Beyond Pain

by Kit Rocha

  This was just as good. This was better.

  He was poised with the blunt tip of his erection brushing her lips, turning every one of her whispered words into a caress. "I want to know what happens next."

  The hand in her hair clenched tight. "Then stand up."

  She did, lifting her arms when his hands slid under her shirt and shoved it up. She was so turned on she was panting, gasping for air as he tore the cotton over her head.

  He stared down at her, cupping her breasts with a satisfied growl. "I want you like this. Ready for my mouth."

  Looking down gave her the dizzy visual of her breasts penned by his large hands, as if the feel of work-roughened fingertips against sensitive flesh wasn't intense enough.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut off her words with a twist of his wrist, catching one nipple between his fingers and pinching it hard enough to drive her shoulders back against the wall as pain and pleasure smashed into one another.

  He soothed her nipple with a slow lick, the warmth of it weakening her knees. Fighting the urge to melt, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders. "This is cheating. It's my turn to get you off."

  He laughed, hot breath against wet skin. "You will."

  Yeah--when he was good and ready to let her. "You're a controlling bastard, you know that?"

  "Don't ever doubt it." He looked up at her, his gaze serious. "I like pain, not submission. I'm in charge, sweetness, or it won't work."

  Just like that, all of the things they hadn't said were real, taking up the space between them until the air felt heavy. "I know," she whispered, but that wasn't enough. She licked her lips and let her hands relax on his shoulders. "I'm not as careful with my body as I should be, maybe, but it's hard to let it matter when you can't control what people do to it."

  "Yes, it is."

  No judgment, and that helped. "It means it's not my fault, you know? It's not my fault if they hurt my body. Not my fault I couldn't stop them."

  He tipped her face up with his fingers under her chin. "You're safe here. With me."

  If she hadn't known that in her bones, she never would have come to his door. There was probably a seductive way to say what she really meant, something suggestive and sexy that'd make his dick harder, but she didn't like the word submission and didn't know another one.

  So she blurted out the truth, awkward and raw. "You can have my body. You'll take better care of it than I ever have."

  He nodded and lowered his mouth to her breasts again. This time, he didn't stop with licking her nipples, but drew his tongue in long, wet paths over her skin. Each one tugged low in her belly, but that wasn't what had her moaning in confused relief.

  Her limbs were light. Her body was floating. A weight she hadn't recognized she'd been carrying was gone, banished by his silent acceptance.

  For one night, she didn't have to fight or fail. She could just feel.

  And they were moving. She realized it when he urged her down with one hand on her shoulder, and she wound up sitting on the edge of his bed, with him standing in front of her. She'd only have to dip her head to draw his cock between her lips again, but she didn't move. She barely breathed.

  And then she couldn't, because he shifted that half-step closer, cupped her breasts, and thrust his cock between them.

  She choked back a startled noise and clutched at the rumpled blankets, but her body knew what it wanted. She was arching her back before she realized it, pressing up into his touch, offering herself to him like she only wanted to be used.

  "Tilt your head up." His voice had gone harsh. "Your mouth--"

  The rasp in his voice did her in. It wasn't the lazy boredom of a jackass who wanted a warm place to stick his dick. It was edgy. Personal. She parted her lips and positioned them, and she didn't feel used at all when he fucked up between her breasts and pushed into her mouth.

  He shuddered and did it again, faster this time. "What part of this do you like?"

  "I like the way--" He cut her off with another thrust, the slippery head of his cock gliding over her tongue. So she answered without words, wrapping her lips tight and sucking while she licked the underside of his crown, and like wasn't strong enough for how she felt when he groaned and slipped one hand up to cup the back of her head.

  "Harder." His fingers clenched in her hair. "Suck it harder."

  She'd suck him all night if it meant listening to careful, perfectly controlled Brendan Donnelly rasp out crude commands that made his voice shake. Each groan gave her power, even as it hollowed her out. She was wet and aching, half hoping he'd put his fingers in her and get her off.

