Loser_Avenging Angels MC Book 3

by Nia Farrell

  Or was he simply putting her needs before his own, knowing that she’d taken her meds and was worn out from the stresses of the day?

  Maybe that was it. He was staying on his side of the bed so she could rest, not because he didn’t want her.

  She sighed, wondering how long it would take her to finally go to sleep, knowing he was just an arm’s length away.

  “Good night, Flynn.”

  “Good night, Sara. Sweet dreams.”

  She hoped so.

  God, she hoped so.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The dream was always the same.

  Sara walked out of the bar.

  She approached her car.

  Someone clapped his hand over her mouth and lifted her off her feet. Bound and gagged, she lay on the floor of a van that reeked of tobacco smoke, weed, liquor, urine, and vomit.

  She prayed for deliverance.

  Prayed for her friends.

  Stay where you are.

  Don’t come out.

  Don’t try to leave.

  But Janine and Francine couldn’t hear her. In her mind’s eye, she watched them get up from the table and head for the door.

  “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop…!”

  “Babe, wake up. It’s okay. You’re safe. They’re not going to hurt you. Come on, sugar. Wake up, Sara.”

  Flynn’s voice reached into the hell where she relived her fears and brought her back to awareness.

  Sitting up, she swiped the tears from her face with her fingers and sniffed her runny nose. Flynn turned on his lamp, went into the bathroom, and came back with a new roll of toilet tissue.

  “Sorry, I don’t have Kleenex. Here,” he said, handing her a strip of sheets that he folded in half. “Blow.”

  She took it, at once grateful and embarrassed. “Yes, Sir.” She blew her nose and looked at his outstretched hand.

  “Trade,” he said.

  She took the fresh sheets but hung onto the used ones.

  He arched a brow.

  “Body fluids,” she explained.

  Flynn tsked and shook his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve had my tongue in your pussy and your ass. Taking your tissue to the trash isn’t gonna put me at risk for anything more than I’ve already signed on for. Now, hand it over. If I have to ask again, you’re gonna get spanked.”

  The thought of being turned over Flynn’s knee was at once alarming and titillating. Baby steps, she told herself. If she was going to experience a spanking, she’d rather that it not be done as a punishment.

  Sara folded the used paper and dropped it in the bowl of Flynn’s palm.

  Eying the small trash can near his desk, he looked at the wad of tissue and decided to walk it over rather than lob it. The lamp cast enough light for Sara to admire the ink on his back and his front.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, climbing back into bed. “Do you need to take anything?”

  “I can’t. I’d overdose. I’ll do some breathing exercises and see if I can manage to get a little more sleep before the night is done.” She raised the folded strip of toilet tissue. “I’ll hang onto this, just in case.”

  Flynn nodded sympathetically. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “You did,” she told him. “You pulled me out of my nightmare.”

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “There’s nothing much to tell, really. It’s the same dream about something that never happened. I’m lying helpless in the van, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, breathing in the stench. My girlfriends are still in the bar. They have no idea of the danger they’re in. In my dream, I watch them get up and head for the door. I know if they come out, they’ll get taken, too.”

  “Ah.” He nodded sagely. “That’s why you called out, ‘Stop.’ You were trying to warn them.”

  Sara felt her cheeks grow flush with embarrassment. “Yes. I’m sorry I woke you. I tried to warn you what it’s like.”

  Flynn lifted a tattooed shoulder. “You did,” he said smoothly, not sounding the least bit upset by it. Brad would have stomped out the door and slept on the couch. “Now we need to see if we can help you get some more rest.

  Looking over, he pulled her pillow to his side of the bed and gave her his. “In your dream, you remember the stench. This smells like me. Maybe your subconscious will remember that I’m here to protect you. All the Angels are. It won’t hurt to try it, anyway. See if it helps.”

  What he said made sense. As crazy as it sounded, it might just work, if she could keep her doubts from sabotaging his good intentions. The mind was a powerful thing, for better and for worse.

