Caught By Two Doms (Club El Diablo (Angel's Doms Book 2)) (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Monroe

Katherine’s cries woke Monroe up but Zach continued sleeping. He rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of lose pants that he wore when working rope. They were also comfortable for rocking thier daughter.

“Wake him up, it’s his turn.” Angel’s mumbled groggily.

Monroe leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Go back to sleep love.”

She let out a soft groan but closed her eyes and didn’t argue.

The cries coming from the nursery were growing louder. He closed the bedroom door behind him and then walked to Katherine’s room next door.

He loved everything about their daughter except her tears. Quickly, he changed her diaper and then carried her downstairs to heat a bottle. Pumping breast milk was a family experience. He and Zachary had a great time assisting Angel with the endeavor much to her dismay.

After Monroe picked her up, Katherine’s cries stopped for a short time. They resumed when she decided her tummy was more important than being held.

He jiggled her against his bare chest though it didn’t calm her.

“Shh, sweetheart, Daddy has you.”

By the second trimester of Angel’s pregnancy, he and Zachary had had long talks about raising a child with two fathers. What to call them, how and when to explain their family dynamic and so on. It surprised both men when Angel told them how it would be.

“We will keep nothing from her, and she will have two daddies. If we love her, nothing else matters. She will have two sets of grandparents too, Stephens and Marguerite and Sir’s parents. No child can have too much love but we will try.”

It was settled and even though both men liked everything preplanned with great precision, Angel had the last say.

Monroe rubbed Katherine’s back while he heated water and then placed the bottle inside the bowl to warm. As soon as the temperature was good, he cradled her in his left arm and put the bottle between her trembling lips. She quieted immediately but small, disgruntled mews escaped when she latched onto the nipple.

He carried her back upstairs and sat down in the rocker. This was his favorite time, no arguments with Zachary about whose turn it was to hold her, no grumbles from Angel about how spoiled their child was; only the sweet soft touch of Katherine snuggled against him.

After she gulped down half the bottle, he pulled her up to his chest to burp. The unlady like sound made him smile and he returned her to the cradle of his arm for the remainder of her bottle.

Her large dark eyes stared up at him and she smiled slightly around the nipple when he touched her cheek.

Touch—what an incredible gift Katherine gave him. Sitting in the semi-dark room his thoughts drifted to his parents and what they went through during his childhood. No, they weren’t perfect, but they had no idea how to love a child that they perceived didn’t love them.

But he had. He watched them from a distance and admired his mother’s beauty and his father’s calm controlled demeanor. Monroe wanted to grow up and marry a girl just like his mother. The thought made him smile. Angel was more beautiful than any woman he had ever known including his mother.

Katherine finished her bottle and Monroe rested her warm cotton covered body against his bare skin and continued rocking. She fell asleep but he rocked her for another thirty minutes. After laying her down, he partially closed the door and then walked back into his room.

He got in bed and pulled Angel close. Zachary moved in behind her while still half-sleeping.

“You took my turn didn’t you?”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Zachary’s hand came over Angel’s body and he smoothed his fingers across Monroe’s jaw.

“I love you Nathanial.”

“And I love you Zachary.”

“I get the next two nights.”

“We’ll see.”

Monroe listened while Zachary’s breathing slowed and sleep overtook him again. Monroe closed his eyes and fell asleep only to dream of his parents. Each held one of his hands as they walked on the beach. Monroe looked up at them and smiled.

Author’s note…

If you’ve wondered what Monroe’s childhood diagnosis was, I’m leaving it up to your imagination. Autism,
Aspergers, and Sensory Integration Disorder, have all entered my life in some small way. I delved further into the disorders and added savant skills to the closely tied mix during my research. I knew Monroe suffered from one of these when I wrote the first book and it was nice to go more in-depth with his childhood.

Another interesting question that came up during the editing process was how a Taser works. Having been tased several times (all in a day’s work), I can tell you there are two metal probes that eject and hopefully enter the target’s body. These probes connect to wires and the wires to the Taser. When the spread or width of the imbedded probes is more than three inches, a larger group of muscles painfully contract. You don’t have control over your body but you are aware of what goes on around you. If securing someone’s hands while the Taser remains juiced, it’s important that you don’t touch the wires. If you accidently run into one, you’ll receive a jolt. It doesn’t incapacitate because the current only enters at one location but it does give a shocking surprise. I actually consider a drive stun (zapping with just the end of the Taser) or touching the wires foreplay. I guess I’m wired that way. And yes… all my bad puns are intended.

