by Nia Farrell
When he was done, he let her stay there, lying across his lap until her tears were spent. He rubbed her back. Petted her hair. Massaged her neck and shoulders. She was so fucking tense, her muscles were taut as a drumhead.
Gradually, she quieted. Slowly, she loosened up, yielding to his touch. His cock was throbbing behind his fly, but Rose needed this. His turn would come soon enough.
He listened to her breath, heard the telltale sigh of release that signaled a shift in her energy. He’d told Rose what came next. Unzipping his jeans, he pulled out his cock and fisted it with his left hand while he wrapped her hair around his fist and pulled her up with his other.
“Kneel with your hands behind your back, princess,” he rumbled. “I’ve waited long enough to fuck that mouth of yours. Now, open wide and let me in.”
She obeyed like the good girl that he knew she could be, parting her lips to let him past them. Guiding her with the hand fisting her hair, he angled his shaft with his other and wedged in deeper, pushing his crown along the ridges of her palate until he was deep enough to become intimately acquainted with her tonsils.
It was a struggle to not gag, but she managed to take what he gave her, yielding to his control, letting him fuck her face like he’d dreamed about. The pressure built. His cock swelled, and his balls drew up tight. “Here it comes,” he grated, jacking into her mouth. “Take it.”
Two more pumps, and he was there, bursting inside her, flooding her mouth with pulsing streams that she struggled to swallow.
When she’d drained him dry, he pulled out of her mouth and released his hold on her hair. “Good girl,” he crooned. “Unclasp your hands and sit on my lap. Let me hold you awhile, princess.”
Needing comfort, she knelt up, turned, and settled on his denim-covered thighs. While he relished feeling the heat of her bottom through the fabric, it was the hand rubbing circles over his heart that touched him in unexpected ways.
She was his.
“We’re going to get through this, Rose,” he promised her. “The Angels will get Mama Mare out of there, and what’s left of the Blackwater Demons will be at the bottom of some quarry, or abandoned mine shaft, or just gone. Visconti’s freelancers failed to neutralize the threat the first time. He won’t make that mistake twice.”
“I’m scared, Michael.”
“I know, baby. I know. But Visconti’s new security chief is reporting to work early, just for us. He’s headed home now. As soon as we get word that he’s set up and ready, we’ll call your mom, confirm where she is, then let Mad Dog off his leash. Before you know it, your mom will be home. You’ll be back home…and this will all seem like a bad dream.”
Her hand stilled. She held her breath, then released it in a soft rush and whispered against the skin of his neck. “What if I don’t want to go home?”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her with his embrace. “Then I say, we need to discuss your options. What is it that you really want, princess? My guess is, you want out of the clubhouse, not Diamond Springs. You’d like a chance to lead a normal life—or one degree removed from the social stigma when you’re seen as part of the club. Am I close? Am I right?”
“You’re right.” She sighed softly. “You’d think, being raised like I was, I’d be used to things, but one or the other of my brothers is always sticking his dick in a sweetbutt’s mouth or pussy or ass, and I do not need to see that shit. I love my folks, and I love the Angels, but I want more, Michael. Is that so wrong? It feels like I’m betraying them, wanting out. And I need to be there, for my mother, when they get her back. Knowing her, she’ll refuse to talk about it to anyone. And who knows how bad Reaper’s messed her up? He’s capable of anything. And if he’s already shared her—oh, God, Michael! It just gets worse and worse!”
He hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “We don’t know what’s happened, if anything. He may have his hands full with club business, tending casualties and maintaining a secure perimeter, bracing themselves for what they know is coming. The wrath of God is about to rain down on them, princess. Never doubt it. Mad Dog will get your mom out, and Reaper and the Demons will be history. It wouldn’t surprise me if the all-clear comes tonight.”
