Find Her: Avenging Angels MC Book 1

by Nia Farrell

  She bit her lip and gripped the sheets, bracing herself for the pain that she knew would come.

  “Open your eyes, princess. Look at me. Lock your eyes on mine and keep them there. That’s it. Good girl.”

  He surged forward, muscles trembling with the control he was exerting as he breached her folds and pushed inside, pausing when he felt resistance. Rose tried not to whimper, but just stretching to accommodate his girth already hurt. She didn’t know how he was going to fit inside without shredding her tender flesh.

  His electric blue gaze was as hot and insistent as his cock when he jacked his hips and broke through, driving deep, filling her with his length. She bit her lip to muffle her cry, but there was no stopping the tears that welled, then spilled to track down her face.

  Michael held himself above her, keeping most of his weight off of her, so that their bodies were joined at one hungry, burning point. He ground against her clit, pulled out slightly, and pushed in again, repeating his erotic bump-and-grind. As her body adjusted, he lengthened his strokes and forged in deeper, picking up the pace until he was driving into her, possessing every inch of her in a primal claiming.

  Pain gave way to pleasure. His chest hair abraded her breasts. Her hips refused to stay still, rising to meet his thrusts. A familiar tension took hold. Her body went taut, drawing up like a bowstring until she snapped with the force of her release. She convulsed, engulfed in waves of pleasure, walls flooding and spasming around his length.

  He came inside her while the waves still rolled.

  Reaching between them, Michael gripped his condom and eased out of her. Rolling to one side, he wrapped his hand behind her neck and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

  “You okay?” he asked, blanching when he saw the blood smeared on her thighs.

  Rose did a quick review. Her hands were still above her head, handcuffed with his belt. She was tender everywhere they’d touched, inside and out, but mostly, she felt…fulfilled.

  She smiled softly. “Yes, Sir. Just sore.”

  The relief on his face was palpable. “Good,” he breathed. “Good. You were so tight, I didn’t know how much of my eight inches you could take, but, Goddamn.”

  Winnowing his fingers in her hair, he drew her to him for a devouring kiss, urging her lips apart and claiming her mouth as thoroughly as he had her body. Years ago, she had fantasized about him. Her teenage daydreams were nothing compared to the reality of Michael O’Flaherty.

  He reached for the belt and started freeing her hands. “Tub or shower?” he asked, checking their warmth and color.

  His intense focus was at once amusing and endearing. “Whatever pleases you, Sir.”

  Her reward was a cocky grin. “Perfect answer. Shower it is.”

  Michael took care of his condom, then helped her out of bed. Scooping her up, he carried her into the en-suite before setting her on her feet.

  When he straightened, Rose discovered that he was hard again. She blushed, remembering the feel of him inside her.

  “Hey.” Michael chucked a finger under her chin. “You’re bound to be sore for a while. I’m not enough of a bastard to make things any worse. There are other ways to take care of this. I haven’t prepped you for anal. We can start that tomorrow. That leaves your fingers, and your mouth. Have you ever gone down on a man, princess?”

  She felt her face warm ten degrees. “N-no,” she stammered. “While I was in high school, the local boys were too scared of my dad and brothers to even approach me. I’ve been on a few dates with guys I met at the community college, but they drop me like a rock when they see where I live.”

  Sighing, she shared the secret that she’d kept from her family. “I’ll be so frigging happy to get my CPA and get away from Diamond Springs. I want to live where people think I’m normal, not someone to avoid like the plague. I was shunned and bullied the entire time I went to school. I don’t want that for my kids.”

  Michael went quiet, processing what she just said.

  Shit.

  He angled his head and looked at her, deep enough to touch her soul. “I could see you with kids. I think that you’ll make a beautiful mother. But don’t limit your choices and keep something good—something better—from coming to you. Maybe you don’t need to leave Diamond Springs. Maybe you just need out of the clubhouse.”

  He framed her face with his hands and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Let’s see how this goes,” he said. “When it’s time to get back to the real world, if you want out of the clubhouse, I might be able to help with that.”

