Viva Los Regalos: Kat and Mouse

by Lexxie Couper

  Katrina gasped. Her pussy flooded with cream seconds before Flynn -- The Mouse! God, he is The Mouse! -- cupped each breast with savage hands and captured her right nipple with his mouth.

  He sucked. Hard.

  Katrina arched sharply, ramming her pussy against Abaddon’s delving finger, thrusting her breasts to Flynn’s mouth and hands. She curled her hands around the taut chains stretching her arms above her head, needing to anchor herself in some way as wave after wave of dark pleasure consumed her.

  Flynn’s mouth worked her nipple, drew it past his teeth. His fingers squeezed her breasts, pushing them together. She moaned, feeling his teeth on her right nipple and his fingers and Abaddon’s mauling her left. The combination made her head swim with hot shame. She bucked her hips forward and rolled her head backward, Abaddon’s lips scorching a line down her neck to the curve just above her collarbone. He plunged his finger deeper into her cunt, his cock ramming against her ass cheeks with brutal insistence.

  Drowning in rapture, Katrina sank her teeth into her bottom lip, fighting to control the cry of delight wanting to burst from her throat.

  “I love to feel you fight yourself. It feeds me. Makes me stronger with each suppressed whimper.”

  Abaddon’s whisper brushed her consciousness, even as a wave of raw arousal rolled through her, emanating from the mask. She stiffened. And then Flynn sank his fingers into her hips and jerked her forward, smashing his groin to hers, destroying any conscious thought completely.

  Oh, I’m lost…

  Abaddon chuckled. But what a find you are…

  He slid his finger from her sex and lifted it to her mouth, tracing it over her lips. The musky scent of her own juices filled her breath and, before she knew what she was doing, she flicked at his fingers with her tongue. Her cunt pulsed, bereft of attention. As if he knew her despair, Flynn raked his left hand down her torso, past the edge of her thong, and plunged it between her thighs. Stabbing first one finger, then another into the sodden folds of her pussy.

  Katrina gasped, and Abaddon invaded her mouth with his cream-slicked finger, smoothing his other hand from her breast to circle it around her neck. He rubbed his cock up and down between her ass cheeks, dry fucking her in purposeful, breath-stealing strokes.

  No. It’s not his cock driving you insane. It’s Flynn’s mouth, his fingers…

  Katrina gripped the chain. Pushed her hips harder to the hand fucking her. The mouth on her breast sucked on her nipple in perfect harmony with the delving fingers in her cunt. She bit her lip again, the chain cutting into her palms, the men biting into her fading control.

  Abaddon slid his hand from her mouth back down to her left breast, reclaiming its nipple. He flicked it, twisted it, pinched it. A counter-beat to Flynn’s suckling on her right breast. Squirming tension mounted between her thighs. Wet and hot and exquisite. She arched her back. Fuck, she wanted to be filled.

  Abaddon pressed his mouth to her ear. “With pleasure.”

  He dropped to his knees. She could feel his body slide down her back, his hands scoring a path over her hips, her ass, down her legs. Flynn -- The Mouse -- did the exact same, and for a moment Katrina lost coherent ability as his tongue joined his fingers at her cunt and Abaddon’s tongue plunged between her ass cheeks to lap at the tight hole of her anus.

  Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

  A soft clink sounded and suddenly Katrina felt a tugging on her left ankle.

  Fierce fingers sank into her hips, holding her still as, with slow force, something pulled at her ankle. Lifting her leg upward, to the side. Spreading her sex wider with each inch her leg rose.

  Katrina snapped open her eyes, staring at the new shackle wrapped around her ankle, attached to a chain slowly raising her leg until it was at right angles to her body. No!

  Yes. Fuck me, yes!

  The tongue and fingers in her pussy delved deeper, tortured her swollen clit. Flynn fucked her sodden sex with his mouth. He raked his hand up her extended leg, smoothing his palms over her tightly stretched thigh as he lashed at her clit with his tongue, laving her slit with moisture, lapping at her freely flowing juices. Katrina whimpered. She should be stopping this. She should be…

  Without preamble, Abaddon drove his finger up into her cunt.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Four fingers penetrated the folds between her spread thighs. Four fingers wriggling and seeking the wet, tight walls of her core. She moaned, twisting in her chains, unable -- unwilling -- to change her position, her right leg parallel with the floor, granting the two men uninhibited access to what they so wholly plundered.

