by Kit Rocha
Rachel had one arm wrapped around Ace's neck, her eyes drifting shut only to snap open again. She moved faster, her chest heaving, and she clutched at Cruz with her other hand, her fingers wound through his hair as he reached between her and Ace.
With a jolt, Lili realized what he was doing. Touching Rachel, the same way Jared was guiding her to touch herself. But not tentative and easy—even in faint light, the shifting pattern of his tattoos highlighted the flex of muscle. Rachel's response was immediate, her body arching as if the pleasure was so intense, she might fly out of her skin.
Blood pounding in her ears, Lili shifted her fingers, pressing more firmly. Sensation jolted through her, and she barely dug her teeth into her lower lip in time to hold back a moan.
The sharp sound of a zipper broke through her haze. "Do you do this when you're alone, Lili?"
Shaking her head, she sagged back in the booth. The vinyl was smooth and cool against all the skin bared by her dress, but her own nakedness was inconsequential. The table shielded Jared's movements from everyone else in the room—
But not from her.
He had freed his erection from his tailored pants. It jutted up into his hand, long and thick and impossibly big. It looked rough and delicate all at once, veined and throbbing but also soft, and she watched as he ran his thumb around the flared head.
Hazy nights spent at O'Kane parties had left her with a patchwork of blurry memories, of body parts and the ways they touched and came together. But she'd never wanted to look before. Now she couldn't look away. She watched his elegant fingers slide along his length, and felt an answer throb beneath her own fingertips, as if he was somehow touching her, too.
So wrong. And so good.
"Harder, sweetheart." He obeyed his own words, tightening his hand until his erection—his cock—jumped in his grip.
Her body was buzzing. Her nipples were tight, sensitive to the rasp of her dress, but she couldn't touch them without the whole room seeing. It was a game, the kind she'd always been so good at. Control her expression, project calm. Smile, like she wasn't brazenly touching herself beneath the table.
The thrill of it twisted her up. She let her thighs ease wider, until her knee bumped Jared's, knowing he'd be the only witness as she slipped her fingers beneath the thin fabric of her panties and sought out slickness and heat.
He froze and shook his head. "Take them off."
"What?"
"You heard me, Miss Lili." His voice was low, steady—and wrapped in unmistakable command. "Take off your fucking panties."
Her heart raced. Goose bumps prickled over her skin. She was more raw and open to the overwhelming sensation of this moment than every other second of her life combined, but, for the first time, she wasn't afraid.
Trix was right. He knew enough about pleasure for both of them, and the steel in his voice wasn't merely confidence—it was a promise.
Slowly, struggling to give nothing away to any curious onlookers, she edged the fabric off her hips and down. It was a torturous process that involved enough squirming to make her whole body ache, and she squeezed her legs together once she had the scrap of lace firmly in one fist.
He gathered the fabric in his free hand, his fingers gliding over hers as he took them. "Don't get shy. Our friends are waiting."
Startled, she looked back to Rachel. The blonde had slowed her movements, her hips barely rocking as she stared across the space separating them. It didn't matter that the table shielded Lili's movements, or that the shadows should have protected her.
Rachel knew. When their gazes met, Lili was sure of it. She knew, and Jared was right. Being watched brought a feverish glint to the woman's eyes, and knowing Lili was taking pleasure in her enjoyment only enhanced it.
Only Jared could watch as Lili parted her legs again, but when her fingertips grazed her slick flesh, she couldn't keep her reaction from her face. Rachel smiled slowly, then closed her teeth on Ace's lower lip.
Shuddering, Lili looked down—not to Jared's hand but to her own, her fingers trembling over the one part of her body she'd done her best to ignore. Pain was all she'd ever expected, the pain of being taken and used.
Pussy. An insult in Sector Five. Not here. She wanted to form the word with her lips, whisper it. Scream it without shame, along with cock and fuck and all the other terrifying words that sounded thrillingly obscene when Jared whispered them in her ear.