  Rose searched his face when he stopped short of saying more. He almost sounded like he meant—

  A slap on the ass cut short her thoughts. “Shower,” he rumbled, reaching for fresh towels. “We need to get clean before we get dirty again.”

  Large enough for four people (let alone two), the shower had both mounted and handheld sprayheads. The handheld looked like it might reach as far as the teak bench tucked along one wall.

  Michael looked at her bath products and shook his head. “I don’t want to smell girly. Be right back.” While waiting for him, Rose voided her bladder, wincing at the burn where her tender tissue had been abraded.

  Michael returned with his manly bar of soap in hand. Turning on the water, he adjusted it to the perfect temperature and pulled Rose in after him, until she was standing beneath the invigorating spray.

  Michael lathered his hands with her peach-scented shower gel and started washing her, beginning with her upper chest and working his way to the ruddy smears on her thighs. She hadn’t known how much blood there would be, but it didn’t seem too bad.

  His touch began as clinical, but gradually shifted to a sensual slide of fingers on her flesh. “Sit down,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I want to shave you.”

  Rose’s protest died on her lips when their gazes met. The heat in his was scorching.

  Michael pushed himself to a stand. She barely had time to check out his arousal before he turned, treating her to a view of the perfectly rounded globes of his ass and the sculpted length of his hair-dusted legs.

  He came back with her razor, shower gel, and the handheld sprayhead. Shutting off the head, he laid it on the seat beside her, then cupped her knees and urged them apart, until she was wide open to him.

  Living in the clubhouse, Rose had seen more in nineteen years than most women did in a lifetime. She’d known Crash all of her life—well before he earned his nickname in high school fixing computers, harvesting data from bad hard drives and downloading onto new ones. She shouldn’t feel shy around him, but the sight of him, kneeling between her legs with his electric blue gaze locked on her pussy, brought a crimson tide to her face that spilled down her neck and onto her chest.

  Michael popped the cap on the shower gel, held it above her mound, and gently squeezed. After letting the peach-scented soap drip onto her skin, he set the bottle below her seat on the tiled floor and used his left hand to lather her up.

  What happened next was one of the most erotic things that she’d ever seen, let alone experienced. Michael wielded her razor, each stroke denuding her of whatever had grown out since this morning. It was a feast for her senses. His touch, his focus, his breath on her skin, the blaze of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the sweet scent of peaches, and the smell of her musk.

  When he was done with the razor, he ran the pads of his fingers over her skin, checking the job that he’d done. Satisfied, he turned on the handheld shower and rinsed her clean, but he didn’t shut it off. Instead, he spread her labia with one hand to expose her clit and angled the stream of water to hit it.

  Oh, God.

  Rose gripped the edge of the seat and held on for dear life, letting Michael take her where he wanted her to go. He brought her to the edge and kept her there, refusing to let her go over. Each time she got close, he’d change the angle of the spray and deny her the orgasm that she was chasing.

  “Please,” she begged him when she’d ha
d all the teasing that she could take. “Please, Sir! Let me come!”

  He flicked a glance up at her and turned off the showerhead completely. Rose started to panic—until he lowered his face and licked her slit from back to front, tasting her essence and teasing her with his tongue.

  “Please! Oh, please…!”

  Michael fastened his mouth over her clitoris and sucked it in, holding her like a captive audience while he worked his magic with his tongue. Resistance disappeared. Her body drew taut. But it was the subtlest sleight of hand that sent her spiraling over the edge.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rose came back to awareness slowly, still clinging to Michael’s hair.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed. “That was…wow.”

  Michael smiled. Nothing like leaving a woman speechless.

  “Like that, did you?” he murmured, easing her hands to release their hold.

  Rose smiled shyly. “Yes, Sir. Couldn’t you tell?”

  “Other than the death grip you had on my hair, the part where you rode my face like a mechanical bull, and when you cried so loud, the walls shook? No,” he teased. “Yes, princess. I could tell. And I’ll tell you something else. I think you should return the favor.”