  “Come on.” He patted the pillow. “Lay down. Close your eyes.”

  The teacher in her silently corrected his grammar. She wasn’t about to say anything when he was being so considerate. The tattoo on his right forearm named him a sinner, but he was a saint compared to most of the men she had known.

  She did what he said, rolling onto her side to face him and resting her head on his pillow. Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the scent of his hair. She closed her eyes and softly sighed.

  The bed shifted as Flynn lay down beside her. He started stroking her hair, over and over, almost like he was petting her. A calm washed over her. She melted into his touch at the same time she wanted to cry. No man had ever made her feel so cherished. Just to look at Flynn, she would never have guessed that a tattooed bad boy biker was capable of such tenderness. Then again, Mad Dog could be that way with Isabella. It was strange and wonderful and exactly what she needed.

  Flynn’s comforting touch lulled her to sleep.

  Sara came awake gradually, her sleep-fogged mind processing her surroundings. Different. This is different.

  These weren’t her sheets.

  This wasn’t her room.

  Flynn.

  She’d spent the night with Flynn.

  As she came to full awareness, the sound of soft, even breathing told her that she wasn’t alone. Opening her eyes, she looked across and focused on the perfectly relaxed face of the man who had saved her from her phantom demons and who had pledged to keep her safe from a real one.

  He had kicked down the sheet. Except for what his boxers covered, he was fully exposed to her view. The left side of his hair below his part was cropped short. The top, right side, and back were long. His ponytail ended between his shoulder blades.

  Recalcitrant locks lay across his face, nearly hiding his closed eyes. Some of the front had either escaped his hair tie or wasn’t quite long enough to begin with.

  Sara let herself look, feasting her appreciative gaze on Flynn’s inked sleeves and studying the tattoos on his chest and legs. She’d never been turned on by a man’s bare feet, but she decided that his were as sexy as sin, long and strong, like those incredible hands of his.

  Sighing inwardly, she slipped away and tiptoed to the bathroom. Grateful that it was free, she locked the door to Hawk’s room, used the facilities, and washed her hands. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she started opening drawers and doors, searching again for a spare, unused toothbrush that she could use to clean her teeth and freshen her breath.

  He had one. One. She wasn’t about to take it without asking.

  Using a little of his toothpaste, she scrubbed her teeth with her finger, then her palate and her tongue, rinsing thoroughly when she was done. Cupping her hand, she checked her breath.

  At least the morning mouth problem was gone.

  Unlocking the far door, then Flynn’s, she slipped back into his room and saw Flynn sitting in bed, watching her, rubbing his chest with one hand and his erection with the other.

  Seeing her blush, he grinned unapologetically. “Good morning,” he rumbled, his voice husky with sleep. “Did you get some rest?”

  “I did.” Sara fastened the bolt and turned back to face him. “Thank you for last night. I hated that I woke you. I’m afraid that I don’t make a very good bed partner.”

  The light in his hazel e
yes took on a familiar lambency when his thoughts turned decidedly carnal. “You might not make the best sleep partner,” he drawled, “but as bed partners go, I think we rub along just fine.”

  She arched a brow and dropped her gaze to his lap. “It looks to me like you’re rubbing along fine without me.”

  Flynn actually pouted. “I’d rather you were jacking me, but you weren’t here.”

  “It’s morning,” she said. “Nature calls. The bathroom’s free if you need to answer it. I thought I’d work on my list.”

  He nixed that idea. “You’ll have time after breakfast. The guys had a late night. They’re not gonna be up for a while. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m up this early.”

  And she couldn’t believe he was fisting himself while they were talking. The man was a satyr. After all the sex they’d had, he was ready to go again.

  But was she?

  Taking inventory, she was still sore from their time in the Angel Ink playroom, despite the massage that he’d done.

  Maybe she could talk him into another. “Since you’re all about energy exchange, if I finish what you’re doing, do you think you could work my muscles over again?”