She might have, if she could have dragged in enough breath. But that was impossible with Jared so close, his hand moving up and down, stroking his cock.
She tried to match his rhythm, but it wasn't enough. She needed something with a depth that drove her fingers in tighter and faster circles, until she'd centered on the spot that made everything in her tense with desperation.
It felt good. Good enough to make her gasp, to leave her clutching at Jared's free hand. But frustration intruded, sharp and brittle. Maybe this was it, this trembling heat and the pulses that made her shudder. It was already more than she'd known possible—
But there was something out of reach. Something she could almost feel, something that would turn need into relief.
This time, there weren't just words in her ear. He whispered them, yes, but along with the barest hint of teeth on the sensitive shell. "Let it come."
She turned blindly into him, panting against his cheek. It was impossible to relax when her muscles wanted to tense. Every part of her was wound so tight that something had to snap or the pressure would destroy her.
Let it come.
She stopped trying to force it and felt the pleasure. The heaviness in her breasts, the trembling in her thighs, the bright little sparks, each one a promise with the potential to catch fire, but each wonderful on its own.
Between one breath and the next, she boiled over.
The surge of relief was the only warning. She crushed her lips to Jared's cheek, but that couldn't muffle her helpless moan. It was as if every one of those sparks had flared up at once, hot and pulsing, and nothing else in the world existed for long, exhilarating moments.
She wasn't made for pleasure. She was remade by it.
He captured her mouth, swallowing her second moan and her third, urging her to ride out her orgasm. He kissed her thoroughly, his tongue sliding over hers, until her body was sated and the only thing making her mind spin was his mouth on hers.
She broke away with a shiver and pressed her flushed cheek to his, her mouth close enough to his ear for her to whisper, "I understand now."
"Yes?" The word trembled, but it didn't sound like weakness.
It sounded like hunger.
She glanced down to where his fist curled around his cock with a rougher grip than she would have dared. But she knew the bite of need now, the sting of frustration when pleasure was close.
Without thinking, she reached for him, sliding her slick fingers over the base of his shaft. He was thick there, too thick for her fingers to meet her thumb, but the wetness made it easier to glide upward. "Like this?"
His hand covered hers, squeezing tight. Tighter, until a groan rumbled free of his chest. "Wet," he murmured. "So wet, like you already came on my dick."
She squeezed her thighs together against an unexpected pulse of renewed heat. The dull ache inside her sharpened into a word—empty.
If she let Jared take her to bed, he'd work the hard flesh under her fingers deep into her body. The logistics had always seemed vaguely horrifying, but she knew better now. She'd melt for him, and he'd fill her. With pleasure, with satisfaction.
With his cock, and this time she almost said the word out loud. She could taste it on the tip of her tongue—which brought the vivid memory of the night she'd met him. Of watching Rachel, on her knees, Cruz's cock literally on the tip of her tongue.
Completely at her mercy. That was how Jared had described it, his whisper still vivid even if little else about that night was. And she finally understood. She squeezed her fist, and Jared's throat worked, his low sound
almost as exhilarating as her own touch had been.
This was what it felt like, giving someone else pleasure. It felt like power.
"Faster," Jared growled, his hips twitching up with every stroke. "Christ, you're gonna make me come."
Yes, she wanted that. Not just his pleasure, but these drunk, dizzy moments where she was a creature capable of making someone as strong and unshakable as Jared lose his grasp on control.
She sped her movements, and he choked out her name. He swelled and pulsed in her hand, using her panties to catch most of the fluid that spurted from him in hot jets. It didn't stop it from dripping onto their entwined hands, tangible evidence of the power she'd claimed over his body, just as the lingering slickness on his shaft was proof of the power she'd claimed over her own.
He released a long, shuddering breath and turned his dark, dark eyes on her. He held her gaze as he lifted his hand to her mouth and pushed his thumb between her lips.
She tasted herself, tasted him. Salty and tart and impossible to separate, an arousing thought. Without thinking, she parted her lips for him, let him slip deeper, and touched her tongue to the tip of his thumb.
