Avenging Angel [Tales from the Lyon's Den 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  War was hell? He’d been to war, and now he was in love, and he could attest to the reality that being in love was a hell of a lot scarier than being on the battlefield.

  “We drew a lot of attention tonight.”

  Ramón’s softly spoken words brought Clint back to the moment. Marcia had slipped into a gentle sleep. Unlike a couple of recent naps, her body, and he’d bet her mind, too, was completely relaxed. Her breathing, deep and even, was fast becoming one of his favorite sounds.

  “We did. And it began the moment Marcia knelt before us.”

  “The black-haired man at the bar—Chance Carter. He’s a detective with the HPD. Do you know him?”

  “Not well. It might surprise you to know there are a lot of cops, P.I.s, and former military who are members here.”

  “That does surprise me.”

  Reading his frown, Clint knew exactly where Ramón’s thoughts had taken him. “Chris keeps his membership records confidential, and no one is stupid enough to post their private matters on social media sites.”

  “And I imagine that the brothers and sisters who belong here keep each other’s secrets.”

  “Yes, we do.” He waited a moment, but Ramón didn’t say anything more. “You don’t trust Carter?”

  “I don’t know him,” Ramón said. “And maybe, all things considered, my instincts are just generally on alert.”

  “But something about the man raised a red flag for you?”

  Ramón shook his head. “Something about the way he seemed focused on Marcia.”

  It must have been a moment when Clint’s attention had been on their sub. “Huh. I didn’t catch that, and I should have.”

  Ramón exhaled. “Also, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him a couple of times at Leathers—talking to Lance Kramer.”

  The mention of the fetish bar where Ramón had finally gotten the attention of Torres’s right-hand man, Kramer, sent an uncomfortable shiver down Clint’s spine.

  “That is worrying.” Clint couldn’t claim his cop instincts were in riot mode. They didn’t have to be. His brother was concerned, and that was enough for him.

  “I know our plan was to hope that word of an appearance by Marcia here would get back to that bastard,” Ramón said. “I’m just not happy that the messenger boy might turn out to be a member of the Houston Police Department.”

  “That makes two of us. But now we know, and so now we can make sure we cover all of our bases.”

  “I’m going to think about asking Joe Grant to look into the man’s background. It wouldn’t be the first time someone local threw a curve ball in a state or federal case.”

  “I’ll check with my boss as well.”

  Marcia began to stir. He hadn’t thought she’d sleep very long. Clint nodded to Ramón. There was no question they’d let their woman know about this latest concern. Knowledge was, after all, power.

  But there was no reason they couldn’t have that conversation in the morning, over breakfast. Clint flicked a quick glance at the wall clock. Hopefully, Marcia’s catnap had restored some of her energy.

  He and Ramón had plans for her for the rest of the night, and those plans didn’t include talk of possible villains.

  Chapter 10

  Marcia had never felt so pampered. Ramón and Clint lavished care on her as if she were a real-life princess.

  When she’d awakened in that private room at the Lyon’s Den, her men had escorted her to the women’s locker room and told her to hurry. Perhaps another night, when they planned to stay and be social, she might indulge in the shower and hot tub provided in that lush facility. This night, she just wanted to be indulged by, and indulge in, her Doms.

  Emerging from the locker room, she walked straight into Ramón’s arms. He steadied her and led her out the front door, to where Clint, behind the driver’s seat of his car, was waiting at the curb.

  The front bench seat allowed for them all three to ride in the front, and Marcia reveled in being tucked between them.

  That was her favorite place of all to be, dressed or naked.

  She barely recalled the drive back to Ramón’s apartment or the ride in the elevator that followed.

  Then they were inside, and someone shot the lock.

  “Naked, now. I want you in the shower. I want your mouth on my cock.” Clint’s commands sent a river of yummy down her spine. “I want to watch Ramón fuck you from behind and play with your ass.” His hands were in her hair, and his mouth covered hers before she could even begin to obey him. His flavor saturated her, making her shiver with need and quiver with greed.