  He pulled off his boxers and resumed fisting himself. He was fully erect. The head of his cock looked like a plum. He put a twist on the end of each stroke, working pre-cum from the tip. “I have a suggestion. How about a rub for a rub?”

  She nodded, mesmerized by the sheer size of him, amazed that she’d managed to handle him.

  “Come ‘ere,” he rumbled. “Let me see your hands.”

  She crossed to where he sat and held them out, palms up, then palms down.

  Flynn studied her fingers at length. “No rings,” he hummed.

  She wasn’t much on jewelry. She hadn’t worn any to their appointment last night.

  “Looks good. Good enough, anyway. Get up here, sugar. Normally, I’d say ladies first, but not when my balls are blue.”

  He bent his knees and gave her room to climb onto the mattress. He slid down. She crawled up, stopping by his hips. Flynn handed her the bottle of coconut oil that was still on his nightstand. “Here. Lube me up.”

  Sara poured some into her palm, gave him the bottle, and rubbed her hands together, coating them both. Reaching, she slickened his cock from the crown down to his root and started stroking him, working his length and making him groan.

  “Lube your hands again.” He handed her the oil. “This time, lube my ass. You’re going to give me a prostate massage with the middle finger of your left hand.”

  The one with the shortest nail.

  Holy Mother.

  Sara bit her lip. She’d never done anything like it. After the way that he’d handled her nightmare, she realized that she wanted to please him, even if it meant performing such an intimate act.

  She coughed to clear her throat. “Are you sure?”

  He gave her a look that she was coming to know well. His way or no way. “Do it.”

  Puffing a breath, she added more lube to her fingers. He bent his legs and parted them, giving her room to work between them. Flynn looked awfully confident in her abilities. Under his watchful eye, she found his anus and oiled the outside. Lubing her finger again, she handed the bottle of oil to him, found the puckered ring of flesh, and pressed the tip of her middle finger against it, then into it. Breath hissed between his teeth when she went deeper.

  He fisted his cock and let her focus on what she was doing.

  “Curl your finger,” he growled. “That’s it. Oh, yeah. Feel that bump? You’re gonna rub it. When I get ready to come, you’re gonna wrap those lips around my dick and finish me.”

  He fisted himself harder, picking up his pace while she massaged his prostate. It wasn’t long before his balls drew up and his body stiffened with his impending release. “Suck it,” he grated, catching the front of the T-shirt she wore and pulling her into position.

  Sara took him in her mouth, tasting coconut and pre-cum, breathing in the heady scent of tropical oil and male musk. She felt the flow beneath the surface of satin-covered steel, like a river of molten lava, waiting to erupt. A few more pumps, and he did, shooting streams of hot cum onto her palate and across her tongue, painting her tonsils and filling the back of her throat. Keeping her lips sealed tight around him, she swallowed, time and again, struggling to take it all.

  He shuddered to a finish and collapsed back on his pillow. “God damn, that was good. Give me a minute, sugar, and I’ll take care of you next.”

  Sara was feeling a bit bolder. Slipping her finger free of his opening, she said, “Let me clean up, and I’m all yours.”

  She went into the bathroom and washed her hands. Returning with a wet washcloth and towel, she wiped him off and patted him dry.

  True to his word, he took care of her needs. Massaging the soreness from her muscles, he gave her a happy ending and took her downstairs for breakfast when they were done.

  The clubhouse was oddly quiet this early, but like he said, the guys had made a late night of it. Alone in the commercial-size kitchen, Flynn had Sara sit on one end of the long, stainless steel island. Starting the coffeemaker, he pulled out bacon, eggs, sourdough bread, and an assortment of juices. He poured himself a cup of coffee as soon as it was done and filled a tumbler with cranberry juice for her.

  Sara offered to cook, but he made her watch while he fried the bacon and eggs and fixed toast.

  She was impressed.

