by Kit Rocha
“You like that idea?” He withdrew from her slowly, bit by bit, and gave her two fingers this time in a teasing thrust that barely breached her entrance.
“Yes,” she hissed, and it could have been an answer or sheer relief. She pulled at his hair again, lifting her hips with a pleading noise. On edge now, her pussy gripping his fingers, drawing them deeper.
So Ford gave her what she wanted, a slow, inexorable invasion with just enough time to adjust, but not enough to flinch away. Not that she was trying anymore—every slip in her restraint brought her closer, taking everything he offered and begging for more.
After the first whimper, he lowered his mouth—lashing his tongue over her clit, fucking her with his fingers—and listened to her cries begin to rise.
Mia was flying apart.
Ford was crude. He was brazen. He had two big, blunt fingers pumping into her body, working her open, and it was the sound—slick and hot and shameless—that made her want to fling her hands over her burning cheeks.
She’d never been this wet before. She’d never been this far past caring about anything but release, and still Ford strung her along, twisting his fingers until they went from too big to not enough, swiping his tongue over again and again but never lingering, never giving her what she needed to soar.
“More,” she moaned.
“More of what, sweetheart?” His voice had dropped to a growl, and he flicked his tongue over her again. “More of that? Or more of this?” He withdrew his fingers only to return immediately with another, three blunt fingers stretching her wide.
It hurt, but only a little, and even that vanished under another rush of frustrated need. He could have made her come a dozen times by now, but he was playing her body. Coaxing her into a state of such desperation that nerves and discomfort and anxiety didn’t exist.
Pleasure did. This sweet agony of hanging just short of orgasm. She clutched at his head with both hands now, chanting his name and pleas as she tried to get closer to his tongue, but he was unshakable. Nothing about this moment and what was to come rested on her actions, and that was the most dizzying realization of all.
She didn’t have to manage this. It was all for her.
He growled again, his mouth on her, and this time the sound vibrated through her, shivering across every overstimulated nerve.
So close. So close. Every muscle in her body knew it, and it had to be instinct, some ancient fucking wisdom imparted in her cells because nothing in her life or training had prepared her to feel so open, so ready, so hot and hungry.
Her body knew. Everything twisted inward, tensing for a heartbeat that stretched on for a lifetime.
Then he curled his fingers inside her, and she really did fly apart.
She fell forever. This wasn’t some quiet orgasm, release slipping over with the gentleness of her own touch. Ford hadn’t been gentle. He’d pushed her hard, worked her over, dragging her through a frustration she never would have had the patience to inflict upon herself, which was a pity because the reward—
Oh God, the reward. Everything shuddered and pulsed, her pussy clenching tight, forcing her to feel the broad fingers still stroking into her, still coaxing. And that was another way she’d been failing herself, because her focus waned with release.
His didn’t.
She didn’t just come. She kept coming, driven on by his growls and his tongue and the fingers that refused to relent. Not even when she panted his name and tried to squirm away, because it was too much, too good, and she hadn’t worked for this, hadn’t earned it—
Make me feel it, she had pleaded, and he did, and she loved him a little bit for it.
No wonder blowjobs made men so stupid.
He bit her again, a rough, bruising caress on her inner thigh. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
The kiss of pain licked up her spine, splitting the overwhelming press of bliss into manageable pieces. Still panting, she pulled weakly at his hair, trying to urge him up her body. “Be in me. I want you in me.”
Ford loomed over her, his eyes dark, his muscles tense and trembling. “Now?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet as he flexed his hips, nudging her with his erection.
It would hurt, but she needed it. Needed him, and it wasn’t about symbolic virginity or the need to be rid of it, not anymore. It was about the empty ache where his fingers had been and the need to see her dazed pleasure reflected in his eyes.
She slid her hands down his body, over his broad shoulders, his smooth back, to his hips, where she dug her fingers into his skin and pulled him closer. “Do you want me to say it like an O’Kane would? Take me, Ford. Fuck me.”
He shifted, and the head of his cock pushed against her entrance. He lifted his thumb to her lips. “Say it again.”
His skin tasted like her. She licked him. Shivered. She could already imagine him surging inside her, plunging so deep she’d feel him for days. “Fuck me, Derek. Pl—”
He cut her off with a kiss—and a slow, unyielding thrust.
She expected pain, braced for it. But she was so wet, still melting from his fingers, so close to ready. Her body stretched to accommodate him, welcoming him as he worked deeper and deeper—
And deeper.
And deeper.
The stretch became an ache, became something sharper still, and she whimpered against his mouth, her confidence momentarily shaken. She was already so full, she couldn’t take more, no matter how much she wanted him. He was too big, too much, too everything.
And then he was fully seated, still, his panting breaths his only movement. He licked her tongue, swallowed her whimper, and raised his head. “Okay?”
Poor Ford. He looked like he was the one in agony, and she knew he must be. If he felt impossibly big to her, her body must be impossibly tight, clenching hot and wet around him. But he hovered above her, muscles standing out in stark, tense relief, every bit of focus fixed on her.
Ford would hurt himself before he hurt her, so she dug her nails into his back and lifted her hips with a moan. “I will be when you’re fucking me.”
