Keeper: Avenging Angels MC Book 2

by Nia Farrell

  He devoured her, clamping his mouth on her pussy and fucking her with his tongue. Her hips bucked, desperate for the release he denied her, until she was reduced to begging for it. Smiling against her pussy, he fastened his lips over her clit and sucked, hard, sealing them together and ripping the first orgasm from her.

  “Mad Dog!” she cried when the dam burst. “Luke!”

  He added a finger and pumped it into her, curling it and hitting her sweet spot, catapulting her into a second orgasm, hard on the heels of the first.

  Kneeling up and hooking his thumbs in his briefs, he slid everything down to the tops of his thighs, pulled a magnum condom from his back pocket, and ripped it open with his teeth.

  Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “Luke,” she started.

  “Mad Dog,” he growled. Hooking an elbow under her leg to spread her wide, he wet himself on her juices and notched the head of his cock into her opening. “Hang on,” he ordered. You’re in for a rough ride.”

  One searing thrust, and he was in, decimating her hymen, taking what other, better, more suitable men had tried. But none had been the bad boy biker of her dreams.

  “Fuck.” He cursed when he saw her tears. “God dammit, Isabella. You should have told me I’d be your first.”

  She managed a tremulous smile. “Would it have changed anything?”

  He blew out harshly. “Hell, no. Except you’ve earned yourself a spanking. Later,” he said, a dark promise in his voice. “Right now, I’m going to own this pussy. And then I’m going to claim that ass.”

  And own it, he did. He had to work for it, but with patience and perseverance, he managed to work most of his length inside, then started moving, out and in, again and again, picking up speed, driving in deeper, lengthening his strokes until he was pounding into her and she was riding wave after pulsing wave of pleasure.

  He stopped short of coming. “Hands and knees,” he growled. “Another time, I’ll fuck you like an animal. Right now, I’m claiming that ass of yours.”

  She rolled over and pushed herself up, waiting with palms planted and knees braced on the mattress, praying he’d use lube. She caught the soft scent of coconut oil just before his hand slathered it over her bung hole, working some of it inside. One finger, then two, then the velvet crown, pressing against it, into it, pushing past the rings of muscle, a pinching stretch of pleasure and pain. He grabbed her hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Breath hissed between his teeth as he sank his length in deeper, and deeper yet, until he was buried to the root in her warmth.

  “Fuck,” he growled, and started to move. “You like this, don’t you, babygirl? Taking my dick up your ass. Jesus, you feel good. Warm walls hugging me, going deep, no end in sight. Take it,” he grated, jacking his hips and pistoning in, then cutting loose on her, reaming her out, balls slapping her pussy as he fucked her. Soon there was a break in his rhythm, a hitch in his breath. He tunneled in deep and held her tight against him as he came inside her, filling the end of his condom.

  When Mad Dog pulled out, Isabella collapsed onto the bed, sore in places she’d never been, wondering what the hell she’d just done. He took care of his condom, washed his hands, and stripped off his clothes before coming back to bed, wearing nothing but dog tags and ink.

  “Roll over,” he said, slapping her bottom when she failed to move fast enough.

  He’d brought a warm, wet washcloth to clean her with. His consideration touched her, and she blinked back fresh tears.

  The corners of his mouth turned down as he worked. “That’s the second time I’ve made you cry. Tell me it’s not gonna be a habit.”

  She sniffed, wishing she had a tissue. “Guess you’ll have to keep me around if you want to find out. I figured this was it. Don’t you guys, like, top ‘em and drop ‘em?”

  He chuckled. “You mean, hit it and quit it? Yeah, something like that. But every rule has exceptions. Richie and Anna, case in point. But, unlike Richie, I refuse to be anyone’s dirty little secret. You wanna be my old lady? You tell your folks, or I will.”

  Could she? Should she? “My dad might be tricky.”

  Mad Dog nodded as if he understood. “Just let me know when it’s done so I can watch my back.”

