Loving Two Doms (Club El Diablo) Read online

  Loving Two Doms

  By

  Holly S. Roberts

  §

  A Club El Diablo Book

  Published by H.S. Roberts

  [email protected]

  http://clubeldiablo.blogspot.com

  Loving Two Doms

  El Diablo: Book VII

  Bad Boys of Rock: Book II

  Printing History

  First Edition: May 2013

  All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. ALL characters are derived from the author’s imagination.

  Chapter One

  Matt

  Having a woman deep throat your cock while your best friend pounds her from behind should have relieved some of Matt’s emotional frustration, but it didn’t. The sub was doing a good job at licking and sucking, but Matt just wanted the night over with and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  Stephon, his best friend, pumped for all he was worth, and didn’t look like his desire to play would diminish anytime soon. A few minutes later, Matt managed to come inside the restricting condom and slap on another before switching places with Stephon. His hand went to her clit and circled the hard swollen nub while sliding his cock in and out of her pussy, making her moan. They’d teased the woman for hours, and the least he could do was give her another orgasm while he tried to get himself off again.

  ***

  Hours later, the faint breeze from the air conditioner and the warmth of the naked woman snuggled closely to his side woke Matt up. Stephon’s long arm draped across one of the woman’s breasts and touched his shoulder. The man was a bed hog, but Matt had learned to put up with it a long time ago. His gaze traveled to the sleeping sub; it was hard to make out her features in the dark room.

  What was her name?

  It was Mary Lee or something similar, but his foggy brain couldn’t quite remember. Rolling off the oversized bed, he found his discarded jeans and managed to leave the room without waking them up. Matt knew Stephon wouldn’t mind a one-on-one round of morning sex followed by treating her to breakfast.

  Stephon loved to dominate a willing sub for hours, and even though he was more sadistic than Matt, he took great pride in aftercare and nurturing. Women loved Stephon’s rugged good looks, closely cropped hair, and boy-next-door image that even his body ink didn’t detract from. Matt looked more like the big bad biker type, and had no problem leaving the morning cuddling to his friend.

  The suite he and Stephon currently occupied was in Houston’s exclusive El Diablo Hotel, which offered twenty-four hour amenities. He looked at the house phone but knew he needed more than food to clear his head, so he decided not to order room service. After making use of the shower in the suite’s other bedroom, he brushed his teeth, but didn’t bother shaving. His scruff could grow until their next concert, which was a week away, and then he’d groom his dark facial hair to the perfect sinister shadow he was famous for.

  The bedroom clock showed a little after five in the morning. They hadn’t come back to the room to play with… he finally remembered that her name began with an S. Stephon would know it, but for Matt “baby,” “kitten”, and other assorted endearments just ran together. He shook his head. They had come in after midnight and didn’t sleep for the first couple of hours. His brain’s grogginess wasn’t clearing and remembering her name was too much trouble.

  His favorite acoustic guitar rested by the couch and he thought about working on new music Krispin had them practicing, but he needed to get away from the closed-in feeling of the hotel room. Grabbing a twenty off the dresser, he didn’t bother with his leather jacket because the weather would already be heating up the late-spring streets.

  One of the ever-present doorman nodded and said, “Good morning, Mr. Mathews.”

  “Good morning.” He turned left, took a deep breath, and walked away.

  The still air carried the scent of restaurant garbage that always seemed to fade when the city came alive with the rising sun, but for now it settled around him, causing a longing for clean country air. Picking up his pace, he tried to shake lose the melancholy that grew worse each day. He wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was, but he was damn tired of feeling unsettled.

  Krispin had insisted on this three-week kinky break at the El Diablo Hotel, which would only be broken up by one cluster of four concerts. The entire band knew Krispin had them stay here for his wife, Angela, but they didn’t mind. Club El Diablo was Angela’s home away from home and where the couple had met. She’d blossomed under Krispin’s care, and in a very short time, she’d become a major support arm behind the band. They were all willing to give her just about anything she asked for. Matt’s shoulders relaxed as he walked and thought about the tedious everyday work Angela did on their behalf.

  Two miles away, he saw an urban coffee shop where you needed an instruction manual just to place an order. He walked past the smell of grinding coffee beans, and even this early noticed a few smartly dressed business men and women stimulating their system for the coming workday.

  He didn’t care about the looks cast his way. He looked like a thug with his black sleeveless t-shirt displaying the ink covering his arms, and his finger-combed, too-long hair. At six foot three and two-hundred thirty pounds, no one bothered him.

  He turned another corner and the smell of fresh baked… something overpowered the waning foul odor that wafted into the city skies as the sun finally peeked over the tops of the high-rise buildings. The titillating scent of baking led him further up the street.

  A sign blinked above the sidewalk on the other side of the road—STARLA’S CAFE. He crossed over and looked inside. There were yellow Formica tables with booths against three walls and a lone red-headed older waitress behind the counter pouring dark coffee from a glass carafe for two men sitting at the counter. He entered, and after seeing the “seat yourself” sign in the metal stand-up holder, took the far corner booth.