“I want to stay with you,” she said, “but I don’t know if I can. There’s Mama—and even if she seems okay, we’ll have Papa Bear and my brothers to deal with. When I tell them that I’m leaving the clubhouse and moving in with you, they’re going to know what’s happened. Well, part of it, anyway.”
“Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it, Rose. Right now, it’s past time to get supper started. I think we should go into the kitchen, fix us something tasty, and have a nice, romantic dinner by candlelight. Now, slide off my lap and come help me, woman.”
He wasn’t overly fond of tuna noodle casserole, but when Rose saw the canned fish and lit up like fireworks on the Fourth, he humored her. Stepping down to assistant, he let her take the lead and worked on whatever she needed done, warming the oven, chopping sliced water chestnuts, and draining cans of tuna, mushrooms, and sweet peas. While Rose worked on the sourdough bread crumb topping, he cooked the egg noodles, laying a wooden spoon across the top of the pot to keep it from boiling over.
He watched her work, nodding his approval when he saw the bit of white wine that went into her sauce, listening to her apologies that she had to use canned vegetables instead of fresh or frozen. Once she’d assembled the casserole, she put it in the oven, set the timer, and gratefully took the glass of white wine that he handed to her.
Placing his free hand on the small of her back, Michael guided her to the living room sofa. He cued up a mix of 80s and 90s music to play quietly in the background and sat down beside her.
With his arm draped over her, Rose melted into him. Nestled against his side with her head on his shoulder, she sighed, happy with what they’d accomplished and content to savor her wine until supper was done.
He appreciated that Rose wasn’t driven to fill space with idle chatter. Instead, they quietly shared this moment together, a welcome calm amidst the storms of these past few days.
When her head began to droop and the glass in her hand started to tip, he thrust his goblet between his thighs and barely managed to catch hers before it could spill. Poor thing. She was exhausted from worrying about her mother. He was half-tempted to let her sleep when the kitchen timer buzzed, but he knew that she needed to eat, too.
“Rose,” he whispered. “Princess. I’ve got to check the casserole and see if the top needs browned.”
She barely stirred when he worked his arm from behind her and eased away, straightening her head so that she wouldn’t wake up with a crick in her neck.
He took both of the glasses to the kitchen, set them on the island, cancelled the timer, and grabbed the hot pads. Cracking open the oven door, he liked the looks of things but switched the heat source to broiler and browned the casserole’s crumb top to perfection.
Once it was cooling on the counter, he went back for his sleeping princess. “Come on, Rose,” he crooned, lightly stroking her hand. “You need to wake up now. Your casserole’s done. Can’t you smell it?”
Rose shifted, stirred, managed a smile. “Mmm.” Still muzzy with sleep, she straightened her arms and arced them up, stretching and yawning like one of her brothers. “Thanks. Just give me a sec.”
She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, dragged the pads of her middle fingers along her lashes, from the inner corners to the outer edges of her lids, and yawned again. Planting her hands on the seat beside her, she pushed up to a wobbly stand.
Michael reached to steady her, but Rose waved him off. “I’m good,” she told him. “Swear. That smell alone is bringing me around.”
He had to admit, it did smell good. And tasted nothing like his mother’s, thank God. He’d had way too much of it growing up and hoped that he’d never eat it again, but Rose’s twist on the dish gave it a gourmet taste that rivaled
his special macaroni and cheese.
She finished her wine. He poured her another, hoping it would help her stay mellow and sleep. But she didn’t drink while they cleared the table and washed the dishes. By the time they wiped down the countertop and put away the leftovers, she was wound up tight again.
She needed a distraction. And he knew the perfect answer to her problem.
Porn. More specifically, porn with anal. He still hadn’t carved her plugs, but having her watch assplay, double and triple penetration, and maybe some gay porn with him would keep her mind occupied and help him gauge what she was ready for.
What was Rose willing to try?
Chapter Seventeen
Michael scrolled through his film collection and picked a Tarantino knock-off featuring his favorite porn star as a dirty-dancing, ass-fucking assassin. Pulp Action had just finished loading when the call they’d been waiting for came.
