucking problem.

  I French her to the dip of her belly button.

  “Let’s see how wet you are.” I curl my tongue into her belly button as I stroke my fingers through her pussy. “Oh Christ, you’re so fucking wet.”

  She arches her loveliness up and rubs against my hand. I tickle through the delicate lotus and imagine her blossoming against my tongue.

  Bringing my fingers to my mouth I say, “Rachel, open your eyes.”

  When she does I lick her sweet nectar from my skin. The action makes me moan. “You taste so fucking amazing.”

  “Oh, Ryder.”

  The taste immediately intoxicates me, and I can’t wait any longer—I plunge my mouth over her heavenly heat. Ravishing her with my wet tongue, I dive into her opening and relish each swipe.

  “You don’t have to . . .” she stutters. “I already—”

  I interrupt. “I’m going for multiples.”

  She cries out in ecstasy as I lift and spread her legs wide and attack her sweet clit with my greedy mouth. Rachel wriggles and writhes. Holding her thighs firm so she can’t escape, I lap at her essence.

  “Holy fucking hell, nothing tastes as incredible as you do.”

  Her breathing accelerates, escaping her in a series of delectable moans that I fully intend on swallowing once I ram my cock hard inside of her. Her hips roil and cause an intense ache through my ever-hardening erection, causing it to throb wildly.

  She grabs the sides of my head roughly—and I like it. She presses my face against her, and I make sure to massage her gently with my stubble.

  Rachel whimpers my name in abandon and surrender, her voice laced with delirium and rapture, as she reaches her orgasm. Her exquisite flesh spasms against my tongue and tremors in my mouth as I bring her to her bliss.

  Again.

  I know the smile on my satisfied face is smug.

  “Take me NOW!” she shouts.

  I hop off the bed and grab my wallet for a condom.

  “Holy shit! You’re huge,” she cries.

  That never gets old.

  “And what is that?” she squeaks.

  Ripping the foil wrapper open, I kneel upright on the bed between her legs so she can have a full frontal view.

  “You’re . . . pierced.”

  “It’s a Prince Albert. Ever seen one?”

  Her mouth is dropped open, and she’s staring, even while she still gyrates her hips and seeking me.

  “No!” her eyes grow wider. “Will it hurt?”

  “Oh no, baby, it’ll bring you great pleasure.”

  “Yeah,” she responds shyly, averting her gaze. “You already accomplished that.”

  “I’m so not done,” I growl, about to sheath my dick.

  “Wait!” She’s louder and more forceful than she meant to be and she bites her bottom lip like an apology. “Can I . . . touch it?”

  “Definitely.”

  She leans forward and grazes the piercing tentatively with her fingertip.

  “You won’t hurt me—you can even tug on it and it won’t hurt.”

  “What if I put it in my mouth?” She still looks at my cock, which is glistening with pre-arousal.

  “You’re trying to kill me, right?”

  Without hesitation she pivots around until her perfect ass is pointing heavenward and her lovely tongue swirls around the tip of my cock.

  “It’s so sexy. I like it,” she says decidedly.

  “You’ll love the feel of it against your inner walls.”

  Rachel peers up at me through hazy eyes. “You know, I’m still spasming inside?”

  Those words officially commence the end of her exploration. I flip her over onto her back without ceremony and roll the condom on. She laughs with heady anticipation.

  Pausing to take in her desire-drugged expression and the beautiful darkness of her eyes, I realize that, after this moment, nothing will ever be the same again.

  I enter her partway, and she’s pure fucking perfection.

  Her muscles tighten around my cock, and I can feel the aftershocks of the two powerful orgasms I gave her that sent her reeling.

  Time to make her spiral out of control.

  Pressing my hand to her thigh, I push her long, lean leg up until her knee is almost to her breast. Then with my other hand I guide my cock, stroking it up between her silken slit, letting her get used to the feel of the piercing.

  Teasing the opening of her pussy, I begin to enter the nirvana that awaits.

  She’s so incredibly fucking tight. I pace the penetration so as not to hurt her with my girth.

  Holy Christ, the sensation is overwhelming.

  I ease in slowly, watching the emotional connection become physical.

  When I die, this is the way I want to go.

  She purrs and moans between shuddering breaths. “Oh my God, yeah! You feel so amazing.”

  At her declaration, I sink the rest of the way inside her. I fill her completely to bursting.

  “Oh, Ryder!”

  I’m incredibly deep as I thrust in and out of her gorgeous pussy!

  I find her sweet spot and she freezes, letting my dick massage her. Rachel cries out as I shatter her inch by inch. “Oh my God, how the fuck can you be this amazing!?”

  She grips the headboard as I piston into her faster and harder. The vision of her bare body beneath me, her tits bouncing to our rhythm, her soft, creamy legs spread out to receive me and my dick being swallowed by her pussy is pushing me to my endgame.

  Her inner orgasms drive me into a frenzy.