  Watching Flynn work was eye-opening for her. She’d never had a self-sufficient man, let alone a caregiver. Brad could pour cereal, make toast, and follow basic microwave instructions if she wasn’t around. Beyond that, he’d been helpless in the kitchen. The longer she was with Flynn, the more she liked him. Really, truly liked him. Yes, he was a biker. Yes, he was covered in tattoos. He was also intelligent, creative, and modest despite being talented beyond belief.

  But it was his Dominant side that she found the most compelling. In the role of his submissive, she came first. When they were together, Flynn focused on her. Her wants. Her needs. In gauging her reactions to whatever he was doing, the man missed nothing.

  The connection she’d felt with him from the start was only getting stronger. Although their paths had crossed, she couldn’t deny that they came from two different worlds. Forces beyond their control had brought them together. It was only a matter of time before those same forces tore them apart.

  And when that happened, the pain of Brad’s desertion would be nothing in comparison.

  Losing Flynn was going to be devastating.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Flynn eyed what was left on Sara’s plate. “Don’t tell me you’re full already.”

  Her jaw dropped. She barked out a laugh and swiveled her seat to look at him. “Okay, I won’t then!”

  His kindergarten teacher was sexy as fuck to begin with but that bedhead hair of hers had him ready to drag her back upstairs.

  “Look, one egg and two or three strips of bacon is plenty for me. I just don’t have the metabolism for more than that.”

  He wasn’t going to argue the point. Sara knew her body better than most people. She treated it like a temple, eating and drinking things that would keep her healthy and well.

  Leaving the eggs, he snagged a piece of bacon she’d left and lifted it in a salute. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Let me get things squared away here and we’ll go up and work on your list. Maybe by the time you’re finished, I can get a couple of Angels to go with us and help carry. Plan to bring whatever you’ll need for a week. Or two.”

  Depending on how soon Reaper was caught, she might be here for a while. Not that he was complaining. He enjoyed having Sara in his bed. Sure, he loved fucking her, but he liked watching her sleep, too. He’d never forget her face when she’d come out of her nightmare. She’d looked at him like he was some sort of goddamn hero.

  Flynn showed Sara where to scrape the plates and pre-rinse the dishes. “Put them in the rack with the
others,” he told her, handing her the first plate that he cleaned. “They’ll get run through the machine when it’s full. Everyone’s schedule is different. For breakfast, we’re pretty much on our own. I’m on my own for most suppers, too, since we work until seven. Mama Mare—the President’s old lady—shops for groceries and oversees the evening meals, but we can fix something else then, too, if we need to. The main thing is to let her know when something runs low. You do not want Mama Mare mad at you.”

  Sara listened, taking it all in.

  “In some ways, being in a club is like being in the military,” he told her. “We all have to work at it to keep things running. There are gravy jobs and shit jobs and mindless tasks, rinsing dishes being among them. Not my favorite thing, but it’s better than fucking laundry. Speaking of which, I need to throw a load in the washer when we’re at Angel Ink and hope the hell it’s not soured. I can go back later today and put it in the dryer. No one cares if a towel’s wrinkled as long as it’s clean, right?”

  She looked skeptical. “I don’t know. Even if they’re clean, they’ll look like they’ve been used. You might want to tumble them a bit and try to get some of the wrinkles out.”

  She sounded like Kaylee.

  Women.

  Flynn had another idea. “We could stick around long enough to take them out when they’re dry. You haven’t told me yet what you want on your thigh. We can look through the portfolios or go online. If you find something you like, we might even be able to do it—or start it, depending on how big it is. If nothing speaks to you, then I’ll need to design one from scratch.”

  She angled her head and chewed on her lip. “The other Angels who are going with us—will they mind?”

  “Nah. I’ll give ‘em a beer. Put on some porn. They’ll be okay.”

  “Well, if they don’t mind…”

  Flynn caught her chin, brushed a quick kiss across her lips, and finished rinsing what they’d used. They dried their hands and went back to his room, where Sara made a list of things to bring from her house. Looking at it, he wondered where in the hell he was going to put it all. He’d begun to think that she was low maintenance, but it looked like she was packing for a month-long ocean cruise.