  “You think he’d what? Order a hit? Oh, Luke, believe me. You don’t have to worry about that with my dad. Nope. Not my dad,” she assured him. Coherent thought fled when he bent his head to kiss her. Later, Isabella promised herself, yielding once more to his possession.

  He’d know about Uncle Giovanni soon enough.

  Mad Dog kissed his way down her body, nuzzling her neck and suckling her breasts. Marking her midline, he caressed her stomach, her navel, her belly, her curls. Splaying one large hand on her abdomen, he traced her slit with his other fingers, pushed the middle one inside, and started fucking her with it.

  “Oh, God,” she panted, aware of how her body responded to his touch.

  “Mad Dog,” he growled. Dipping his head, he lashed her clit with his tongue, added a second finger, and started pumping into her, building in speed and intensity. Tension took hold as he pushed her towards the precipice. He fastened his mouth over her clit and sucked it in, setting off a chain reaction. Her body seized. The dam burst, drenching them both. Her walls spasmed, gripping his fingers, refusing to let them go.

  He pushed into her and started pumping, claiming her with his fingers, lashing her clit with his tongue. He brought her to a second peak, and a third, before lifting his head to look at her.

  There was an intensity about him that nearly made her come again.

  “What?” she whispered when he continued to stare.

  Shaking himself, Mad Dog pushed away and slid off the end of the bed. “Turn over,” he said. “I want you on your hands and knees.”

  As soon as Isabella rolled onto her stomach, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her towards him, until her knees were nearly at the mattress’s edge. Bending her elbows, she planted her palms and pushed herself into position, on all fours.

  “Perfect,” he rumbled, rubbing her ass with his hands.

  Smack!

  Isabella yelped.

  Mad Dog tsked. “That wasn’t hard,” he chided. Stepping to one side, he spanked her other cheek.

  “Nng!”

  “Tell me why you’re getting spanked.”

  “Because you’re a sadist.” She blurted it out, then held her breath, wondering if he’d punish her for it.

  “I am a sadist,” he admitted, “but that’s not why your ass is wearing my handprints, is it?”

  “No,” she admitted. “It’s because I didn’t tell you that I was a virgin.”

  “That’s right. Now, why didn’t you tell me?”

  When she failed to answer, he spanked her again.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Isabella?”

  “Because,” she choked out, “because…I was afraid.”

  “Afraid that I’d take it?”

  “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “I was afraid that you’d stop.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t have stopped, Isabella. I’d just have prepped you more. Used a little lube to ease the way. And what about your reader? Explain all those MC books to me.”

  “I was curious,” she said, “after you and your brothers brought Krissy home.”

  She’d seen how her sister had clung to him. How gentle he’d been with her. He could have decked her dad when he started in on him, but he just stood there and let him vent. Just before he got back on his bike, he had looked her way and caught her staring. He had ridden off, but the memory of him wouldn’t go away.

  She was fifteen. She did what teenagers do. She became obsessed. Not in a stalkerish way, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Wishing she was older. Wondering what it would be like to spend the night with him.

  Wishing that she’d been the one.

  Smack.

  “Here, Isabella. I expect you to be fully present when you’re with me. Th
at’s the only way I can be sure that you’re aware of what’s happening, that I haven’t gone too far and done more than you can handle. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl. Now, six more swats, and then you’re getting fucked again.”

  Chapter Five

  The last blow had barely fallen when Mad Dog leaned over her, his big body blanketing hers, his breath hot and harsh on her neck.

  The way he was feeling, she was in for another rough ride.

  Wrapping her hair around his hand to hold her in place, he found her slit with the head of his dick, inhaled sharply, and grunted as he rammed it home.

  Isabella screamed into his mattress.

  Music to his ears.

  “You wanna be my cumslut?” he grated, starting to pound into her. “Get used to it. This cock of mine is gonna own you. Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass. Whenever. Wherever. Do you understand?”

  “Yes…,” she managed between clenched teeth, “Sir.”

  “Good girl. Come ‘ere.” He pulled her by her hair to an upright kneeling position. Sliding his right hand to her front, he grabbed her breast and brought her flush against him.