  I need to make this last. Quickly I try to think about something to desensitize, like baseball stats. But it doesn’t work. She brings her slender fingers up to my waist.

  “Come closer, Ryder. I want to feel you cover me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I’m fucking thunderstruck as I lay over her. My senses heighten as my emotions overcome me.

  I’m consumed with awe and reverence.

  Balanced, with my weight supported by my elbows, I make love to her gently.

  Make love. I’ve never even considered the idea of what that might be or feel like. I’ve only ever fucked. I’ve fucked long and hard and good; I’ve never made love before today.

  I cradle her beautiful face and silken hair in my hands—how is she so powerful and so delicate all at the same time?

  How does she have this effect over me?

  Her eyes, her deep, rich, earthen eyes hold me, mesmerize me. Her lips engage mine and she breathes against them, “Ryder.”

  Her fingers squeeze me everywhere at once—my arms, my back, my waist—skimming my ink, pressing seductively into muscle and branding me wherever they touch.

  I realize that the word love isn’t strong enough to convey what I’m feeling. I don’t know what other people experience when they fall headlong into the force of another person, all I do know is that it’s never happened to me until her.

  I fought the emotions when I had to leave her in Shreveport—putting them aside so I could think straight. I struggle
d for weeks to leave her alone once I knew she was safe, to not contact her, to not give in to the building pressure in my soul.

  But she’s made me a believer, converting me from an emotionally dead, unfeeling, closed-off skeptic to a man willing to expose his wounds and hold his hands out for the healing I feel in her touch.

  It’s pure.

  Authentic.

  None of my combat or spiritual training can stand against it—and truthfully, at this moment, I have no desire to fight it.

  And although I loathe the conditions that brought us together, I’m eternally grateful she’s come into my world.

  I’d die for her.

  My dick explodes inside of her, pulsating, while her satin milks me delirious.

  Overcome with the highest satisfaction and deepest gratification, I lovingly lay beside her, gather her in my arms and hold her.

  No words need to be spoken—we both feel the power coursing between us.

  Soon, I listen as her breath softens and becomes even as she falls asleep, emotionally and physically, there in my protection.

  And protecting her is a mission I will not fail.

  Rachel

  When my eyes open, the soft late afternoon sun sets its glow over the walls. Ryder is hanging from his knees over a bar that spans the bathroom doorway. He’s shirtless and barefoot and only in a pair of blue denim jeans. His arms are folded over his chest in an X as he comes halfway into a hanging sit-up—the ripple and bend of his stomach and back muscles as they flex taut with the action mesmerizes me. He throws quick, rigid jabs, twisting at the waist. Sweat drips from the back of his neck, and his shorn hair glistens.

  He’s beautiful—I’ve never known any man like him.

  His cell on the bedside table rings, startling me. He sets his hands on the floor, brings his legs down and is swiftly on his feet.

  When he notices I’m awake, he touches my leg with a “Hey” as he grabs the phone.

  “Axton.” He listens then says, “One fourteen” before ending the call.

  My eyes search him quizzically—that’s our room number.

  “My partner is coming up,” he tells me. “I think we need the numbers, and Miguel won’t know him.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  Before anything emotional can transpire, I wrap myself into the sheet and rush to the bathroom, but the door won’t close because of the bar. Ryder glances up sympathetically and has his equipment dismantled in a less than a minute.

  “It’s going to be okay, Rachel,” he assures me with a tender thumb over my cheekbone.

  I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. He kisses my forehead slowly, longingly, and I sink into the sensation until I think I’ll burst. Then I step back so I can close the door.

  Stepping into the water, I can hear only the low murmur of voices in the other room. Through the haze in my mind, I visualize several emotional choices. Ironic, right? Usually you feel an emotion and go with it. I could easily fold my body under the hot, running water, curl on the tile and become a basket case, sobbing. Actually, that’d be real fricking easy.

  I could move forward, frightened as a mouse, shaking and unsure of my every move.

  Then I realize I can choose power.

  Choose power.

  My little sister is being held by a monster and I’m her only hope of survival.

  It doesn’t matter what this partner of Ryder’s, or even Ryder himself, says or thinks. What matters is simple—I need to save my sister, no matter what the cost.

  I press my lips into a line, and my brow creases—I feel angry.

  Anger is good—so much more useful than despair or fear.

  Washing quickly, I finish up and see a bag of clothes Ryder must have set inside the door once I got in.

  Listening to their voices as they talk in hushed tones about the situation at hand, I shimmy on the jeans and pull myself through the red t-shirt. At the bottom of the bag is the purple eye mask Ryder showed me earlier, with gold fringe hanging down to cover the cheekbones. It’s a very beautiful, very simple mask. I lift it with a delicate hand from the bag.

  When I come back into the main room, I take stock—we’ve grown in numbers. There are four men and one woman in total, besides myself.

  “Rachel.” Ryder strides over and takes me by the hand.

  “This is Briggs, my partner.”

  “Ms. Farrington.” He stretches his hand to meet mine. He has a deeply ingrained military stance about him. His light brown hair is trimmed short and his blue eyes spark with intelligence.