  His kind of place.

  “Jewel, you have a customer.” The gruff voice of the waitress behind the counter, probably caused by years of smoking, shouted into the kitchen. The wall behind where she stood, except for the small order window, displayed condiments, cutlery, and a soda fountain. A swinging door to the side, with a small window at the top, led into the kitchen.

  Matt grabbed the menu, held up by salt and pepper shakers, and took another deep breath of the incredible smell permeating the small diner. The laminated page showed breakfast on one side, with lunch and dinner on the other. A shadow moved over his shoulder and appeared on the table, causing him to look up.

  If it could, his jaw would have hit the Formica.

  She was stunning. He stared as she stood waiting with a pot of coffee and a white mug. Even though she was facing slightly sideways, he could see her large crystal blue eyes, which were at odds with her dark brown hair. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, showing off her lovely face. Her sensuous lips caused his heartbeat to accelerate. Her curves, emphasized by the tight-fitting, atrocious orange uniform, practically forced him to run his eyes over her body in appreciation.

  When his gaze traveled to her face again, a pursed mouth and disapproving eyes stared back. “Coffee?” She wasn’t at all happy with his gawking.

  “Yes, please.” His voice cracked like he was some teenager going through puberty.

  She abruptly sat the cup down and poured the dark liquid. The jerky motion of her hands and tight sound of her voice let him know he was in hot water. “Do you need cream or sugar?”

  “No, thank you.” He tried giving his best bad-boy smile.

  It didn’t have a positive effect
and her tone hardened a little more. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Um, yeah. I’ll have the breakfast special.” He took a deep breath through his nose and asked, “What’s that delicious smell?”

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Fresh-baked blueberry muffins. One comes with your special.”

  “That sounds good.” Where were his iron wits when he needed them?

  She turned slightly, taking silverware wrapped in a napkin from her apron pocket. Where one side of her face was stunningly attractive, the other showed a long scar running from the corner of her eye down to the dimple at the side of her mouth. There were two jagged, finer pinched lines intersecting the larger healed wound. He didn’t breathe for a minute, but then his gaze went back to her eyes and he smiled. “Simply beautiful.”

  Chapter Two

  Jewel

  Taking a deep breath, Jewel knew pink washed across her cheeks. She was used to the open perusal from men until they saw her “bad” side, but she wasn’t accustomed to anyone calling her beautiful afterward. This man was almost convincing, and his close appraisal made her feel even more uncomfortable. Wrapping her stand-offish armor tightly around herself, she looked the behemoth in the eye. “You’re a talented liar.”

  His dark brown eyes flashed in mild irritation before softening. “Yes, I was rude, but you took me by surprise and I reverted to the age of twelve.” His velvet voice traveled across her skin. The timbre dripped sexual desire, if that was possible, and contradicted his rugged biker looks.

  She straightened her spine. “When you were twelve, you told girls with facial scars that they were beautiful?” She couldn’t keep the derision from her voice.

  His lips tilted in a crooked smile. “No. I missed every opportunity due to being a foot taller, awkward, and having the beginnings of an acne problem. I swore when I grew up I’d never do it again and…” With another quick look over her body, “It’s the entire package that’s beautiful.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. There wasn’t a blemish remaining on his face, though his tats peeped out from beneath the collar of his shirt and ran up the sides of his throat. Without conscious thought, her eyes traveled from his neck, down his muscular inked arms, and then lower. His waist and legs, conveniently hidden from view, caused her to realize where her eyes were focused and she quickly brought her gaze back to his.

  His grin turned devilish and made him more attractive, in a rough kind of way.

  Mentally shaking herself, she allowed boredom to seep into her voice. “Sorry, this is fascinating conversation, but I need to get your order in.” She marched away as fast as she could, trying to appear like she wasn’t running.

  “Shit.” She said quietly as soon as the kitchen door swung closed behind her.

  “What’s up, Jewels?” George, the ancient, gruff cook, asked.

  She steadied herself and blew out a long breath. “A customer.”

  “Do I need to kick some ass?” His skinny arms stopped scraping the grill, then he turned and looked out the kitchen service window that gave him a glimpse into the seating area.

  “No, but I need to get him out of here ASAP. He wants the breakfast special.”

  “We can refuse service to anyone and I’m happy to get rid of him for you.” He laid the spatula down and started heading to the doorway.

  Jewel desperately grabbed his arm, but couldn’t help her grin. “No, please George, it wasn’t like that.” She sighed, knowing this wouldn’t be enough for the overprotective cook. “He said I was beautiful after seeing both sides of my face.” Her words came out in a rush.

  George stopped his forward progress and gave her an assessing look. “I see. It bothers you to have an intelligent man come into our friendly grease pit?”

  She swatted his wrinkled arm. “Stop it. This isn’t a grease pit; you’re the best cook in Houston.”

  “True, but you’re changing the subject. I need to get a look at the guy who’s thrown you off your bitch.”

  “I am not a bitch,” she huffed with friendly affection.