I’d like to say I enjoyed writing this story but it would be a lie. I procrastinated over every chapter trying to get around Zach’s very cop-like homophobic tendencies. I knew before I began writing the story that Monroe had to die or at least be thought dead. It was the most difficult chapter I’ve written to date. I truly love Monroe.

This brings me to the kill-pill, cyanide pill, lethal pill, or L-pill. Their use during war and espionage has been documented as recently as 2009. Many governments have experimented with different types.

Wow… as I write this, I realize how morbid I’ve made this story. I hope the happy ending made up for my vivid imagination.

My next Club El Diablo book, Temporary Dom, will take us back to The Bad Boys of Rock. Luke Slade, or Lefty the drummer, as he’s known in the first two books is not a nice guy. But… I promise a happy ending that might make you change your mind about him.

I’m hard at work on a new erotic non-BDSM series and I’ve included the first unedited chapter on the next page. This might explain why I value Michelle Kowalski, my editor, so much. She’ll have the completed book in her hands on September 1
^st
. I hope you enjoy the teaser enough to read more of my work.

Thank you sincerely. You can friend me on Facebook at:
http://www.facebook.com/holly.roberts.friends
  Twitter: @clubeldiablo Check out my blog:
http://clubeldiablo.blogspot.com
or email me directly:
[email protected]

Play

By Holly Roberts

Chapter One

My teeth ground together in frustration. I can’t believe I let her talk me into coming to this party.

My sister, I mean really… my sister!

I watched as she entertained a professional football team—half naked, drunk, and acting like a complete slut. No one should see their older sister having her nipples sucked. After a certain age, no one should
see
their sister’s nipples period!

The party was in full swing, players at the end of down time blowing off pre-season steam. This involved plenty of women, booze, and rowdy celebration. Everything but an all-out gang bang… so far.

I was hiding in the suite’s small kitchen trying to think of a way out that included taking my sister with me. This wasn’t the best spot because it opened on both sides but at the moment it was empty of partiers.

A noise made me turn.

“Heys babes.” The low drunken voice slurred and obnoxious alcohol breath entered my nostrils. At the same time, his ham hock hand unexpectedly pushed down on my shoulder.

My knees thumped against the hard mosaic tile and I grimaced in pain.

What the hell?

Two inches in front of my face, his other hand, the one not keeping me on my knees, unzipped the front of his pants. A long hairy cock fell out and dangled pointedly at my mouth like a divining rod discovering a pool of saliva.

Shit!

I tried scrambling back but he transferred his hands to either side of my head pulling me toward the biggest nasty nirvana I’d ever seen. I sputtered through closed lips, afraid to open them or something might bounce inside.

Bile rose—I was going to vomit.

I jerked away hard, causing what felt like half my hair to tear out.

“Don’ch be thataway, you know uwant it. Comeson bitsh.”

He tried pulling me back but I’d created enough distance that I thought I could scream without eating the large hunk of growing man-muscle in front of me. Before the shriek worked its way from my throat, more of my hair tore out by the roots as the unzipped jock staggered a few feet away.

“Leave the lady alone Stump.” The unidentified voice was more gravely than… my mind zeroed in on the name… really…
Stump
?

Even at a time like this my morbid sense of humor got the best of me and I fought a full out laugh. Yes, part of that laugh was giddy with relief but if the guy who put his dick in my face had a name like stump, I wondered what qualified as big.

“Whas the fuck, Mac? She’s no slady.”

As the half-slurred conversation ensued, I crab-walked backwards away from both men, totally undignified but I was past caring.

“She’s over eighteen so that makes her a lady and she didn’t seem too willing to eat your ugly cock. Put the damn thing back in your pants or I’ll bruise my throwing arm planting my fist in your face.” Her rescuer never raised his voice but it was obvious he wasn’t happy.

“The scunt owes me a sblowjob.”

Stump literally went airborne, landing with a thud against the tile. An, “Oomph,” followed when the other man landed on top of him.