  It'd give her an excuse to come back tomorrow night and get on her knees again.

  He watched her, his breathing quick and unsteady. "If I come on your tongue, will you come on mine? Let me taste you?"

  She didn't know if she'd be able to get off with his head between her thighs. She'd be exposed, so helplessly on display that even the thought kindled nervous fear.

  But she hadn't thought she'd come from his fingers, either. So she held his gaze and nodded, the movement sliding her lips up and down his shaft.

  He plunged deep then--deep enough to choke her--but drew back immediately, as if he hadn't meant to do it at all. A crack in his precise control, and she slipped into it, tried to coax it wider by chasing his cock, struggling against his grip in her hair to take more of him.

  Bren gave in, driving into her mouth, far enough to bump the back of her throat but not choke her. Over and over, until his hands were shaking and a sheen of sweat covered his chest, his forehead.

  So close, but still restrained. She freed one hand from the tangle of bed sheets and slid it up his hip, over tense muscles. He liked pain, so she gave him a taste of it, raking her nails down his chest with almost enough pressure to break the skin.

  "Fuck, yes." He covered her hand with his, forcing her nails harder against his flesh. His eyes lost focus, and his hips jerked. "Hurt me."

  She did, even if hurt seemed like the wrong word for something that dragged a groan of pleasure from him. Just like pain was the wrong word for the sensation of his fingers tightening in her hair, pulling until her eyes watered. His other hand pressed tight over hers, urging her to pierce his skin.

  Her next scratch left four furrows across his chest. He choked out her name and drove deep, clutching the back of her head with sharp desperation. One heartbeat, two--then he came with a groan and a shudder, his cock pulsing on her tongue.

  He was so deep she didn't need to swallow, so deep she couldn't breathe. Panic clawed at her, but she closed her eyes and clung to him. Trusting him wasn't easy, not yet, but there was enough of it there to keep her from struggling against his grip.

  He didn't release her when he stilled. He was as controlling as ever, hauling her head back by her hair as he lifted her hand to his mouth for a lingering kiss.

  The ache inside her exploded into something desperate and vulnerable, but she didn't know how to ask for relief. She wasn't supposed to need it, because letting him fuck her mouth wasn't supposed to leave her wet and squirming restlessly on his bed.

  And it hadn't, not really. But getting him off had, and opening her eyes to meet his lazy, satisfied gaze only intensified the ache.

  He held on to her hair as he dropped to his knees, running his fingers through the strands all the way to the ends, and he tickled them over her nipples with a grin. "Are you wet? The truth."

  She swallowed, but her voice still came out hoarse. "Yes."

  He dragged her pants--and her underwear--down her legs, stripping her completely bare in one smooth movement. "How wet?"

  Smug fucking bastard. He had to know she was panting for him, but she wasn't going to admit it twice. She pressed her knees together and steadied her voice. "Guess you'll have to find out, huh?"

  "Guess so," he agreed easily--but there was nothing easy about his iron hands on her legs, urging them apart. Nothing easy about him cupping his hands behind her knee
s and pushing them up, up, until her back hit the bed.

  She was wide open, exposed.

  It was too much.

  Nervous anticipation veered straight toward panic, and she closed her eyes and gripped the blankets, fighting the urge to twist away.

  "Shh." He didn't release her, only brushed a kiss across the back of one thigh. "Remember. Nothing you don't want."

  She hadn't whispered a word of protest, but he still knew. He always knew, and the unfairness of it all made her laugh shakily. "I don't know what I want. And half the stuff I do know scares the hell out of me."

  "Then trust me, if you can."

  "I do. It's just..."

  Another kiss, to the inside of her calf. "What?"

  How to describe the feeling of floating in the darkness, cut off from anything familiar, exposed and vulnerable with nothing but the touch of his hands and the occasional brush of his lips to ground her? "I'm lost."

  "Do I scare you?"