  Then she was in his arms. Clint carried her into the master bathroom and very quickly stripped her.

  Ramón had followed close behind, his expression as dangerous as Clint’s. Her Doms hadn’t finished claiming her this night, but rather than nervous or resigned, she wanted to shout with triumph.

  Marcia Crane had been made a new woman, and this woman, by God, knew her value and what she wanted.

  What she wanted right then was to do everything Clint had commanded her to do.

  Ramón, already naked and hard, stepped into the stall and turned on the water. Then he reached for her, lifting her up and bringing her under the spray. He made quick work of washing her hair, using his incredible fingers to stimulate not only those follicles but, by extension, every single nerve ending in her body. She loved this, and when Clint began to use foam-covered hands to mold her breasts and paint her abdomen, the feeling of bliss caused a sigh to bubble up from her very soul.

  Head back, she closed her eyes as Ramón rinsed the soap from her hair. She cherished the silkiness of the conditioner he used, and when he rinsed that out and gently squeezed her hair, she knew she would miss his touch anytime she wound up doing this small chore herself.

  The sensation of water washing the soap from the front of her body opened her eyes, drawing her attention to the compelling and aroused man standing before her. Clint held out a bar of soap. His raised eyebrow was all the command she needed.

  As she washed his cock and scrotum, she couldn’t help but think that, until these two men, she’d never actually handled male genitals. She’d had them shoved into various parts of her, but the owners of those organs hadn’t wanted her touch. They wanted only to feed their own needs, and those needs really had nothing to do with intimacy.

  Their kind of groping and assault had only really been about power, about ego and the primitive search for fulfillment that some men could only get by degrading women.

  Her Doms sought her submission, yes, but that had nothing to do with their egos. They shared a power exchange that was all about needs—theirs and hers.

  “Stay with us.”

  Marcia met Clint’s gaze. “I am with you, Sir. But moments sink in, moments that heal, that open my eyes.”

  His gaze turned gentle. “Good. I think I’m clean enough, subbie. Rinse me, and then suck my cock.”

  “With pleasure, Sir.”

  There was enough room—barely—for her to do as he commanded. Once there were no soap bubbles in her way, she fisted his cock, pumped him a couple of times, and then bent over and sucked the purplish head into her mouth. She continued to draw on him, her lips following her fist toward his root.

  Clint anchored his hands in her hair, his grip solid but not hurtful. She liked that, liked the sensation of his controlling her, guiding her. As she bent over, her ass brushed against another hot and hard cock. She wiggled her ass until she felt Ramón’s length slip between her ass cheeks. His touch on her anus, just a slight brush, nearly sent her flying. She hungered for them to claim that part of her, too.

  She wanted to be theirs in every way possible.

  Marcia devoted her attention to pleasuring Clint. She wanted to taste him, to hear his sounds of satisfaction as he came in her mouth. Already she knew that his flavor differed from any she’d been forced to taste. Was that the difference?

  This felt like a gift from her heart, something wonderful
that not only gave pleasure to Clint but gave her a sense of accomplishment in turn.

  Marcia drew him in, swirling her tongue up and down his shaft as she raised and lowered her mouth on him. She swallowed the small pearls of jism he gave her, the flavor at once sating her and yet tempting her toward more.

  Behind her, Ramón caressed her back, her ass, and tugged on her hair. The hand on her back moved to caress her side then around and down until his fingers played in her slit. Her body’s moisture greeted him, letting them both know how aroused she was.

  “She’s very wet, amigo.”

  “Her mouth is amazing.” Clint’s hands tightened briefly, and she knew he fought to hang on, to prolong this moment.

  She felt Ramón move, and when the cool glide of lube warmed with the friction of his finger against her anus, she shivered, moaning around the cock in her mouth.

  “Damn, woman.” Clint’s words sounded as if they emerged between clenched teeth.