He echoed the caress, dipping his head to lick the top bow of her lip, then turned her head again.
Rachel wasn't trying to be subtle. With her head thrown back and her mouth open in a soundless cry, she rode Ace's hips with shameless abandon. Release—another word that finally made sense. So much pent-up need exploding outward at once, not just from Rachel but from Ace, who slammed his head back against the vinyl, his grimace more like agony than relief.
"He can't come yet." Jared rubbed his thumb over Lili's lip as he pulled it free. "Not until Cruz lets him."
At that moment, Cruz glanced at them, his gaze dark enough to evoke a purely instinctive shiver. Without looking away, he leaned close to Ace's ear and whispered something. The man's frustration melted into pleasure, and he gripped Rachel's hips and drove up with a moan Lili could feel.
Rachel rode his shudders with abandon, her open mouth pressed to his, her nails raking his chest through his shirt. Cruz held them both, his strength and protectiveness a tangible shield.
"They're the only ones in their world," Jared rasped. "But if they invite you in for a little while…"
"Not me," she countered. By herself, she'd be an outsider, however welcome. Alone, even in the most intimate moments. "Us."
"Mmm." Jared smiled, soft and slow. "Us."
Something fluttered inside her. Not low in her belly or between her thighs, but high in her chest, in the parts of her that had been frozen the longest.
Us was a seductive word. The most illicit one he'd whispered tonight, because us sounded like a future they'd agreed not to agree upon. One of tenderness and safety and fucking.
Lili barely understood love, but she already knew two things—it would be dangerously easy to fall in love with Jared, and the broken heart would be worth it.
Chapter Ten
The footsteps started when he was halfway home, and Jared was damn glad he'd left Lili in her own room, drunk on good-night kisses and her first real orgasm.
At first, he chalked the steps up to his own footfalls echoing off the pitted brick walls of the taller buildings that comprised this part of the sector. The empty streets and bare alleys could do strange things to sound, play tricks with your mind. But when he varied the rhythm of his steps and the ones on his trail kept coming, steady but faster, he knew he was in a load of fucking trouble.
There was no time to swing back around to the safety of the O'Kane compound, and nowhere to lay low. So Jared kept his pace slow¸ slid one hand into his pocket to close around his knife, and waited for the steps to draw closer.
When they were right on his ass, he took a sharp left into the nearest dead-end alley—if nothing else, no way would they be able to flank him. He stopped at the back of the alley and turned to face his unexpected company.
Three shadows spread out across the other end, backlit by the moonlight filtering down between the darkened buildings. Jared saw glints of steel—the serrated blade of a knife in one man's hand, the wallet chain hanging from another's belt loop—but no guns.
Maybe he'd make it out of this all right, after all.
Then a fourth man rounded the corner, moving with broad-shouldered self-assurance. He took up more space than the other three combined, and Jared focused on him immediately.
The swagger meant he was their leader. The dramatic entrance meant appearances were important to him. He wouldn't tolerate being made to look bad in front of his crew—but Jared already suspected this was one fight he couldn't talk his way out of, anyway.
The leader spoke. "That's a nice watch."
Jared glanced down, turning his wrist as if appraising the item for himself. "Yes, it is."
The man drew back the frayed edge of his denim jacket, revealing the pistol tucked into his belt. "Hand it over."
Careful. "Why would I do that?"
The one with the knife snorted. "Because maybe you don't want to die?"
Jared stifled a sigh, torn between resignation and the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Maybe you're new around here, so let me explain. This watch was a gift. It means something to me. You could take it, but it wouldn't do you any good, because you couldn't unload it without winding up dead yourselves. So let it go."
A low, visible wave of unease swept through the three subordinate men. Only the leader seemed unaffected as he stepped forward, his hand now wrapped around the butt of his pistol.
He drew it as he stopped in front of Jared—and leveled it at his face. "I know how things work," he muttered. "No ink, fair game."