How many football players can you get in a compact kitchen?

I found out when multiple legs, not caring that they trampled me, piled in from two directions. Even with numerous sets of bulging arms they struggled to hold my irate savior back.

“He’s drunk Mac, let it go.”

“All’s good she’s okay.”

At this point, a zillion sets of eyes turned my way then quickly went back to holding…. I looked up, blinked twice, swallowed, and watched as the god of football glanced down at me. Killian MacGregor, The Mac, or Mac the Knife as fans called him because of his throwing arm, was my savior.

Sudden lack of oxygen caused the room to whirl but didn’t keep me from gaping at six and a half feet of boiling testosterone. I took in every delectable inch from head to toe. Broad strokes made his face a work of art—heavy eyebrows, dark pools for eyes, high cheekbones, his jaw… almost too perfectly square with full lips displaying a not so pleased scowl. My eyes traveled down over his corded neck to his black t-shirt which looked painted over each straining muscle. Jeans encased his long legs down to his black leather boots. My eyes, with a will of their own, traveled back up to see him shake off the guys like ants. Then, he elbowed his teammates aside and his long strides brought him… gulp… to me. I was scooped off the floor like I weighed nothing. Yes, I was thin, but at six foot I wasn’t small. For the first time in my life I felt like Tinkerbelle.

My brain did a back flip.

Killian MacGregor saw me with a dick in my face. Oh god, please just strike me dead.

He let my feet stabilize but held on with a secure grip that actually made me feel safe. I couldn’t help leaning in while I tried to get my legs to support me. His head dipped and his warm tequila breath feathered across my cheek.

“Are you okay?” He rearranged my skirt without taking his eyes from mine.

“Uhhh,” no words came out. His hand, running across my hip and ass, made me suck in air.

It wasn’t just the tequila I smelled.

Musky, salty… man spice was sinking my IQ level to my shoe size. I couldn’t get a word out of my suddenly closed off lungs.

“Come on, let’s check you out.”

And did I mention, when not angry, his voice was smooth velvet.

He didn’t give me a chance to respond, his hand wrapped around mine and I mean wrapped. There was nothing left of my fingers or palm. He blocked me from the other guys with his body, backed me up slightly, and then turned me around so I preceded him through a short hallway. His small touch to my shoulder guided me in the direction he wanted. He gave a gentle backward pull on my hand so I stopped. Reaching in front of me, he opened a door which held a gargantuan bathroom.

The party suite was located in one of the most exclusive hotels in Phoenix and if the incredible front room didn’t give it away, this one did. Large gold fixtures and marble counter tops made every detail luxurious.

The door gave a soft thud and then he turned and locked us in. He noticed my worried look at the bolted door. Yes, he saved me but I’d just had a near blowjob experience and it might not be a good idea to be locked in a room with another drunk jock.

Reading my mind, his low voice assured me, “The lock is to keep them out. You can leave anytime you want. Now, up you go.”

He lifted me so my ass landed on the cold marble. Involuntarily my hands went to his shoulders. I blinked and suddenly realized my hair had to be a scary mess. Cock in face, Medusa hair, the most gorgeous man on the planet… and me.

I turned toward the mirror and almost screamed.

Medusa had an ugly sister.

Before I could bring my hands up, his were there, smoothing down the messy tangles. Oh. My. God…, I… the connoisseur of male arms, drizzled into a puddle of lust as his sculpted biceps took over my peripheral vision causing me to wobble backwards toward the mirror. At that moment, I had absolutely no control over my body and my panties flooded.

Slut, slut, slut. I was turning into my sister.

Those same powerful arms steadied me. “Did you hit your head?” Concern deepened his voice and his long fingers moved to my scalp running over the contours, checking for knots.

I’d yet to utter more than a semi-coherent grunt. My shaking fingers reached for his forearms.

Pure warm steel.

I sucked in air, tried to speak…, “I’m fi… fine….” Shit, if I could only articulate a single sentence.

My breathing stopped when his intense gaze returned to mine.

He released my head and settled his hands to the sides of my hips resting them on the counter, his nose an inch away. “Sorry about Stump.” His breath whispered across my lips. “He’s usually pretty tame, at least when not drinking. I’m Killian.” His eyes quickly dipped below my neck but came immediately back up. “And you are?”