  She had to fight the urge to grin. Instead, she sucked strongly and let another sound of pleasure emerge from within, knowing full well the vibration just increased Clint’s horniness.

  Ramón moved again, backing away slightly. The sound that filled the cubicle alerted her, and when he returned and rubbed his latex-covered cock against her, she pushed her ass closer, letting him know she was ready for whatever he wanted to give her.

  Ramón rubbed his cock against her slit and then pushed it inside her pussy. He grasped her wet hair and tugged as he began to move in and out of her in a steady, thorough rhythm.

  Marcia didn’t know how long any of them would last. She cupped Clint’s balls in her palm, rubbing her thumb against the soft flesh, and continued to suck, working now at drawing his essence out of him so she could feast.

  “Do it.”

  Clint’s two words puzzled her for only a moment—the moment it took for her to understand he spoke to Ramón. Then her Hispanic lover showed her how well he could multitask when he let go of her hair and reached down and around to rub her clit while one finger of his other hand pressed against her anus.

  The force of her orgasm increased her draw, and Clint’s shout, his shot, erupted together. Ramón grunted as heat gushed into the condom inside her.

  Sucking and fucking, Marcia reveled in her feminine power, giving and taking and flying, flying so high she knew she would never, ever be brought low again.

  * * * *

  Ramón entered the restaurant exactly on time. Taking a moment, he casually scanned the dining room, shot his cuffs, and mentally stepped into his role. The invitation had come, not unexpected but not with a lot of advance notice, which meant he hadn’t had much time to prepare, but he’d had enough. He supposed that tactic—he’d been invited last minute to that auction as well—had proven a good tool for Torres in the past, which only made Ramón believe the man usually dealt with amateurs.

  That was going to be his air, his role, his stance—that Torres was, at best, the largest in a small pool of bottom-feeding fish and, at worse, a thug who aspired to be great without any hope of actual success. And Ramón? Ramón would show his inner shark tonight. He was tired of waiting, of letting the other man set the pace and the tone. It was time for him to take control of the situation.

  Torres was used to supplicants, accustomed to playing the lord of all he surveyed. Ramón Estévez, a man cloaked in mystery, exuding a polite but distant demeanor, would make it clear, tonight, that he would be supplicant to no one.

  This was a moment that had been months in the planning. Ramón would insinuate himself into Torres’s organization until the man trusted him enough to have him close at hand when he took possession of his next “shipment.”

  It was also time for Ramón to fuck with his head a little. He checked his watch as the maître d’ approached. In just under two minutes, members of the DPS, with the backup of the HPD, would conduct a raid and make an unexpected arrest. Timing was everything in police work, and never so much as it would be tonight.

  “Señor Estévez? Señor Torres is expecting you. Ven por aquí, por favor.”

  Ramón nodded, following the man to the table where Sérgio Torres awaited what Ramón truly hoped would turn out, in the end, to be the beginning of his own flaming Waterloo.

  “It is good to see you again, Estévez.” Sérgio Torres made a show of looking past Ramón, the expression on his face a mix of curiosity and disdain.

  Torres’s attempt at establishing his position of prominence—he hadn’t gotten to his feet, and his use of Ramón’s last name, without the polite title of Señor—nearly made Ramón grin. Amateur hour.

  “Torres.” Ramón nodded then took the chair directly across from the man. He could see the two bodyguards he’d recognized from the auction in quasi-discreet positions. Ramón understood their presence there was twofold. To protect their employer and to intimidate him.

  “I must say, you…intrigue me.” Torres signaled, and a waiter stepped forward, pouring red wine into Torres’s glass first—of course—and then into Ramón’s.

  “I do? In what way?”

  Torres waited until the waiter had left them alone. He took a moment to drink from his glass. The delicate crystal seemed incongruous to the picture the man presented. He might be dressed in the most expensive bespoke suit money could buy, and he might surround himself with the best of material goods—Par Excellence was one of the more exclusive restaurants in the city, renowned for serving only the best, but no number of fancy accoutrements could completely disguise Sérgio Torres’s repugnant, selfish personality.