It was Visconti. His new security chief was in place and ready to help. Now to call Mama Mare.
“Let me do the talking, Rose. You say hello and listen after that.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he quelled her with a pointed look. “I wouldn’t insist if it weren’t critical to her rescue. We can’t afford to let them hear anything but casual banter. I can guarantee, I will not get emotional during the call. Can you swear the same?”
She didn’t like it, but she had to admit the truth. “No, Sir.”
Michael nodded. “Good girl. We’ll make the call, and Mad Dog will have your mom back before you know it.”
He hoped.
Pulling up the received calls on the second burner phone, he returned one to the only number on the list and hit speakerphone.
It rang. And rang.
No answer.
Fuck.
“We need to give her a minute, Rose,” he said, still holding the phone between them. “She’s not expecting us to call. She doesn’t have the phone. Someone will need to hear it, then bring it to wherever she is for her to answer. I’ll try again now. If she still doesn’t pick up, I’ll wait longer and call back in five.”
He waited a minute, then called again.
Nothing.
Rose started biting her fingernail—a nervous habit that she’d had in grade school. Eventually, she had stopped…about the same time that she’d made him stop calling her cherub. Hmm….
“Hands down, princess,” he ordered. “You bite that nail, and you’re going to be fucking your pussy with that finger, then massaging my prostate with it.”
She jerked her hand away, then slowly, deliberately brought it back up to her mouth. There was more than a bit of devil in her eyes when she bit down on the tip and sucked it into her mouth.
He should be glad that she wasn’t warped by fear. He’d been afraid that she’d be so worried about her mother, she’d be unable to think clearly. Yet here she was, playing dirty.
“Cocktease,” he growled. “If I wasn’t fucking waiting to make a call, you’d be paying for that, princess. Later,” he promised. He’d have to think of something special, just for her.
Five minutes seemed like twenty, but this time when he called, Rose’s mother answered the phone.
“Sorry if we bothered you, Mama Mare,” he began. “We were going to watch a movie and thought it might be too late to call afterwards.”
“That’s okay, Mikey,” she said, sounding a bit winded. Maybe she had to go to the phone rather than have it brought to her. “Did you talk her into coming home? I miss my babygirl.”
“I know you do, Mare. We’d planned to come home Saturday, to give Rose a day to unpack and rest up before going back to work. But it’s only Monday. She’s got this list…well, you wouldn’t believe it, but it’s even bigger than when we left. I’m kind of stuck in the middle here. I don’t want to let you down, but I need to keep the princess happy. If you can spare her another day or two to get this shopping and sightseeing out of her system, maybe I can talk her into coming home Thursday or Friday. I’m not making any promises, mind you. You know how stubborn she can be, once she has her mind set on something.”
Rose shot him a dirty look.
“You know it’s true, princess,” he chided. “It’s not like I’m telling your mother anything that she doesn’t already know.”
“Mama!” Rose whined like a snubbed five-year-old on a kindergarten playground. “Mikey’s being mean to me!”
Mama Mare chuckled. God, that sounded good. “Hush, now, Rosebud. That man takes care of you. You do what he tells you. When he says that it’s time to come home, you do it, babygirl. You hear me?”
Rose heaved a theatrical sigh. “Yes, Mama. I hear you. If Mikey had his way, we’d be back already, but there are way too many boxes on my list that still need checked.”
Michael nodded at Rose. They’d kept her on the line long enough, Visconti’s man should have no trouble tracking her. He drew a finger across his throat, signaling his intent to end the conversation.
Rose didn’t want to. Her mother sounded good. Normal, even. You never would have guessed that she was being held against her will. He could see that it gave Rose hope. Maybe her mother hadn’t been touched, used, shared.
They’d know soon enough. Once he got the location from Visconti and gave it to Mad Dog, the Demons were going down.