  "No." She freed one hand and slid it into his short hair, her nails scoring his scalp. She wanted to drag him up, feel him crushing her into the bed, cutting off the world. "You just feel so far away."

  His tongue grazed her exposed clit, but only for an electric moment. He kept moving, up and over her, until he was stretched out, his elbows on either side of her head. "Better?"

  His weight settled on her, familiar and not, because it was skin on skin with a bed at her back. But she knew how it felt to be pinned by him, to have him between her thighs.

  Safe.

  The tension melted out of her body, muscle by muscle, even as instinct had her studying the set of his jaw and the angle of his brow, searching for evidence of irritation or impatience. "Better."

  "Mmm." He licked her jawline, up to the spot beneath her ear.

  She shuddered and squirmed, rubbing her hips against his. "I'm not scared of you. You know that, right?"

  He didn't answer. Instead, he shifted so that the hair on his chest chafed her nipples. Her breath caught, then rushed out on a moan as she clutched at his back.

  His teeth closed on her ear. "Do I still feel far away?"

  She'd probably feel the heat of him lingering on her skin for days. "No."

  His voice was a low, teasing whisper, shivering in her ear. "Even if I slide back down and fuck you with my tongue?"

  Oh, God. The nervousness was still there, but now it was wrapped in the faith that he'd come back if she needed him. Her tongue tangled on the words, so she pushed on his shoulders, urging him down her body as she let her legs fall open.

  Bren touched her first, the rough pads of his fingertips gliding through the wetness of her arousal, gentling when he circled her clit. Even that brought her hips up, chasing after his touch.

  So light. So sweet. And so not enough. It made her cheeks burn to ask, but she was needy enough not to care. "I want your fingers inside me again. Please."

  He gave her one, a long thrust all the way into her as he lowered his mouth and licked her clit. She tensed, her inner muscles clenching involuntarily around his finger, and now that she'd had her hands around his dick, she knew how much bigger it would feel. "More," she whispered. "Like you're getting me ready for your cock."

  He lingered long enough to make one thing clear--she could issue orders, but he'd do as he damn well pleased. As soon as the thought fluttered through her mind, he pulled his finger free and returned not with two, but three.

  Moaning, she jerked her hips back, torn by indecision. The stretch was almost too much, overwhelming, but every sweep of his tongue helped to melt that pressure into something warmer, forbidden but so delicious. She clutched his head and whimpered his name.

  Bren kept stroking, kept licking, as if she wasn't wordlessly begging him to give her more. He'd shoved her to the very brink, but now he let her hover there, twisting into ever tighter knots until she was biting her lip bloody to keep from pleading with him.

  The pressure edged past anticipation, and she groaned and tried to wrench away. He held her still, closed his mouth on her clit--and sucked hard.

  It was too much and then not enough and then too much again, reeling back and forth as she yanked his hair and bucked, struggling to get closer in one heartbeat and to writhe away in the next. Pleasure swelled up, crashing through the tension, and she froze, back arched, toes clenched, the word please falling from her lips over and over, so tiny and needy and helpless.

  And then it was just right. She sobbed out a moan of pure relief as she came.

  He guided her through the shudders, his fingers moving, slick and easy, inside her. He trembled, as if he wanted to press her further, but finally his touch eased.

  If he'd pushed her up again, it might have killed her. As it was, her limbs felt boneless. Only her fingers had any strength left, but she couldn't seem to unclench them from his hair. "Bren."

  He leaned up just far enough to rest his forehead on her stomach. "Yeah?"

  She relaxed her hand enough to stroke her fingertips along the edge of his ear. "Are you stopping for me?"

  "Mmm." He turned his face to her touch. "For now."

  She almost told him he didn't have to, but the words would have been hollow. Sheer habit, telling some guy to take what she wasn't ready to give, because it was the only way to pretend she was in control when it inevitably happened.

  Bren didn't need her permission. He knew he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to her, and she should be thanking him for knowing when to stop, not trying to goad him on until he hurt her.