His breath caught. “You won’t be thinking that for long if I don’t give you a minute here, trust me.”
She could tell him she’d been trained for this. Trained to compartmentalize the pain, to show only the flattering bits—oh, you’re so big, I can’t take you, no wait, I think I like it, fuck me harder—but it would have been a lie.
She’d been trained to fake it, not to feel it. She couldn’t break down these sensations and shove them into neat, contained boxes. The pain was part of the pleasure, the pleasure part of the pain.
She wanted them both, messy and real, so she flexed her fingers again. “Trust me. I’ll tell you if it’s too much, I promise. But let me take this. Let me take you.”
Ford gave in, every muscle flexing as he thrust against her, and any hope of containment slipped away. Because pleasure and pain could be managed, but the intimacy of staring up into his face as the grip of her body tore away his restraint...
She’d wrecked him. Not by plying him with fancy tricks, not by withholding or granting favors. She’d offered him control, and had taken something deeper in exchange, something she didn’t have a word for but could see plainly in his eyes as he rolled forward again.
It drove a gasp from her lips. Surprise, because the places that had ached were doing something else now, heating up with the friction of his thrusts. It made her want more, made her arch and strain into him, breathlessly anticipating that moment where he slammed deep and something wild sparked inside her.
He did it again, harder this time, and threw his head back with a curse. “Fuck. Fuck.”
She would have echoed him if she’d had the breath to, but that spark had flared briefly into flame, and she needed it again. Needed it or she’d die, so she whimpered and pulled at him, trying to urge him to go faster. Harder. Something.
“Don’t want to hurt you—” He snarled and rolled over onto his back, bringing her on top of
him. He locked his hands around her rib cage and urged her upright. “Like this.”
Her knees splayed wide, falling to the mattress on either side of his body, and gravity did the rest. She cried out as his cock drove even deeper, grasping at his forearms as he steadied her. “Oh, oh fuck.”
Ford dropped his hands to her hips and lifted her just a little. “Easy, love. Easy.”
“Derek.” His grip was steel, refusing to let her sink back down, and she smacked her palms to his chest and gave him a warning taste of her nails. “I don’t want easy. I want to feel you.”
“Yeah?” He arched up, a slow roll that he pulled her down to meet. It didn’t stop, just flowed into another movement, their bodies rising and falling together.
She caught the rhythm. Matched it. Tried to speed it, and groaned when he tightened his fingers, keeping control, forcing her to feel every inch of his advance and withdrawal again and again.
Since she couldn’t match him in physical strength, she fought with words—because calling it that sounded less desperate than begging. “I need your cock. Please, Derek. Please, give it to me. Let me take it.”
“You don’t need it, not yet.” He let her slide down into his next thrust, then eased his hand around to the front of her body. His thumb centered on her clit, tracing slow circles, increasing the pressure with every rock of his hips. “But you will.”
He was right. She didn’t need his cock enough to move away from the dizzying circle his thumb was making. He could control her movements with just that one point of contact, and she didn’t care anymore because she was going to come again, come harder, shaking apart right on top of him while he watched and reveled in it.
“That’s right.” He gritted his teeth as she shuddered. “You know what comes next, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“I do,” she whispered. Maybe she did. She couldn’t hear her own words over her pulse, because she could feel her heartbeat everywhere. In her head, in her fingers and toes, centered at her clit while he rubbed and rubbed.
Her gaze locked onto his, and God, the approval there, the fierce pleasure, as if he’d never seen anything as wonderful as her shaking apart on his cock. He wanted her just like this, a filthy, greedy goddess, one who told him exactly what she wanted, how fast and how deep, how rough and how raw.
He wanted her to come, and she did. Hard, the pleasure so intense she could only moan helplessly as she rode his dick and his hand. And he let her, let her take what she wanted. Let her take what she needed.
Let her take him.
She was as dizzy from that as she was from the shuddering pleasure, which went on and on until she was swaying above him, her nails digging into his skin.
He caught her. Steadied her. His fingers curled tight around her hips, and she felt the balance shift, even though they’d barely moved. She could feel it in his grip, see it in his eyes.
It was Ford’s turn to take.
He dragged her down to his chest and held her there, one huge hand splayed between her shoulder blades. The position pulled her hips up, leaving him to cover the distance between them with a powerful thrust.
She turned her cheek to his neck, nuzzling against him with an approving moan. So many words hung on the tip of her tongue—yes and more and harder—but she set her teeth in his skin instead.
Marking him. Trusting him.
His other hand settled on the curve of her ass, then dipped lower, stroking over her pussy where she stretched wide around his cock. “So wet,” he hissed.
“Because it’s good.” She lifted her head and caught his gaze. “Because I want your cock. Do you like hearing that?”
“I like feeling it.” He moved his hand as he spoke, slicking his fingers up to tease between her ass cheeks. And she knew the practicalities of that, too, all the ways she could prepare herself to handle a man who wanted to put his dick somewhere else, but this was different. Just a tease, stroking untouched nerves.
She wet her lips with a shiver. “You’re getting greedy with my firsts.”