  “Moan again,” Abaddon ordered against her ass. He grabbed her left ass cheek with one hand, pulling and squeezing it until he could easily press his tongue to her anus with fierce pressure, flicking the puckered opening with sharp stabs. “Moan for us both.”

  Flynn stilled for a moment before capturing her clit with his teeth and giving it a gentle yet still savage nip. Katrina writhed between them, dragging breath after shallow breath through her gritted teeth. She would not moan. She would not show them how much she --

  Abaddon lifted his mouth from her ass and, just as abruptly as his earlier invasion, plunged his thumb into her saliva-sodden anus. Wickedly sinful pleasure ripped through her. She bucked, throwing her head back as a cry both raw and horrified tore from her throat. God! Oh, God!

  The tension building in her center turned to a blistering surge of pure current. She bucked again, driving her cunt again and again and again against Flynn’s mouth and hand. Christ, she was going to come!

  “Then come,” Abaddon spoke, his voice low and ripe with power. “Come and be forever marked as --”

  He didn’t finish.

  Before the word could slip from his lips, branding her flesh with its heat, Flynn stood, a small but lethal blade in his left hand, and severed the leather shackle wrapped around her right ankle. Gravity grabbed at her leg, but not before Flynn. He snatched her ankle before her leg could fall and wrapped it around his hip, impaling her with a cock both long and thick, a cock she had no idea he’d released from his trousers until it was buried in her cunt, stretching her to the absolute limit.

  Heavy, swollen balls smacked against her perineum in powerful blows. His hands gripped her ass and hips, holding her locked to his body with undeniable possession, his mouth claiming her neck in hungry kisses that spoke just as clearly of a right he believed was his.

  The absolute force of his fucking, the utter domination of his penetrations sent Katrina over the edge. A wall of liquid rapture crashed over her. She clung to the chain attached to her wrists. A keening sound rent the air, growing louder and louder with each punching stroke of his cock in her clenching sex. He bit her flesh, mauled her ass, dragged his hand from her hip to flatten her breast in a savage caress -- seconds before she felt his shaft throb and he smashed his hips to hers, pumping stream after stream of hot come into her very core. Flooding her. Draining her.

  Scorching heat erupted through her, and her own orgasm claimed her, making her scream, curse and thrash in Flynn’s crushing, domineering embrace. Her cunt gushed and constricted and pulsed around a cock possessing her as much as it filled her. Her lungs burned, her breath grew short and her heart hammered.

  And through it all, through the most potent, forceful fucking she’d ever had in her life, Katrina felt Abaddon -- his thumb still in her ass, his hands still on her body, his mouth on her flesh. A menacing presence. A foreboding ruler of the very act taking place.

  I am not finished with you, Ms. O’Brien… Abaddon’s voice filled her head as a wave of painful heat radiated through her face from the mask she wore, down to her nipples, through her belly to her cunt. A twisting, scalding fist entering her from within, joining with the cock already driving her to the brink of sexual ecstasy. Shoving her over the edge. I am not finished with either of you… She cried out again -- in sheer rapture and absolute fear -- and everything went black.

  “Now go
to the vault and get me my fucking diamond, Marsters,” she heard Abaddon growl, his voice guttural and animalistic. “Now.”

  And then there was nothing but the beat of her heart, and that too faded to nothingness.

  Chapter Eight

  Flynn studied the corridor. A rage he didn’t know could exist rolled through him. He’d done a lot of bad things in his life, but he’d never killed anyone. It was a line he couldn’t cross. Right at this moment, however, he could cheerfully wipe Abaddon’s existence from the planet.

  His fists ached from being clenched so tightly. The demon had given him exactly sixty minutes to lift the Daemon Moon from the Lynx’s vault before he “claimed” Katrina, and Flynn had lost twenty of those returning Kat to her suite. Sick with anguish and rage, he’d left her on the bed, unconscious but breathing steadily. The need to stay with her until she regained consciousness had almost rendered him immobile, but he’d forced himself to leave.