Oh, this fucking spy gig was going to kill him before he even got into Eden.
No more talking. No more thinking. Jared reacted in a quick flurry of movement—jamming his knuckles into the man's Adam's apple, knocking the gun out of his hand. Catching it. In the span of a heartbeat, he locked one arm around his opponent's neck and hauled him around, a human shield to protect him from the rest.
He squeezed off a shot, center mass, and one of the men dropped. The gun jammed on the second shot—cheap piece of shit—and he went for his knife instead, flicking it open as he jerked it from his pocket. He sank the blade deep into the leader's neck, twisting it when the man kicked and thrashed.
But it cost him precious time. White-hot pain slashed across his side and his upper arm, lightning-quick, and he kicked out in retaliation, driving this attacker back to stumble over his fallen friend. Something snapped, and the man screamed as he fell.
Jared dropped the dead weight of the man hanging in his arms just as the third mugger rushed him. The sheer force drove him back against the rough brick, and he struggled to keep the man's thumbs away from his eyes.
The guy was taller, bigger. Without the leverage to throw him off, Jared resorted to one of Ace's favorite tactics. He slammed his forehead against the man's nose, and his attacker broke away, howling and clutching at his face.
He was the one with the chain attached to his wallet. Jared jerked it hard, ripping it free of its loop, and wound it around the man's neck. A brutal twist tightened it, and he rode the man down to the ground, lodged one knee in his throat, and held it there until he stilled.
The last man took off down the alley, dragging his injured leg behind him. For a split second, Jared considered chasing him down, but the searing pain in his side was already blurring his vision.
His arm worried him even more. Hot blood ran down to drip off his fingers, striking his shoes and puddling under his feet. If he tried to make it home, he might wind up passing out in the street. And, with no way to gauge the severity of his injuries, passing out was dangerous. Maybe deadly.
But there was one place he could go. Gritting his teeth, Jared focused on putting one foot in front of the other and made his way to Gia's back door.
One of the guards answered, silently assessed Jared's injuries, and pulled the door op
en wide. "In her office," he said shortly, jerking his head toward the end of the hallway.
One of the double doors at the end stood ajar. Soft voices came from inside, familiar even though he couldn't make out the words. He wasn't surprised to find Jeni perched on the arm of Gia's chair, both of them studying the screen built into her desk.
Gia looked up first, her eyes going wide. "Fucking hell," she snapped, rising swiftly to circle the desk. "What happened?"
"Got jumped." His tongue felt thick, and he stifled a rusty laugh. "The usual."
"Oh, is that all?" Jeni muttered. She stripped off her T-shirt, leaving her in only a thin tank top as she wrapped his arm. "Where else are you hurt?"
"Just my ribs." He began to list to one side. "It's not all my blood, you know."
Gia ducked under his good arm to steady him. "Come along, darling. Let's sit you down before you smash that beautiful face into the floor. Jeni, I need my med kit."
"Got it." She rushed out the door.
"I'm fine," Jared protested, even though he knew he wasn't. Gia would understand—no matter how admirably you'd acquitted yourself in a fight, there was always more pride to salvage. More face to save.
Sometimes literally.
She maneuvered him onto the low leather couch along one wall and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Who was stupid enough to take a swing at you? Did you recognize them?"
"No." Suddenly, there were two Gias, and Jared blinked to clear his vision. "They wanted my watch."
Her eyebrows drew together as she jerked open his shirt, sending the final buttons pinging wildly to the floor. "I know it's sentimental, but Eladio would have whipped you for risking your life over a thing."
He nudged the locket nestled in the hollow of her throat and grimaced when he smudged blood over her skin. "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same for this."
"I wouldn't," she retorted, slapping his hand away. Her fingers were far gentler as she examined his side. "I wouldn't have to, because I don't go anywhere after dark without big guns or big men."
"Can't always have them around. Guns, bodyguards—" The room was spinning. "What if you're alone?"