  Ever since watching her suck on that pickle, he’d been dying to fuck that mouth of hers.

  He stood up. Eight inches of vein-roped flesh rose as straight as a stripper’s pole against his belly. His groin was just inches from her face.

  She licked her lips and swallowed hard. Her green Irish eyes were clouded with doubt, eyeing his size.

  She would have to learn to handle him.

  “Kiss it, princess. Lick it. Keep your teeth covered, open wide, and let me in. When I come in that mouth of yours, I want you to suck me dry.”

  Leaning forward, she kissed his crown, satin lips against velvet skin.

  “Yesss,” he murmured. “God, yes. Now, wrap those fingers around my cock and play with my balls.”

  She did that, too, and seemed fascinated with the feel of him. Her slim fingers were never still, sliding up and down his length, fondling his sac, teasing his taint. She might not have given many hand jobs, but she’d seen enough in the clubhouse to know what men liked, and she gave it to him.

  Rose licked his crown, catching the pre-cum with her tongue and swallowing it like nectar. She traced the rim, teased the tip, and found the sensitive spot underneath that made him want to fist her hair and fuck her face like there was no tomorrow.

  He was just about ready to do it when the burner phone rang.

  Fuck.

  Rose jerked back, eyes wide with panic.

  “Let me get that,” he said, already moving, forcing a calmness in his voice that he was far from feeling. They’d heard nothing since yesterday morning. God knew what had happened in the time since then.

  He grabbed the phone off the vanity counter and flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Mikey, get Rosebud and put it on speakerphone.”

  Only one person could get away with calling them Mikey and Rosebud. Mama Mare. And she sounded shaky. This could not be good.

  He didn’t have to call Rose. She was right behind him.

  Changing the setting, he held the phone between them, wrapped his arm around Rose, and pulled her tight against him. “We’re here.”

  “How ya doing, babygirl?”

  When her mother’s voice cracked, Rose nearly buckled. Gathering herself, she forced a smile into her answer. “Fine, Mama. What’s up?”

  “It’s clear to come home,” she said. “How soon can you and Mikey be here?”

  No passwords. Something was wrong.

  Michael looked at Rose and put his finger over his lips, effectively silencing anything she might have said.

  “I don’t know, Mare,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm and clear-headed, for everyone’s sake. “You know how Rose loves to shop.”

  Rose shot him a look. Everyone knew that she hated shopping.

  Mare laughed. “That she does. That she does. But I miss my babygirl. How much longer do you think you love birds will be?”

  Two clues to confirm what they already suspected. She’d been forced to call.

  Which meant the Demons had her.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  “You know we’d planned for a week, Mama Mare. After what Rose went through, she needs to relax. Unwind. So far all she’s wanted to do was shop until I dropped. I’m afraid Papa Bear isn’t going to be very happy with the cash she’s spent, but he always did spoil his Wild Irish Rose.”

  “Yes, he did. Still does,” she said softly, sounding better, as if she drew strength, knowing that her unspoken message had been received loud and clear.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “Let me talk to Rose. See if I can persuade her to cut this short. I’ll call you after we’ve had a chance to talk. Fair enough?”

  There was a long, empty pause before she was allowed to answer. “Yes, Mikey. That’s fine. Talk tonight and call me in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay, Mama. We’ll be in touch.”

  Michael closed the phone, caught Rose’s hand, and pulled her after him. This was only one of the burner phones. He needed to see who’d tried to call the rest.

  Just one.

  He used that cell phone to call Mad Dog.

  “Bro, where you at?”

  Rose’s brother grunted. There was the distinct pop of gunfire in the background. “A bit busy,” he sniped. “What the fuck won’t wait?”

  “We just got off the phone with your mother. Someone’s got her. My guess is the Demons, but she said enough to let us know that she was being forced to make the call.”