  The final outcome of staying with her was not an option.

  He studied the door before him. He’d expected an optical fingerprint reader, but instead, a simple electronic card lock waited for him. Easy to get through for a human who knew what he was doing.

  An ominously cold wave rolled over him. Who knew what would happen to a non-human who crossed the threshold? Abaddon had not been forthcoming on that little piece of information. Popping open the device, he stripped and re-threaded the appropriate wiring and, with a low clunk, the door swung ajar.

  Too easy.

  He shot a quick look around the wide corridor the door opened onto. Closed-circuit cameras, a heat-sensor and an ultra-sonic motion detector. Pretty standard stuff. All passable.

  He flicked the closest camera another quick look. If Abaddon had been telling him the truth -- and he had no reason to believe otherwise -- the guards monitoring the screens would be otherwise “occupied” at this moment in time, thanks to an unexpected visit from the Lynx’s Work Safety Manager. But he didn’t have long. At the end of the corridor was another door -- strangely without any visible locking or security systems -- and on the other side, the vault.

  He quickly checked his watch. He was running out of time.

  * * *

  Katrina opened her eyes and found herself in her suite, still dressed in black latex. Slapping her hand to her face, she let out a ragged sigh. The mask was gone.

  Thank bloody God.

  Slumping a little, she raked her fingers through her hair, removing the cat’s ears as she did so. She felt… funky. As if --

  The blood suddenly drained from her face and everything from the last hour came back to her in a rush. The ball. Abaddon. The strange hands on her body. Her burning, surreal arousal. Flynn. The Mouse… Cold fury roared through her. Flynn Marsters was The Mouse. The man who’d made her working life pure hell. “Another reason to kill him,” she growled.

  But not until you’ve arrested him, O’Brien. You’re a cop first, remember. You can lick your weak emotional wounds later, but right now, you’re after a jewel thief.

  Scrambling from the bed, she looked around for her cuffs. There wasn’t really anywhere to tuck them in the cat’s costume but she wasn’t taking the time to change out of it. Besides, with Da Boss’s ball still taking place, the sinful latex creation would let her move more easily around the casino.

  She needed to get to Room 42.

  Katrina snatched up her cuffs from the tallboy, shoved them into her thong’s snug waistline at the small of her back and stormed to the door.

  Do you really think Flynn will return to his room? If it ever was his room in the first place? She didn’t know, but she had to start somewhere, and she doubted she’d be able to just waltz and bluff her way to the Lynx’s vault, even if she did know where it was.

  The corridors still thrummed with activity as she made her way to the Western Wing: tourists stumbling into their rooms after too much partying, eating or gambling; revelers in their masks and costumes; uniformed staff; the odd vampire, fae or other paranormal being. A distant part of Katrina’s mind marveled at her complete acceptance of their presence. Two nights in Los Regalos and she was more experienced to the other realm of existence than she’d ever been back in Australia.

  Los Regalos will change your life…

  The smug and knowing words of her media tycoon flight companion floated through her head and she suppressed a dry snort. Guess he’d been correct after all.

  A vivid, multi-colored, multi-orgasmic memory of the ball suddenly filled her head -- there and gone in a second, and she felt her cheeks warm.

  Correct in more ways than one.

  Approaching Room 42, she slowed down, casing out the corridor leading past it. As if Fate or God or some other higher power had decided to lend a hand, she spied a woman dressed in a housekeeping uniform, popping in and out of rooms as she made her way along the corridor, a stack of folded towels towering over the top of her head. On silent, stiletto-booted feet, Katrina slipped into step behind her. God, was she really going to be so lucky?

  After a soft tap, the woman unlocked and entered Room 38. With a not-so-conspicuous lunge, Katrina began to nonchalantly play with the doorknob of Room 37, as though she was having great difficulty getting her access-card to work.

  Two minutes later, the woman re-emerged and continued along the way, completely ignoring Katrina’s presence.

  Room 39. Soft tap. Wait. Enter. Exit.