  Mad Dog never let up. His body was like a machine, pile driving into her. Catching her nipple in the vise of his fingers, he gave it a cruel twist. That only made her wetter. He let go of Isabella’s hair and shoved his hand between her legs. Finding her clitoris, he rubbed it, fanned it, and finally pressed her button just so, triggering the first of a series of orgasms that ripped through her. Her pussy tightened, then spasmed, milking his length and wetting him with her juices.

  His pattern changed as he drew close to his own finish. He thrust and parried, using fast, hard strokes. Changing angles, he hit her G-spot and wrung another climax from her. This time, his rhythm broke. Pulling out of her pussy, he guided his erection higher, pressed against her sphincter, and pushed inside so he could finish in her ass.

  Isabella bit her fist and whimpered at his invasion.

  Before long, she was moaning when he tunneled in deep.

  “God damn.” He bit the back of her neck, grunted, and shuddered, flooding her with his seed.

  When he’d emptied himself, he pulled out of her ass and climbed back into bed with her. Catching her arms, he hauled her up with him, tucking a pillow beneath her head before he lay on his own.

  Mad Dog eyed her intently, still trying to figure out the puzzle of Isabella Castellari. Why the hell had she agreed to stay, and what was he supposed to do with her now?

  Well, besides fuck the living shit out of her.

  He’d had her twice. Remembering the feel of her, he felt himself stir. Keep that up, and he’d be ready for Round Three. She had a sweet pussy. Real sweet. Tight, responsive, and untouched before today. He couldn’t deny, it was a huge ego stroke to know that he was her first. But she was also Isabella Fucking Castellari. Never Miss Little Italy like her sister, but they shared the same blood ties to the fucking mob.

  Of course, Isabella didn’t know that he knew about her crime family connection. He’d been keeping too many fucking secrets for too fucking long. Her sister Krissy and her Uncle Giovanni were just some of many.

  Rather than open that can of worms, he chose a safer subject.

  “So, tell me.” Reaching, he smoothed her hair back from her face and traced the line of her jaw with two fingers. “Before tonight, did you know that Anna was seeing Richie?”

  She sighed softly. “No. I mean, I thought that she was seeing someone, but she always had an excuse. Usually, it was homework, but then we graduated and she was still too busy.”

  Fuck.

  Mad Dog forced his voice to stay calm. “How old are you, Isabella?” Please tell me you’re not jail bait on top of a mob boss’s niece.

  “I turned eighteen on March sixth. Michelangelo’s birthday. And the day the Alamo fell, if you’re into Texas history. How old are you?”

  “Thirty.” Twelve years her senior. He rubbed a hand across his face and blew out softly. “Jesus, that sounds old.”

  Reaching across, she caught his dog tags, weighed them in her hand, and said solemnly, “You’re not old. You’re experienced. And I’m hoping that you’ll teach me.”

  He leveled a look at her. He needed to be honest, at least in this. “Clubhouse life isn’t for everyone,” he told her. “We do things different here. We’re all in the BDSM lifestyle as well as the club. The men here Dominate. The women submit. Did you read Fifty Shades or watch the movies?”

  Isabella nodded.

  “Well, fuck that shit. That’s not how things are done. You want to learn? We’ll get cleaned up and go downstairs. The lounge is your classroom. You’ll learn things there that they don’t teach in college. Are you signed up to go anywhere this fall?”

  “SIU,” she said. “For photography and graphic design.”

  He remembered the point-and-shoot he’d found in her purse. “You a shutterbug?”

  “You could say that. I took my first picture when I was four. Got my own camera when I was six. I never leave home without one.”

  “And the graphic design?”

  “You know all those books on my reader? Someone does the covers. Might as well be me. Take the pictures, offer premades and customs. It’s something that I think I’d enjoy and be good at. I’ve already done one for my cousin. She uses a pen name so that no one knows she writes erotica. She tells people that she’s a ghost writer and can’t disclose anything.”

  “She had you do a cover? Like, with models? Nude models?”

  Isabella bit her lip and coiled a strand of hair around her finger. “Well, it is erotica,” she said coyly.

