by Kit Rocha
"Anyone else." Bren lifted her suddenly, backing her beyond the spray so that it beat down on him, rinsing him clean. "You'd cut anyone else. But not me."
His hands on her skin stole her breath. "I might. But only 'cause you'd like it."
"Try me," he urged. "Try it now. You don't need a knife."
Her nails were longer than they'd ever been before, and still glittery with what was left of Nessa's last attempt at girl bonding. She raked them down his chest, leaving thin white lines the water seemed to follow, but that was too tame. Too easy.
So she turned her face to his throat and closed her teeth over his pulse hard enough to bruise.
Bren pressed her against the tile with a groan, then spun her around by the shower door. "Towels are on the shelf," he rasped as he shut off the water.
She groped for a towel, but her hands shook as she tried to dry off. Bren took over, sliding the soft but rough fabric over her skin as he edged her toward the sink.
He draped the towel over it, locked an arm around her waist, and lifted her onto the porcelain. "Here?"
It was hard to take a full breath as he wedged himself between her thighs, pushing them wide. Panic gripped her, an inexplicable certainty that she'd built this up in her mind so much that nothing could live up to her fantasy. She countered it by scratching another set of welts down both his arms. "Damn it, Donnelly, I thought you were in charge. Go on and fuck me already."
He splayed one hand across her lower back, just above her ass, and held her still as he nudged the head of his cock between her pussy lips. She had only a moment more to choke on panic before the sensation caught up to her, a shivery pleasure that made her clench in anticipation.
That tiny touch shouldn't have been so good. She tried to blame it on the piercings, but that wasn't why she felt like her nerves had multiplied, and each one was laid bare.
This must be what it felt like to want someone.
She was wet, so wet that he slid all the way into her in one hard stroke, and she really couldn't breathe now. She tangled her arms and legs around him and moaned as the movement shifted him inside her, made her feel how thick he was. His fingers had been an intense stretch, but this was more, better, because he was so, so deep...
Bren groaned and flexed his hips. "That's right, baby. Squeeze my cock."
"Arrogant ass," she rasped, but it sounded like a whimper and was muffled against his shoulder anyway. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes as her body melted and reformed, hungry and eager. "Do you want to know how you feel?"
"I know how I feel." His hand hit the wall behind her, and he leaned in until the only thing balancing her on the edge of the sink was him. "My neck aches like a son of a bitch. So does my dick. And I like it."
She could still see the imprint of her teeth on his throat. Tomorrow there'd be a bruise, a claim as undeniable as any of those women wearing their men's ink, and it heightened her satisfaction as he somehow pushed deeper.
They'd both feel each other in the morning.
Bren drew back, but only a little. Then he slammed home again, harder this time, driving a choked noise from her lips. His hand was steel at the small of her back, anchoring her hips in place even when her shoulders thumped back against the wall.
There was no escape. He had her pinned, penned, his body stretched over hers, one hand braced above her head. Everything was him, around her and inside her, and oh God, her tilted hips had him rubbing against some greedy spot that hollowed her out worse and worse with every touch.
She couldn't get enough.
What if she never got enough?
"Bren--" Her voice broke with his next advance. She clutched at him, completely adrift in the twisting, aching hunger he'd created with a few lazy thrusts. If he could do this to her when he'd barely gotten inside her, she wouldn't survive. "I can't-- I need, I need--"
"You need," he growled. Then he was fucking her.
Fucking her, hard and intense, every bit of him wholly focused on being inside her. Maybe if he'd pulled all the way out, she could have gathered her wits, but his cock kept working that same spot until her skin felt so tight she thought she'd scream.
Orgasm didn't slam into her. It built in slow motion, the promise of it hanging sweet in the air as she clenched in anticipation. Then Bren groaned, and she knew she was squeezing him again, but she needed more than the slick sound of him plunging into her and their panting breaths. She needed that voice, stripped of its bland control, growling obscenities about the things he'd do to her.
She dug her nails into his back until the skin broke and begged him, the words tumbling end over end in a confused jumble as she began to shake. "Say something, please. Tell me what you want. What to do."
"Open up. Feel it." He punctuated each command with another hard thrust. "You can come all over my dick, but I'm not gonna stop. Not this time."