  Room 40. Soft tap. Wait. Enter. Exit.

  Room 41. Nothing. She kept walking without slowing down. Katrina’s heart smashed against her chest in disappointed anger, until she spied the “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging from the doorknob.

  Releasing a soft sigh of relief, she hurried after the woman, needing to be closer when she reached Room 42. Please, God. Be nice to…

  The woman stopped, tapped, waited. Juggling the enormous stack of towels, she slid her access card into Room 42’s locking slot and, a second later, entered the dark room.

  Yes!

  With more grace and speed than she thought she had, Katrina slipped through the door immediately after the woman, tucking in her butt just in time to avoid having it thumped by the closing door.

  The woman turned to her right, entering a darkened room Katrina guessed was the bathroom. Heart hammering, pulse pounding, she sped deeper into the room and, acting on reflexes alone, dropped to the floor on the far side of the bed and rolled under it, her ass cheeks thankfully muffling the clink-clink of her cuffs as they connected with the floor.

  Fair dinkum, O’Brien! How clichéd can you get?

  Lying motionless amongst the dustbunnies, she crinkled her nose. Didn’t matter. She was in.

  And if it’s not Flynn’s room? Katrina ground her teeth. Shuddup!

  After what felt like a lifetime later, soft footfalls sounded in the room, followed by an almost imperceptible change in the shadows as the woman opened the door and left.

  Katrina whooshed out a sudden breath. Bloody hell, she’d done it. Squirming from under the bed, she brushed herself off. Flicking on the bedside lamp closest to her, she cast a long, scrutinizing look around the room. Nothing told her it was Flynn’s.

  What were you expecting? A can of Tooheys on the sideboard? A packet of Tim Tams on the bed? She curled her fists. Her gut tingled. Telling her to look…

  There. On the luggage rack. A folded copy of The Sydney Morning Herald. Either Abaddon knew she’d be coming to this room, or he’d been accommodating Flynn’s nationality as well.

  A slow smile curled Katrina’s lips as she looked at the very Australian newspaper. “Gotcha.”

  * * *

  The second Flynn opened his door, he knew he wasn’t alone. Her scent gave it away. “Hello, Kat,” he said, letting the door close behind him and walking into his room without turning on the light.

  He sensed rather than saw her move in the darkness, and suddenly he was up against the wall, her forearm rammed under his chin, her feet booting his legs apart. “Flynn Marster
s, by the power granted me by the Australian Federal Government, I’m arresting you for being a lying, deceiving, gutless bastard.”

  Her heat wrapped around his body, as intoxicating and delicious as ever. “I see you’re finally awake,” he said, trying to control the surge of hot blood into his cock. An impossible task really, considering Kat still wore the latex corset and thigh-highs from the ball. “No ‘thank you’ for taking you back to your suite? Which I might add, is much nicer than mine. Do the Australian tax-payers know how much a night this little arrest is costing them?”

  Her hips and thighs pressed harder to him in the blackness, keeping him pinned to the wall -- and making his cock twitch all the more. “When I bring you back, the taxpayers will want to dip me in gold,” she said flatly, and he could hear her awareness of his arousal in the slight huskiness of her voice.

  “What if I’m not ready to go back? I’m quite enjoying my time in Los Regalos, I must say.”

  He felt her stiffen. “I bet you are, you --”

  He didn’t let her finish. With a sudden move, he shoved her from him, propelling her backward. She let out a yelp of surprise, the sound cut short by a soft thud.

  In a step, he was at the bed, flicking on the lamp and staring down at her before she could move. “Time to sheath those claws, Kat.”

  She glared up at him. He knew what she was going to do before she did it. Her foot lashed out, aimed right for his balls. He leapt out of its trajectory and slapped at her ankle, sending her leg into a wide, arcing swing. He was on her before she could recover, grabbing at her fists and slamming her backward to the bed in one savage move. “Now stop playing nasty and listen to me, Kat.” He stared into her face, his mouth inches from hers. “Or we’re both fucked.”

  “Ha!” She bucked underneath him. “You’re not getting your dick anywhere near my --” He crushed her mouth with his. Just to shut her up.