  He wasn’t smiling. She was eighteen, for Christ’s sake. What the hell was her cousin thinking?

  “Just teasing!” She traced his lips with the pad of her index finger. He caught it between his teeth and refused to give it back until her eyes had gone smoky and her thoughts were disjointed. “She, um…” Isabella cleared her throat and tried again. “She dressed up like a cheerleader. The cover shows her chest and midriff. You…um…you can’t see her face.”

  “Paperback or just e-book?”

  “Both.” She smiled with quiet pride. “I have a copy, if you’d like to see it.”

  “I would.” If they were going to try and make a go of this, he needed to know what she was doing. What she had planned. Then he’d expand her horizons where he could.

  “And the graphic design—apart from the book covers. Can you draw?”

  “Yes.”

  “Paint?”

  Her brow scrunched. “Yes? Some? That’s not my—”

  “Sweet. You could learn to tattoo.”

  “Wait. What?” She looked at him, confused. He’d gone too fast and lost her. Now she was trying to get her bearings.

  He shifted gears. “How about a summer job? You working anywhere?”

  “No. I’m taking two online classes. Getting some of the required subjects taken care of so that I can immerse myself in the good stuff come fall.”

  “The club owns a tat shop. Angel Ink. Flynn will need to see what you can do, but if you pass muster and want a full- or part-time job, he can use the help. Front desk scheduling, answering the phone, checking in deliveries. Normal receptionist-office assistant stuff. He can teach you on the side, if you want to learn. Never hurts to learn another job skill, just in case the market for photography tanks, no one’s hiring graphic designers, and your cousin can’t afford what you’re worth.”

  That last bit seemed to perk her up. “How do you know what I’m worth?” she challenged. “My professors might think that I suck.”

  He begged to differ. “As your teacher, I would say that your oral skills need developed, but the student shows promise. Think you’re ready for your next lesson?”

  Mad Dog caught her hand and wrapped her fingers around his half-hard shaft. “Just a hint. The correct answer is yes….”

  Chapter Six

&nbs
p; It was nearly ten before they made it downstairs.

  The lounge bar was open and things were in full swing. Luke had told her that sweetbutts, mamas, and old ladies would be seeing to the men’s needs, and they were.

  Boy, were they ever.

  Isabella nearly sighed in relief when she saw that Richie was just cuddling Anna in his lap. The couple’s attention was focused on the wooden X on a nearby wall. A naked woman was fastened to it by leather restraints. She was getting flogged and loving it, moaning and begging for more.

  Looking around at all the naked flesh, Isabella should have felt overdressed. Instead, she felt incredibly self-conscious. When she’d put on her clothes, Mad Dog had taken one look, shaken his head, and said, “Keep the heels. Lose the dress.”

  Obeying the instructions that followed, Isabella trailed after him, wordless, with eyes downcast, until they reached his seat next to Richie’s. Ignoring the catcalls and questions tossed their way, Mad Dog settled himself, patted his thigh, and pulled her down onto it.

  “The McLanahans have ringside seats for the St. Andrew’s Cross,” he told her.

  Mad Dog said the last name loud enough to get his three brothers’ attention. Anna turned her head, too, and got white as a sheet when she saw Isabella.

  “Isabella, meet my brothers.”

  The family resemblance was there, but none of the brothers looked alike. Luke had blond hair, blue eyes, and was built like a Norse god. Sam had Black Irish coloring, with dark hair and deep blue eyes. Dylan had black hair, too, but his eyes were a steely blue-gray and seemed just as hard.

  Richie was the only ginger of the bunch. Isabella could see why Anna was attracted to him. With his short beard and unruly hair, he looked like a young Michael Fassbender, and he wore a cut.

  Isabella wasn’t the only one with an MC fetish.

  “Sam, Dylan, Richie,” Luke said, nodding to each in turn, “this is Isabella Castellari.”

  Dylan seemed to turn cold as ice. Rubbing a hand over his biceps, he gave Mad Dog a disbelieving look.

  “Ignore him,” Luke said. “He’s still pissed about being shot in the war.”