  So she brushed her thumb over his lips and savored the tiny hitch in her chest at the intimacy of the contact. "Thanks for taking care of me."

  Instead of responding, he crawled up to lean over her. He dropped a kiss to the corner of her mouth, gentle and quick, then stretched out and drew her to his chest.

  It shook her more deeply than the orgasm had. "You want me to stay?"

  He combed his fingers through her hair. "Unless you have someplace to be, yeah. I want you to stay."

  This was what she'd never known enough to crave before, the thing the O'Kanes exchanged as casually as words. Affection and warmth, the quiet sensual pleasure of warm skin and his hand in her hair. She could rub her cheek against Bren's chest and close her eyes, and every touch would be a reminder that she wasn't alone. "Okay."

  He tilted her face up to his. "Is it?"

  Probably not. If she twisted logic enough, she could pretend this was just an extension of trusting him with her body. He'd rest better knowing she was safe. It didn't have to mean more. "I might kick you. And hog the covers."

  The corner of his mouth curved up in a slow smile. "I'll manage, sweetness."

  Her pulse had finally settled, but that damn smile kicked it up again. She covered by burying her face in his shoulder. "And I'm grumpy in the morning."

  "Then it's a good thing I already frisked you for weapons."

  Could he feel her lips pulling up into an unwilling grin? Funny that she didn't care. "I'd tell you to say that when I'm biting you, but I think you'd like it."

  "You catch on quick." His chuckle warmed her temple. "Sleep. It'll be all right."

  I know. But that didn't stop her from staying awake long after Bren had drifted off. His heartbeat thumped beneath her ear, steady and soothing, and the warmth of his body wrapped around her, but she couldn't stop trying to memorize the details. The weight of his arm over her, the press of his thigh, the way the hair on his chest felt under her palm as she spread her fingers wide. Maybe if she filled her head with enough good things, the bad ones would topple out the back.

  Either way, she wasn't going to take one damn moment for granted.

  The single grated window in his room was still dark when Bren woke up. Six curled against him, warm and naked, and he seriously considered ignoring whatever had awakened him.

  A soft noise, barely there but rough, like something gliding over carpet. He glanced over at the door and, sure enough, a folded note had been pushed b
eneath it. He slid slowly from the bed, careful not to disturb Six, and picked up the note.

  Meeting at ten, Dallas's office. And I want to see that woman of yours this afternoon.

  It was signed with a flourish. Lex, entirely too pleased with herself for figuring out where Six would be this morning.

  Bren tossed aside the note and sat at his table, his back to the wall. He'd already broken down and laid out his oldest rifle, his favorite, the one Cooper had lifted off an Eden MP and given him to train with, years before Bren had ever worn the uniform himself. When he picked up the barrel, it slid into his hand like it had been crafted for him. He could break it down in seconds and put it back together just as quickly--in the dark, if he had to.

  He knew this weapon like nothing else, and it knew him.

  He began to clean it, working silently, his gaze drifting to the woman still sleeping under his blanket. In time, he could learn her like he'd learned this rifle. The only question was whether she'd let him.

  The sun had begun to rise, and soft purple light filtered in through the window. On the bed, Six muttered something and rolled over. The covers slipped away, baring her back in the near darkness.

  The shadows only highlighted the scars on her back, rough and raised, marring what should have been smooth skin. He'd known about them already--even if Six had never talked about what had happened to her at Trent's hands, Bren would have known. A woman like her didn't last long without some asshole trying to beat the fight out of her, leaving behind fear and grudging obedience.

  No, he'd known about her scars. But seeing them was different, somehow. Worse.

  The metal pieces in his hands clinked together, so he set them aside and lit a cigarette.

  It took two for his hands to stop shaking.

  Six stirred again as he was finishing the second, rolling onto her stomach to bury her face in his pillow. She stretched with a sigh before turning her head to squint at him. "Did I sleep too long?"

  "No, it's still early."

  Her eyes drifted shut as she smiled sleepily. "Did I drive you out of bed? I told you I kick."