I wondered how badly my shirt gaped open. Not much to see but his irises expanded. I tried to speak, realized my mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut.

Damn, I bit my tongue.

“Owww.” My head involuntarily went forward and my forehead cracked against his nose.

“Whoa, it’s alright, I’m sorry.” He moved back, his hands coming up in a defensive motion.

He thought I was angry about him checking out my practically non-existent chest…. My life couldn’t get worse—dick in face, Medusa hair, mono-syllable communication, bloody tongue, and I’d banged the Scorpion’s star football player in the nose… it was time for me to melt into the floor. Someone throw water and get the process started.

“I, I bwit my tongue.”

He rubbed his nose and checked for blood. There was none, which was maybe the only thing I could be thankful for. The corners of his lips tilted upward.

“Let’s try this again.” He extended his hand, “I’m Killian.”

My fingers rose. “I’m Webecca… Re…becca.” Damn, no water splashed me. Where was Dorothy when I needed her?

He grasped my hand and at the same time the small tilt to his lips went into a full blown grin and… fuck, I kid you not…dimples.

Channing who?

This guy was the sexiest man alive.

“Nice to meet you Webecca.” His dimples hollowed further.

I circled my tongue inside my mouth trying to get feeling back and noticed his eyes follow the movement. I licked my lips like the complete slut I was turning into and god, he looked like he wanted to devour me. His gaze shifted—my neck, my chest, belly, and then down my legs. With leisurely concentration, his gaze traveled back up. He hadn’t released my hand and he moved in close, using his hips to spread my knees.

Anxiety took over. “I ne… need to go.” I’d made a big enough fool of myself already. I couldn’t handle Killian MacGregor and I knew it.

My fingers slipped from his grasp while every rough callus on his hand caused shivers to trail up my arms.

He sighed roughly giving me a slight look of disappointment but backed away. “I’ll walk you out. Did you come with someone?”

“My…my sister.” Four semesters from graduating with a Bachelors in Medical Laboratory Science and I came across as a dunce.

“Then let’s go find your sister.” His fingers tightened on my hips and I found myself standing again. It was hard not to check the counter and see if there were any telltale liquid signs of what this man did to my panties.

His dimples had disappeared, and for the first time, I managed a stable sentence, “Thank you for what you did.”

His eyes turned guarded. “Stump could get in a lot of fucking trouble. If you want to press charges I’ll back you.”

I stood there in shock… again. Stump—obviously his teammate, who Killian had apologized for, giving the excuse the guy was drunk… but… he’d testify against him.

Holy shit.

“No, I’m fine, I’m sorry to have taken your time.” I couldn’t look at him anymore and turned to grab the door handle. He leaned around me and unsnapped the lock then opened the door.

His lips practically touched my ear. “The pleasure was mine.”

I left the room—out of the enclosed space with Killian… in search of my traitorous sister. She probably had no idea I was assaulted and damn… she wouldn’t consider it assault. I needed to kill her after we got out of here.

Killian didn’t touch me just stayed close enough that I felt the heat from his towering body. Curious eyes followed our movement—men… some football players, some obviously not, women… most looked like prostitutes if you judged by their lack of clothing. No wonder Stump thought he had a freebie coming. I looked around searching for Candi. Yep, a name fit for a slut, given at birth by our parents and one she’d worked since the age of fourteen to live up to. Mine…Rebecca. Good, plain, old-fashioned, Rebecca. The responsible one. The one with uncomfortable underwear that weren’t even a little dry.

She wasn’t in the front room, kitchen, or dining area. No Candi.

The bedrooms
… damn. I couldn’t look there. No way.

“She’s not here.” I turned and looked at my trailing sex god.

His eyes betrayed the fact he knew exactly where my sister was.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No, I mean thank you but I’ll call a cab.”

His hand ran through his hair… not brown, not blonde, but soft, mouthwatering sable.

“I haven’t had a drink in over an hour and then it was only one shot. After what happened, I’m seeing you home.”

It was a statement… final, absolute, no arguing.

I exhaled slowly and gave in. “Thank you.”

Due for release later this year...

You can find more information on the Completion Series at
http://hollysroberts.wordpress.com