His last call done, having passed the coordinates to his brother-in-arms, Michael slid the cell phone back onto the coffee table, cued up the XXX movie, and pulled Rose from her pacing to sit beside him on the sofa.
“I need you to watch this,” he told her. “Learn how anal is done. You’ve got to see this guy. They call him “The Titanic.” He’s got a twelve-inch cock and loves to tunnel in deep. Strictly straight, though. He’s been asked to do gay porn for years, says he never has, never will, not even a blow job.”
The film opened with hit men Vance Vegas and J. C. Romero ordering breakfast in a diner. The waitress, who’d been eyeing what Vegas was packing, spilled his water and started to help him clean up. With his growing arousal, they took it to the storeroom, where he fucked her against the door. Grabbing a salesman’s sample bottle of soy cooking oil, he bent his waitress over a table, lubed his length, and worked his way in, until he was balls-deep inside her.
And his costar loved it. He’d seen enough of her work to know. Although her preference was triple penetration, one partner in her pussy and two in her ass, plus a cock for her mouth and one more for each hand.
He planned to watch that next.
He looked at Rose, to see how she was reacting to the film, and smiled to note that her respiration had increased, and her gaze was locked on the screen. She was spellbound.
And horny. Pressing her legs together, Rose squirmed slightly in her seat.
“What do you think, princess?” he murmured. “Do you think you could take that monster cock up your ass and enjoy it like she is?”
She shook her head, but she never took her eyes from the anal sex scene. “He’s so big.” Her whisper was a mix of disbelief and awe. “My God. She must have insides made of iron. Can you get calloused down there? Does she, like, do it so much, you can take anything? And wouldn’t that make you feel less?”
“It makes sense that fucking would get you conditioned. If you’re not as tender during sex, you can take more and more, harder and longer. I’ve never heard about it diminishing sensitivity. I always assumed it was like a nipple toughened by breastfeeding. Sure, it can stand more, but you’ll still feel everything.”
That got her attention. “Breastfeeding, huh?”
Just the way she said it—it sounded like more than simple curiosity. Was she jealous?
“A cousin,” he said, “who had no qualms about feeding in public and describing in detail. She liked to shock people. Still does. You two should get along great.”
“Well, I won’t be describing in detail. She doesn’t need to know how big you are….”
Rose put her hand over the bulge in his jeans that was testing the strength
of his zipper. Her fingers curled, molding themselves to his girth and squeezing slightly.
“She doesn’t need to know what you taste like,” she breathed, stroking him now, “or what toys you use…or how you take me….”
Fuck.
“God damn, woman. You’re killing me here.” Reaching for his waistband, he tore the button through its hole and ripped his zipper down. “Take me out and get me wet, Rose.”
While Vance and J.C. went in search of a roller derby skater who refused to play their boss’s game, Rose went down on him. She played with his balls, teased his tip, and lapped up his pre-cum, finally opening wide and taking in what she could, which was about half of his length.
“Fuck,” he grated, fighting the urge to fist her hair and stick it in all the way. “God damn, baby. That feels good. Almost as good as that sweet pussy of yours.”
He let her suck on him until the hitmen reached the gym where the roller derby queen was working out. “Clothes off, princess. I want you to sit on my cock, facing away from me, while we watch this next scene. I want you to pay attention to what’s happening in the movie and tell me what she’s feeling.”
When Rose had stripped for him, he turned her and guided her onto his lap, with her back to his front and his erection nestled in the curve of her spine. Taking hold of her tits, he pulled her against his chest and started playing with them, rubbing, squeezing, measuring, weighing. Catching her nipples with his fingertips, he tormented them until she was grinding against his dick.
“What’s happening, princess?”
“They’ve got her gagged and tied up,” she whispered. “On her toes, so that she can’t go anywhere. J.C. is fisting himself. He’s lifting one of her legs and sticking it in. She’s wincing…but he starts pumping and she gets into it.”