  “Fuck!” A string of expletives followed. “The Demons were hit again before dawn this morning. Rumor has it, the body count was significant, and they’re blaming us. We got word at noon that they planned to retaliate, starting with the strip club. They lured us here, cocksuckers!”

  “I’m calling Visconti, Luke. He wants Reaper dead. He needs to know what’s going on, and you need help that I can’t give you from here. Visconti has connections. If he doesn’t already have another security chief in place, he’ll get one. I’m going to tell him the number of the phone that your mom used. We’re supposed to call her again in the morning. If he can get someone to triangulate, you can get her out of there tonight. Meanwhile, I’ll keep Rose safe here until I hear the passwords.”

  There was a long break in their conversation. Given the circumstances, Michael waited until Mad Dog spoke again. “You trust him, Crash?” he asked. “If he decides to track you, too…?”

  “Then he’ll know where the safehouse is. But I don’t see that we have another option.”

  “Unless I call her.”

  He blew out softly. “I thought of that, but you would obviously know she’s been taken. They don’t know that we know. We can keep her on the line longer. Not that you need to with cell phones, but if they’re masking the call, the search jumps from one hundred feet to a ten-mile radius of a tower. I want to make sure that she’s still there, and the connection is clean enough to track. I’d do it if I knew how, but I promised my mom that I’d keep my nose clean. Figuring out passwords for someone on their computer is one thing. Tapping in and tracking locations? The Feds get involved, and next thing you know, I’m the one waiting for visiting day in Marion.”

  Mad Dog huffed a breath. “Do it,” he said. “Visconti had his chance to get rid of them all. He didn’t, and now we have a situation. If he can get us the location, we can take it from there. If he insists on his goons coming, they’re fucking gonna be backup. There’s no way I’m letting them go in ahead of me—not while my mother’s in there. You tell Rose, we’ll get her back. She is not going to be fucking collateral damage.”

  Michael started to say something but didn’t. He didn’t know how much Rose or Mad Dog knew about their mother’s past. What he’d heard was rumor, spoken in confidence, but it had come from a pretty reliable sour
ce.

  “She’ll be safe.” He spoke into the phone, but he was really addressing Rose. “You’ll get her back. Let me call Visconti.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael looked up from the boxful of wine corks that he’d found in the basement. Rose was holding it together, but barely. Her nervous pacing threatened to wear tracks in the living room carpet.

  “You need to settle, princess. There’s nothing we can do except keep you here, and safe. It’s what your mother wants.”

  She stopped pacing long enough to shoot him a look of disbelief. “Are you shitting me? Reaper’s had my mother for hours, Crash! How can you be so fucking calm?”

  Sighing, he set the corks on the coffee table, across from his spot on the sofa. Carving a set of single-use anal plugs for Rose would wait. Disciplining her would not.

  “Enough!” he barked, scooting to the center. “Get your ass over here, now!”

  Rose bit her lip and came to him, dread in every dragging step.

  “Over my knees,” he growled. “I’m going to spank that bottom of yours, then give that potty mouth something better to do than swear at me.”

  After the phone call, he’d let her get dressed, thinking she’d feel less vulnerable. And she had. But now, the curve-hugging jeans were in his way.

  “Pants down, princess. Thigh high.” Hobbling her legs would remind her of status. He was the Dominant. She was his submissive in training.

  She freed the button from its hole, found the zipper pull, and slid it down. Metal teeth clicked as they parted ways, treating him to a teasing reveal of the lacy black goodness that he’d picked for her to wear. Hooking her thumbs inside both waistbands, she eased them down to mid-thigh, exposing the baby-smooth skin of her freshly shaved mound.

  Rose had the prettiest pussy. As much as he’d like to bury his face in it and tongue her until she came, she needed a firm hand more.

  She crawled up on the sofa and draped herself across his lap, with her legs to his right and her head to his left, bracing herself on her forearms. He squeezed the curves of her buttocks and wished that he had his pan of kitchen utensils. A wooden spoon or wire whip would have worked nicely. As it was, he used something much more intimate, the strikes of his hand pinking, then reddening her bottom.