  “Maybe ‘bitch’ is a little strong, but you have no problem handling the men here and kicking them to the curb when they need it. What’s so special about this one” He took a step closer to the door.

  She pushed him back toward the grill. “Don’t you dare go out there. Start his order—please.” She knew he was teasing, but she couldn’t chance him causing her further embarrassment.

  “Fine. I’ll take a quick look while he’s eating.”

  Starla’s voice came from the front. “New customers and number eight needs a refresher.”

  Jewel sat the cooled pot of coffee on the warmer and grabbed a hot one. She glanced out and saw two regulars, ones she actually enjoyed, take a seat in the booth half the floor away from number eight. Picking up two clean mugs and creamer, she looked over her shoulder at George. “Get cookin’!” she said and went back into the lion’s den.

  She refused to glance at number eight, but gave a large smile to her regulars while sitting their mugs down and pouring them coffee. “Do you both want the usual?”

  “You know us too well,” said the chubbier but cuter of the two.

  “What would you do if we ordered something different?” said the other.

  “Probably check the sky to see if it has cracks,” she tossed back.

  “You know we only come in for your muffins.”

  “Shh, you don’t want to hurt the cook’s feelings. Today’s blueberry.” She gave a conspiratorial wink.

  “That’s what we hoped. Our favorite.”

  “You say that no matter the muffin,” she said cheerfully. “Let me pour my other customer some more coffee and I’ll get your orders in, then get your warm, buttery muffins out here.”

  “We love you, Jewel. Dave’s married, but I’m single.”

  Dave reached across the booth and playfully nudged his friend. “Don’t listen to him; he’s three times divorced.”

  “You know, Bill, I think this is the twenty-ninth proposal you’ve given me. What happens when I say yes on the thirtieth?”

  “I’ll rent a bigger apartment and keep you in style.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re just too high class for me. A hole-in-the-wall studio is more than I can handle.”

  “Leave her alone, Bill, or she’ll stop baking.”

  Bill’s eyebrows went up and down in a comic imitation of a lecher. “If she says yes, she’ll stop baking for everyone but me.”

  Every day they came in they made her laugh. “That’s enough you two. I need to work.”

  The two men argued good-naturedly as she walked toward table eight. Dark eyes watched her arrival.

  “Refill?” She automatically reached for his mug as he nodded.

  “You bake the muffins?”

  Her hand shook as the hot liquid flowed into the cup. She looked up and noticed him watching. “I bake a fresh batch each morning.”

  His eyes traveled from her hands to her face. “What kind are you making tomorrow?”

  “Fridays are banana walnut.”

  Almost too casually he asked, “What are Saturdays, or do you have the weekends off?”

  “No. Half days on Sundays and all day Monday.” Dammit, she never told men her schedule.

  George hit the bell to announce number eight’s order.

  She looked over to the service window and then back. “Sorry, I usually offer the choice of the muffin before or after you eat. I didn’t ask, so I’ll bring it when you’re finished, if that’s okay.”

  “I’m not picky when it comes to… muffins.”

  There went his sex-on-a-stick voice again. No man should sound that good, and the way he said “muffin” made it sound like the most explicit sexual term in the dictionary.

  She ignored his blatant flirting. “I’ll drop off this ticket and then be back with your order.” She felt his eyes on her the entire way back to the kitchen.

  George waited with his hip propp
ed against the counter. “He doesn’t look too reputable.”

  “He only needs to look like he can pay his bill,” was her tart reply.

  “I’m not even sure about that, though he seems to be a smart fella.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You think telling me I’m beautiful after seeing the scarred side of my face is smart?”

  “Has it happened before?”

  “Well… no.”

  “Then he must be highly intelligent.”

  “I’m not taking him home, George. I’m delivering his food, working my shift, and then going home alone.”

  George’s face wrinkled up even more in sympathy. “Someday, someone will come in here, sweep you off your feet, and take you far away.”

  She hated his pity, but knew George loved her. “You’re such a romantic for a crotchety old man.”

  “I had smooth moves back in my day. Ask Starla.”

  “I just bet you did, but today breakfast is getting cold and you need to start on the next two orders.”

  As if on cue, Starla called from the front again, “Hustle it, Jewels, the rush is starting.”

  “That’s my call to action. You get movin’.” She picked up the order and left George to do his thing.

  Resting the plate in front of number eight, she tried to avoid his eyes. “Ketchup? Salsa?”

  “No, this is fine.”

  She looked at the door with relief as two more people walked in, allowing her to escape his close perusal. With an inward sigh, she hustled to get the new customers taken care of. It became too busy to do more than bring number eight his muffin, add another refresher to his mug, and lay down the check. His hand landed on hers, sending an electric current straight to her pelvic region, and before she could pull away, his warm chocolate eyes paralyzed her.

  Ever so slowly, his calloused fingers slid from hers. “What time do you open in the morning?”

  “Five thirty.”

  “Thank you.”

  He could box the sound of those two words and sell them for a fortune.