It should have been impossible to feel more, but his words shattered the building pressure. Her entire body seized for one dizzy moment of bliss, and then she was falling, writhing through impossible spasms. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream because it felt so good, so fucking good--
Bren gripped her chin and growled. "Don't stop. Not yet."
"I can't," she moaned, even as her hips lifted greedily, her body shameless in its need to be filled.
She tried to twist away from the intensity in his gaze, but he forced her back, forced her to stare up at him as he rode her until she couldn't tell if she was still coming or strung out on the edge of another orgasm.
Then he released her chin, reached down between them, and pressed his thumb to her clit.
No, she hadn't been coming, but she was now, sobbing his name as pleasure wrecked her. It was like being caught out in a storm, the friction of his cock dragging her one way as the sharp pulsing of her clit slammed her in the other.
Too much. Too fucking much, and still not enough, because now she was wet and open to him, and the sweet edge of discomfort that had made the rest bearable had vanished.
Whimpering, she fought to spread her thighs wider, to let him go deeper. No, not just deeper. "Harder," she pleaded, scratching desperately at his arms. "Fuck me harder."
Bren clutched her closer with a groan. Harder and faster, every plunge slamming his hips against hers. There was no room for his hand between them, not like this, but he tangled his fingers in her wet hair and pulled.
Hard.
The third orgasm didn't even build, just crashed over her, sweet and brutal. It washed away everything else only to linger as a fuzzy, dreamy bliss. Everything seemed distant, disconnected.
Everything except Bren. His muscles flexed under her hands as he bucked and shuddered, driving into her wildly. Something crashed behind her, almost drowning out the sound of her name, torn from him on a tortured groan as he thrust deep one last time and stilled.
It took all the strength in her shaking limbs to wrap them around his body. Burying her face against his throat was easier. His pulse pounded in time with hers, and she parted her lips, tasted the salt on him as she pressed a kiss to the rising bruise.
She'd marked his skin. Only fair, since he'd marked her world.
"You'll have bruises too," he mumbled, as if he could read her thoughts from the kiss.
Probably, though her body still tingled so pleasantly she couldn't begin to guess where. "I get 'em from sparring all the time. This is more fun, I think."
Bren hoisted her against him and walked into the bedroom. "Why do I think you'd like it best if we did both?"
Her sleepy libido stirred just imagining it. All-out warfare, fighting to see who got to be on top. "Were you ever imagining it? All those times you got me beneath you?"
He hesitated. "No. But I think only because I wouldn't let myself."
Her heart pounded. There'd been a trap under the words that she hadn't meant to set--not consciously. Answering yes would have stripped away Bren's careful protectiveness, turning him from a source of safety into
some sort of pervert in waiting.
But he'd passed. And now her pulse raced as she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "What will you think about if you get me under you tomorrow?"
He didn't answer until he'd laid her down on the bed and stretched out behind her, one arm around her middle. "You'll have to fight me and find out."
Lex
Dallas was washing blood off his hands. Again.
Lex watched him, only speaking when he looked up to meet her eyes in the mirror. "How'd it go?"
"Not so good." He grimaced and turned his attention back to the sink. "Most of the blood is from the gunshot in his leg. I didn't have to hit him. I didn't even have to frown. The bastard heard my name and spilled every secret he knew, straight back to the time his grandpa screwed the neighbor's wife. And not a damn bit of it was useful."
It was pretty much the worst-case scenario. "So we don't know who's behind the bootlegging, and all we can do is shut down this operation and then...wait."
"Pretty much. Whoever set these sorry bastards up sure isn't coming to look for them." He slammed off the water with a sigh. "What a fucking mess."
She handed him a towel and rubbed at the knotted muscles between his shoulders. "We'll find them. We'll track down every case of bogus liquor and trace it back."
"Eventually." Once he'd dried his hands, he tossed aside the towel and dragged her from the bathroom. "But all that takes time, plus men on the ground. Goddamn, we're still spread thin. And too many people know it."
Inarguable facts. Lex rubbed her face and dropped to the bed. "Do you have a better plan?"
"No." He slumped beside her and fell back to stare at the ceiling. "You don't think Dom has anything to do with it, do you? It's a long shot, but he's carrying a big enough grudge, and he knows my operation."
