Michael Read online

  Michael

  A

  Club Angelus Novel

  —

  Marilize Roos

  Also by Marilize Roos:

  Short Stories

  Nicked

  While We Wait

  Historical: The Lords of Good Hope

  Benedict

  Darien

  Quinn

  Paul

  Coming Soon:

  Kevin

  Baxter

  Contemporary BDSM: Club Angelus

  Coming soon:

  Ariel

  Visit my Amazon Kindle Author Page

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  E-mail at: [email protected]

  Michael

  First edition 2020.

  All rights reserved.

  © 2020. Marilize Roos

  Published by Marilize Roos.

  Cover design: Marilize Roos

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written consent of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, events and incidents are either the products or the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-990957-98-7

  Keep your secrets to yourself, and you won’t get hurt; it’s none of their business anyway.

  Catch and Release at Club Angelus no longer holds any appeal to Dr Michael McIan; the kind of play he favours is intimate, and it hurts too much to let the submissive go after the scene.

  But one day a couple walks into his surgery, and they respond so sweetly to him, his resolve to stay vanilla weakens. He should keep his distance; he refuses to get in the middle of their marriage.

  Then they come to him with the most tempting offer…

  *This is an MMF romance with MF, MM and MMF scenes.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Marilize Roos

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Sneak Preview: Ariel

  Also by Marilize Roos

  Chapter 1

  Judith flipped through the hangers in her husband’s closet, conscious that the only thing keeping the towel from falling off her freshly-bathed body was a precarious two inches of towel tucked into her cleavage. Neatly ironed shirts in every shade of boring hung in his closet, with the occasional pair of navy, khaki or grey dress slacks hanging in between.

  Finally selecting a plain white dress shirt, she moved over to the bed and dropped the towel, then slipped the crisp white shirt on over her shoulders. She buttoned it carefully, leaving the buttons at the top undone to the middle of her ample cleavage, and turned to inspect the effect in the mirror.

  Even at her modest height of five-foot-nothing, Tristan’s shirt seemed indecently short on her, even if the hem reached to mid-thigh. Her breasts filled out the front of his shirt, and Judith dared to tug on the one sleeve so that the collar fell off one shoulder. She’d have liked to say that the action exposed a delicate collarbone, but that would have been wishful thinking; however, it did reveal a vast expanse of skin.

  Come on, Judith, be daring, she thought, and undid another button at the top of the shirt. She rolled up the sleeves so that the cuffs didn’t hang over her hands and struck a pose for the mirror.

  Coy sex-kitten?

  She let her eyes go half-lidded and her lips soft and pouty. Sultry Siren?

  Coy sex-kitten.

  Sultry Siren.

  I need makeup to pull off ‘Sultry Siren’.

  After a carefully applied smoky eye makeup, and a quick pep-talk in the mirror, she was finally happy with the result. Her thick blonde hair was pinned to the top of her head for her bath with a pair of hair sticks. For a moment, she considered letting it down, but then decided to leave it up; perhaps Tristan would like to be the one to do the honours.

  Walking commando through the small, two-bedroom house wearing only Tristan’s shirt, felt strange. Each step she took, her thighs moved against her newly denuded mound, and made her even more aware of her sexuality. More sensitive. The shirt-tails brushed softly against her bare thighs, and Judith resisted the urge to tug on the fabric to cover more of her.

  She imagined Tristan’s reaction to seeing her. In her imagination she presented him with her barely-clad body. Overcome with lust, he’d fall upon me like a hungry beast. He’d rip his shirt from my body before feasting on my mouth, my throat, my ripe breasts, perhaps bending me backwards over his arm to do so, while grinding his hardened cock against my womanly core.

  Or he’d bend me over the back of the couch; capture both my wrists in the small of my back and pound into me from behind. He’d take me right there in the middle of the lounge in broad daylight, because he couldn’t wait a moment more to claim me…

  … Exactly like in the books she enjoyed to read.

  She fantasized about it. Longed for it. More than anything, she wished for her husband, her lover, to take control from her and take care of her for a change. To allow her to just be lusted after, be adored. To just be.

  They’d been comfortably married for four years. They had companionship. They were best friends. They shared the same quirky sense of humour. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine shortly after the wedding, but pretty soon the routine had worn into a rut.

  Perhaps all he needed to turn into the alpha bad boy of her dreams, was the proper encouragement. And she was really hoping for some living room ravishment.

  As she neared the lounge, she could hear the TV more clearly; by the dialogue, she thought he was watching The Avengers again. She stopped in the doorway to the sitting room and took a moment to take in her husband sprawled on the couch, stocking feet on the coffee table, remote in one hand, and beer in the other.