  “Rachel, please. It’ll be easier for me.”

  “Of course, Rachel.”

  “These are Briggs’s brother and sister-in-law, Bryan and Patti Briggs. They’re both retired Special Forces and have accompanied us on many highly sensitive operations,” Ryder explains.

  “Thank you for coming.” I shake their hands too.

  “You may have heard us discussing the FBI’s frenzy to relocate you—” Ryder begins.

  Briggs interrupts, “They’ve marked you as a possible suspect.”

  “Yes, but more likely, that’s for show—they don’t want to admit to having lost the key witness in their protection,” Ryder says, hijacking the conversation once again. “Since there was no sign of a struggle, they need some story to save face.”

  “I understand how it could look bad,” I agree, “but they should have screened their household staff better.”

  “The other possibility is that one of the agents themselves was corrupt and gave housekeeping access to you,” Bryan states.

  “I don’t care what they think, anyway. All I care about is my sister,” I say truthfully. “What is our plan?”

  Ryder goes to the table and sets up a mock diagram with cups, coffee packets and the remote control.

  “This is the streetcar.” He indicates the remote. “Bryan will hop on it at Tulane Street, which is nine stops before yours. He’ll access the passengers and hopefully be able to tag your sister and her guardian.”

  “It won’t be easy with everyone in costume,” Briggs tells the group. “Rachel, any idiosyncrasies you can think of about your sister—does she twist her hair around her finger? Does she tap her foot when she’s nervous, bite her lip or wring her hands? Those details could be pertinent when he’s zeroing in on her.”

  “She’s a real quiet kid. She has a speech difficulty and doesn’t talk a lot in front of people she doesn’t know or isn’t comfortable with. She’s seven but still talks a lot like a toddler—short three word sentences; she misses her r sounds, making them sound more like w’s, and she stutters when she’s scared.” I try to make all of this information purely factual because imagining her makes it feel too real. I have to separate myself from my emotions. “And she rocks when she’s nervous or uptight to self-soothe.”

  “Thank you, Rachel. That’s valuable information.” Patti lays her hand on my shoulder comfortingly.

  “If Bryan can create the opportunity to separate her from her captor, he’ll do that and get her off the streetcar safely.”

  “Isn’t that too high of a risk?” I ask.

  “Getting Lemy safe before you’re even involved is the optimal outcome. That’s our objective,” Ryder says. “We could get the two of you out of there without harm.”

  “If you can’t?”

  Ryder doesn’t like my question.

  “Then you’ll know,” Patti says. “We’ll give you the signal to board the streetcar.”

  “We’ll all have communication devices, except for you.” Briggs opens the black electronics case. “Ryder will stay next to you—masked so he’s not recognized by any of Miguel’s men.”

  “I’ll board the streetcar right behind you. You’ll never be alone,” Ryder reassures me. “And Patti will be at the exit door to secure Lemy.”

  “And any asshole who tries to make that difficult will have two thousand volts of electricity to contend with.” She flashes
her taser.

  “Patti is also a woman’s Golden Gloves champion,” Bryan says proudly. “She’s very adept at hand-to-hand. She’s kicked my ass a few times.”

  My eyes shift to Ryder’s and his to mine.

  Dear God, I hope this works.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryder

  We stand with a myriad of revelers—in the middle of a sweeping celebration of color and pageantry—but we’re on an island of trouble all our own.

  Farrington is in the simple clothing I got for her—a red t-shirt so we could detect her in the crowd and a purple mask so she wouldn’t be recognizable to law enforcement.

  I hate that she’s here, but I can’t think—I can’t feel—not now. Especially not now.

  We’ve almost reached the streetcar stop on Toulouse.

  “Rachel, you’re going to have to go from here. But I won’t be more than four paces away from you at any time.”

  Her lips purse and she turns to walk away, but I pull her back to me.

  “I’d kiss you if it wasn’t so fucking risky.” My fist squeezes urgently around her arm. “I need you to understand. I’ll protect you to my death. Do you understand?”

  What more can I say? What more can I do? I need her to get it, get me.

  I watch the rise and fall of her chest beneath the red fabric. “I’ve never told anyone except for my mom and dad and Lemy that I loved them.” She nods and tenses. “I’d never felt it before. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few minutes . . . or hours—but I think it’s safe to say tomorrow isn’t guaranteed for me.”

  “Rachel—”

  She sets three soft fingers to my lips. “Shhh.” I can see her eyes close behind the mask. “You gave me a beautiful gift. Love. Love like I have never experienced before. You make me high, Ryder. You make me feel secure and strong, and weak and soft, and happy and pissed off, all at the same confusing time. And I absolutely love the way you make me feel.”

  I watch her eyes open as she peers into my soul. “I love you Ryder.”

  Before I can respond, she whips around and stalks into the crowd towards the streetcar stop.

  “Your heart still beating?” Briggs voice squawks through the ear comm.