“With you,” he corrected, pressing harder, until one fingertip broached the tight ring of muscle.
Ford was greedy with her, because he wanted her. Her, not a fainting virgin or an obedient whore. So she buried her face against his neck and closed her eyes. “Take all of me.”
“You have no idea.” The words blew hot on her ear, sending a shiver rocketing through her. He held her captive—his hand on her back, his finger inside her—as he drove up into her, over and over, harder and harder.
And she realized she was going to come again.
Not easy this time. Not gentle. It was slow, pure friction and that primal jolt when his cock sank deep. And if she could have gotten a hand between them to rub her clit, she could have sent herself flying.
But she couldn’t. She could only moan against his throat and let him take her there, let him lose them both in the slick slide of skin and the sound of him fucking up into her, until one final slam of his hips broke open the world.
She muffled a scream against his throat, and he gripped her hair and hauled her head back. “Let me hear it, Mia. Let me—”
She couldn’t stop. She shook in his grip, moaning as her pussy clenched tight, giving him everything he wanted. Her relief, her pleasure, her shameless satisfaction.
He took it with a groan, his cock pulsing inside her as he set his teeth in her shoulder and followed her over the edge.
The world floated back to her in bits and pieces. His grip in her hair eased, and she nuzzled her face against his neck, still shivering with the tiny aftershocks. His hand settled at her back again, warm and strong, and her sleepy mind turned it into a symbol of everything Sector Four could be.
Strength. Tenderness. Holding her close without holding her down. That was the promise of Dallas O’Kane, of all the O’Kanes.
She was starting to believe it.
Chapter Eleven
Mia was flying so high, she didn’t see the danger until she crashed into it.
Into him.
Vaughn was waiting for her when she turned the corner from the baker. He sneered down at her, taking in her mussed hair and clothes wrinkled from the night on Ford’s floor. “Mia.”
Her thoughts skittered in a dozen directions, because it didn’t seem real. Cold, meticulously dressed Vaughn didn’t fit here in the rough edges of Sector Four. He didn’t fit with the person she’d become, and for a horrifying moment that person slipped away, leaving a terrified, wounded girl.
He saw the fear in her. He had always been good at that—Vaughn didn’t have the excuse of obliviousness to explain why he’d hurt her. He understood people and their emotions just fine. He simply didn’t care about them.
He didn’t care about her, and the knowledge made her lips numb as she swallowed hard. “I’m not going back with you.”
He scoffed. “Yes, you are. Cerys is ready to collect her annual payment. I won’t pay for something I no longer possess, and you know what that means.”
It meant Cerys would come for her. Six years of training meant six years of patronage fees before Orchid House would consider its investment repaid—and Mia had barely managed one.
Cerys would come for her, and that was still preferable to taking one step closer to Vaughn. “So don’t pay. You never wanted me in any case.”
“You don’t seem to understand.” He moved, looming over her, his features set in anger. “I’ll not be gossiped about because my whore left me.”
She waited for the fear—for the terror—but something else bubbled up inside her. It filled her, surging higher as his hot breath fell across her forehead. He thought he could smack her into place with cruel words and physical intimidation, but he’d made the mistake of coming to Sector Four.
Her place was wherever the hell she wanted it to be.
Channeling Lex at her most cutting, Mia smiled. “It must be embarrassing, having everyone know you can’t even pay a woman to tolerate you.”
“Very funny.” He grabbed her upper arm, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh. “I should hand you back to Cerys and get a replacement. Her house turns out better than you.”
The alley they were standing in was narrow, empty. But they weren’t far from the market. One scream would bring onlookers. Saying she worked for Dallas would turn gawkers into rescuers. Everyone would jump at the chance to rescue an O’Kane employee and secure Dallas’s favor.
Maybe it wasn’t her power, but she’d use it if she had to.
Clutching at that borrowed confidence, she ignored his grip on her arm and held Vaughn’s gaze. No fear. No worry. Just bored amusement to match her borrowed smile. “You couldn’t even handle me. One of Cerys’s best students would eat you alive.”
“A touching admission of your own shortcomings.”
“If that’s what you call them,” she agreed easily. “All that training in business, accounting, and tech, and I could swallow a man’s dick. You never deserved me.”
Vaughn’s lip curled. “Poor little Mia’s developed some delusions of grandeur.”
Her confidence cracked. Just a little. A fracture. But it was enough to let doubt creep in, and she jerked against his grip before she could stop herself. “So what if I have. I’m not your problem anymore. Send Cerys after me, I don’t care.”
Vaughn was a shark, and he smelled blood in the water. “You think someone’s going to protect you if a sector leader comes for you, is that it?”
Ford would protect her, even if God himself came for her. After last night, she was sure of it. But she didn’t want Ford tangled up in her past, didn’t want to owe him her independence and spend the next night in his bed wondering if she’d traded one sort of patron for another.
But Ford wasn’t the only person she could turn to. “Lex will. Maybe you’ve heard of her.”
Vaughn snorted. “You’re better off selling yourself on the street than looking to imitate Alexa Parrino’s fairy tale. A gallant, tattooed knight to buy you from Cerys? Please.”