  She draped herself around the door frame, lifting her knee to caress the wall. When Tristan cast an inquisitive glance her way, she shot him her best smouldering stare from under her mascaraed lashes. “See anything you like, lover?” She purred and ran a caressing hand along the wall, pretending she was stroking his chest.

  “Of course,” he grinned.

  When he didn’t get up from the couch, she approached him instead. He dropped his feet from the coffee table and she settled on her knees between his thighs. Perhaps if I took him in my mouth... He’d groan with pleasure, then take a fistful of my hair and guide me up and down his hardened member, using me for his pleasure.

  She reached for the button of his jeans, but he stopped her. He pointed the remote at the TV, switching it off, and put his beer on a coaster on the coffee table. “Come, let’s go to the bedroom.”

  The bedroom?

  “I can’t wait that long,” she moaned, hoping to nudge him into spontaneity and insta-lust. She reached for his waistband again, but he stopped her hands with his own a
nd stood.

  “No, anyone could see,” he said. He offered her a hand up – no-one could accuse him of not being a gentleman – and led her down the hall to their room.

  ~*~

  Sex hadn’t been on Tristan’s radar that morning, but when it fell into his lap – literally – he wouldn’t complain.

  It had been a tiring week. The school year had just begun two weeks before, but they were already on the fourth revision of the timetable; one would think that by this time subject clashes would have been resolved. He had an entirely new crop of tenth-graders in his Biology class that he still had to put names to faces, and for an added degree of difficulty, Principal Hennessey had informed him at the start of the term that he’d be teaching Geography for the first time ever, because one of his colleagues would be on maternity leave. That meant, since he didn’t have a ready-made archive of lesson materials, like he did for Biology, he had to do lesson prep all over again, at least for the next four months. His protests to Hennessey that this was not his field fell on deaf ears; he just hoped that Samantha came back at the end of her maternity leave, and hadn’t decided that cleaning up baby shit at home was better than dealing with bullshit at school.

  Cynically, Tristan thought that Hennessey was trying to impress the Governing Body with his frugality by not replacing Samantha during her Maternity leave. Never mind that Tristan was losing out on his admin periods, and would have to find time to catch up on his admin after hours at home.

  He’d been looking forward to an hour or two of vegetating on the couch in front of the TV before he needed to knuckle down with lesson prep for the coming week, when he saw Judith dressed in one of his shirts.

  He stared at her. It was obvious that she wanted sex, but he struggled to work up the enthusiasm for it. He saw the effort she’d gone to, putting on makeup when they weren’t going anywhere, and he approved of the picture she made in his shirt and nothing else, but in his mind…

  She’d turn around and glance coyly at me over her shoulder, leading me back to her lair – the bedroom – where she’d tie me up to the headboard, leaving me helpless. She’d stand at the footboard of the bed, doing a slow striptease, and once she was naked, she’d ride me roughly, digging her nails into my chest, or nipping hard at a nipple…

  Was it too much to ask to be on the receiving end sometimes?

  She sauntered over to him, and he guiltily removed his feet from the coffee table, where she dropped to her knees between his legs and ran her hands up his thighs. Destination: His fly.

  No, I’m not doing it here.

  He aimed the remote at the TV and clicked it off. He put his beer on a coaster, even though it was almost empty. “Come, let’s go to the bedroom,” he said.

  “I can’t wait that long,” she moaned. He didn’t miss the little hip-roll she threw in, as if she was imagining riding him right there on the couch, but he stood firm.

  “No, anyone could see,” he nodded at the glass sliding door that led to the back patio. He stood, then offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet and led her to their bedroom.

  He closed the bedroom door behind them; no need to lock it, when there was no-one else in the house who could walk in on them unannounced. Hands on her hips, he leaned down to kiss her and she tilted her face up to meet him. He caressed her lips, sweeping his tongue across her mouth, and she opened to him in response.

  His hands roamed up and down her body. No destination in mind, just roaming. The curvy contours of her back, waist and ass, the pillowy softness of her breasts…

  Her kiss turned passive. She was waiting for him to kiss her, rather than being an active participant, and he redoubled his efforts.

  He longed to tell her he wouldn’t break. She could be rougher, he could take it. Instead, he pushed her down onto her side of the bed and took his place on top of her.

  The sex was… okay. It was supremely distracting that her mind seemed to be elsewhere, and her moans seemed distracted. When it became apparent that she wouldn’t climax no matter what he did, he sped up and chased his own orgasm. He finally came, thrusting in deeply and grunting as he spilled inside her.