  Sérgio would never be anything more than a common thug.

  “You are an enigma, Estévez. I’ve had my people research your past. They were not able to learn much and, what they did learn, they felt to have been—what was the word my man used? —sanitized. Yes, that was it. As if you had somehow manipulated the information there.”

  “A man not in control of himself, his environment, or his history is not much of a man.” Ramón took a small drink from his glass. He memorized the label because he was curious just how much Torres would deign to spend. He’d bet the Brand 2010 Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon went for more than a hundred a bottle. He was also certain that his host was waiting for the opportunity to inform him of the exact cost. For that reason, he subdued his reaction to the beverage—an excellent red that caressed his palate. After his one taste, he set the glass aside as if it were sweet tea.

  “And you are a man in control of yourself?” Torres asked.

  “And much of my environment, yes.” Ramón kept his gaze locked on his adversary.

  “And yet you bring no guards with you.”

  “Do I need guards in your presence, Señor Torres?” Ramón kept his expression fixed. He knew all Torres would see on his face was almost amused curiosity. This moment had evolved into a pissing contest, one he intended to win. He had to walk a fine line tonight.

  Torres blinked first. “Well, I suppose not here and now. We are, after all, business acquaintances, are we not? And gentlemen?”

  “I have found, in my business dealings, that being a gentleman is useful at times and overrated at others.” Ramón took up his glass and brought it to within an inch of his lips. “And I have no doubt you feel the same way.”

  “Of course. Perhaps we should look to our menus?”

  Ramón gave what he’d been told once was an extremely haughty nod and opened the menu. He’d unnerved Torres and had no problem allowing the man a few moments to regroup.

  “Their veal scaloppini is excellent,” Torres said.

  “I’m a man of simple tastes—meat and potatoes. I believe I’ll have the prime rib.”

  Their having decided on their meals by closing the menus summoned the waiter, who’d no doubt been waiting for them to do just that. Ramón didn’t miss the implication—that Torres was important enough to have his own personal server. It was funny the way some thugs put so much store in appearances. Ramón Estévez—this Ramón
Estévez—was more impressed by results.

  “I had hoped you would bring your top lieutenant with you. He’s a cop, isn’t he? A member of the DPS? I’d hoped to meet him.”

  “I don’t see your lieutenant, Torres. Or is Kramer not worthy of sharing your table?”

  “The man had other responsibilities to see to this evening.”

  “A coincidence, then. It would be a mistake for you to think that any man within my sphere would be useful to you. I’m very selective who I let in.”

  Torres smiled. “I don’t need to use one of your minions. I can always just reclaim your slave.”

  He’d known the threat would come, but just the thought of this slimy bastard getting anywhere near Marcia nearly brought the beast out of him.

  “I’m protective of my property, Torres. Put your hands on her again and I’ll gut you, neck to cock, and I won’t even blink.”

  “Big words from a man who’s all alone. I could have you shot here and now.”

  “You believing that would a mistake.” He sat back as their salads were served. As he did so, he nodded his head to his right. There, at another table within easy sight, Brenda and Craig were dining, looking very much like a couple immersed in romance. Torres had a good view of Craig, who lifted the table cloth enough for the man to see the barrel of the Glock his team member held, pointed at Torres.

  As soon as the waiter left them again, Ramón met the other man’s gaze. “You rely too much on others instead of being man enough yourself to handle things. The problem with trusting minions, as you seem to do, is that they can be arrested and interrogated with no warning whatsoever. Perhaps you’d like to check in with your Mr. Kramer.” When Torres just stared at him, Ramón nodded. “We can do business, Torres, as long as you don’t try to pull this shit again. I won’t be one of your minions. Equal footing, or none at all.”

  Torres nodded then signaled one of his men. Ramón heard Kramer’s name as he whispered instructions to the bodyguard, who immediately returned to his post and pulled out his cell phone. Moments later, he shook his head, and Torres tensed.