  She kissed him gently and when he shifted off her and onto his side of the bed, she curled into his side, her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and closed his eyes. Perhaps she was right – he did feel better.

  He was dozing off when her quiet voice drew him back. “Why didn’t you just take me in the lounge?”

  “What?”

  “I’d have loved it if you’d taken me right there in the lounge.”

  His own breath was too loud in his ears, and he tensed at her criticism. She didn’t like it. “So you wanted me to just fuck you there in the open where anyone could see you?”

  She flinched at his crude term, before answering. “Well, yes.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered and rolled out of bed. He went over to the chair in the corner where he’d tossed his jeans and pulled them on. No time to find his underwear; he just wanted out of here.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She’d settled onto her knees in the middle of the mattress, her long strawberry blonde hair that had come loose from those chopsticks she stuck in her bun tumbling around her shoulders and covering her breasts. Her shoulders were hunched in misery.

  “Anything else?” He snapped.

  “Well, I just wish you’d be a little more… forceful when we make love,” she said with a small voice. “A little more in charge.”

  “Funny you should say that,” Tristan snapped, “you know that expression ‘it takes two to tango?’ Well, it applies to sex too. You can’t just expect me to do all the work.”

  He knew he’d gone too far at the stricken look on her face. Pride wouldn’t let him apologize; his conscience wouldn’t let him stay to see her hurt. He spun on his heel and strode out of the bedroom. He hadn’t planned on doing any yard work today, but working outside with the noisy lawnmower was a better proposition than staying in this argument.

  “Are you calling me frigid?” Judith cried, scrambling off the bed and grabbing his T-shirt he’d been wearing off the floor. She pulled it on over her head and marched in his wake, not allowing him his retreat.

  “No,” he hedged. He increased his pace, his enraged wife in hot pursuit.

  “Because I haven’t noticed you doing much tangoing yourself!” He could hear the angry tears below the surface. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  “Outside,” he threw over his shoulder, rounding the couch and heading for the patio. “I thought I’d mow the lawn, since I won’t find any peace inside the house. Does that at least meet with your approval?”

  “Tristan, watch –”

  Turning to look where he was going, he met the blow face-on. It felt like he’d been smashed in the face with a cricket bat, and he was vaguely aware of the clatter of cascading broken glass from the broken patio door. He recoiled from the force of the collision, and on instinct, he raised a forearm to shield his face.

  “Tristan!” He felt her small hands on his shoulders, steadying him. “Tristan, are you okay?”

  His lip was numb and he tasted blood; he probably cut the inside of his lip on his teeth. His forehead and nose throbbed, and hot, sticky liquid ran over his face, blinding him in one eye and caking in his eyelashes. He tried to blink it away, but it was useless. Gingerly he touched the wound, and found a gash along his brow ridge, perhaps three inches long, and behind that, on his scalp, another. If he had to guess, his nose was broken too and was running blood.

  “I’ll be fine,” he muttered.

  “You don’t look fine! You look like you’ve been in a boxing match.”

  “You should see the other guy.”

  He felt her hands at his elbow, helping him up, and trying not to lean too much on her, he heaved himself to his feet. He peered out of his other eye, the one not currently bathed in blood, and allowed Judith to lead him to the bathroom.

  At her direction, he s
at on the edge of the bath. She rummaged in the cupboard under the washbasin and produced their first aid kit. She turned back to him, standing between his splayed thighs and pressed a wad of something against his face to put pressure on the wound. Without thinking, his rested his hands on her hips, just taking comfort from her closeness.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “For what?”

  “For what I said. You’re not frigid. I don’t know what’s wrong, but –”

  “Shh. Nothing’s wrong,” she dabbed at the split on his forehead. “You’re going to need stitches, though. I can see bone.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “I know,” she said, “but a band-aid isn’t going to work. We need to go to the doctor,” she glanced at her watch, “and if we hurry, we’ll catch the GP’s office before they close.”

  “I hate stitches.”

  “I know – but suck it up, Scarface. I’ll drive.”

  ~*~

  Chapter 2

  Dr Michael McIan headed for the nurses’ station. He paused to rub the ache out of his thigh muscle; his limp was worse than normal today, but he just breathed through it and massaged the cramp out before continuing on.

  Saturdays were run on a clinic-basis; walk-ins only, and they were seen first come, first served by whichever doctor was available next. He didn’t normally see patients; being the owner of the thriving practice, he was in a more supervisory and administrative role these days, but when two of his doctors called in sick at the last minute, and the waiting room was overflowing with patients, he knew if he didn’t jump in and help, they’d never finish.