Dom was an idiot, barely capable of tying his own shoes, much less aspiring to beat Dallas O'Kane at his own game. "I called in a few favors to see if our intel on Dom was accurate, and it seems to be. He's still over in Five, sucking up to Mac Fleming."
Dallas huffed out a laugh. "That's one bastard I should have killed. Two bastards."
She soothed him with a kiss to the temple. "Slow and steady," she breathed. "It feels like there aren't enough of us right now, and it's true. But it'll turn into legitimate weakness if we take on new members just to have more warm bodies. You know it."
"I know." He sighed again and looped an arm around her, hauling her close to his side. "Time. As long as I can keep buying us time, it'll shake out."
"Uh-uh." Lex propped her head up on her arm and turned his face to hers. "You'll make it work, because you're Dallas fucking O'Kane. You're good at this, you work hard, and you're the smartest damn man I've ever met in my life."
He smiled slowly. "Keep going. What else do you like about me?"
"Not like," she corrected softly. "Love."
Growling, he twisted a hand in her hair and dragged her into a long, deep kiss. "What else do you love about me?"
"How much you worry." She rubbed her cheek against his and relished the burn of his stubble on her skin. "How much you care."
His chest rumbled beneath her. "I was hoping for something a little more lewd, love."
A lie, revealed not only by the warmth of his voice, but the tenderness of his touch. "You'll figure it out, Declan. We'll do it together."
"That's the word I love the most."
Together. "Good, because you're stuck with me now."
He pulled her head back far enough for him to kiss the ink winding around her throat. "For life."
The seductive lure of his lips on her flesh was tempting, but Lex steeled herself against arousal as another idea hit her. "What if they tried to peddle their booze under their own label first? They might have approached some of your buyers."
His fingers loosened, and he frowned. "That'd be fucking stupid of them, but what about this situation isn't? I'll put out the--no, I'll have Jas put out the word," he corrected grumpily. "See? I know how to delegate."
"Mm-hmm. It gets easier, I promise."
"Might get even easier if you were naked."
"Lech. I'm trying to work here."
"You can keep working. I'll just have a better view."
Lex arched an eyebrow and sat up to kneel astride one of his legs. "It's my turn to watch. You forgot, didn't you?"
His lips curved into that slow, lazy smile that made her heart skip and stutter. "Then open my pants."
"You're supposed to jerk off for me, and I have to do all the prep work?" She unbuckled his belt with a single rough tug. "That doesn't seem right."
He moved without warning, not so much as a flex of muscle to give him away until it was too late. She wound up on the bed, on her back, with him straddling her waist. "Well, if that's how you feel about it..."
"You wouldn't," she breathed, even though she knew damn well--he would.
"What's wrong?" His fingers toyed with the button on his fly. "Don't like the view, love?"
His cock was already straining his pants, and Lex licked her lips and scratched her nails over the back of his hand. "Could be better. Get them open."
His grin widened as he batted her hand away and cupped her breast. "You didn't want to do the work, so now you're on my timetable. Maybe I want to talk business after all. How'd your meeting with the girls go?"
He already knew it had gone fine. He only wanted an excuse to hear her voice crack and her breathing hitch while he played with her nipples, pinching and tugging until she was squirming beneath him.
Delicious bastard.
She gave it to him, the same way she gave him everything--with a little fight, and a lot of attitude. Dallas took it all and demanded more.
And then gave her back everything.
Chapter Nine
Fight night was still her favorite part of Sector Four.
Once a week, the Broken Circle closed early, and Dallas's employees packed up the liquor and hauled it across the cracked parking lot to the original warehouse, where they'd sell it at marked-up prices to the bloodthirsty spectators.
Supposedly, this building had been the heart of the O'Kane empire in the earliest days. Now it was a cavernous empty space dominated by the cage in the middle, with the crowd jostling for good vantage points in a three-quarter circle around it.
The northwest corner of the warehouse was privileged space, made up of a scattering of tables and seats and a raised dais reserved for Lex and Dallas. Six headed in that direction, toward the collection of plush couches that made up the gang's unofficial cheering section.
She didn't feel awkward about being an unofficial O'Kane tonight. She'd rescued Lex's pants from Bren's floor, had even let Noelle braid her hair around her head in some ridiculously complicated style that looked like a crown.
She didn't have the ink, but for the first time, she felt like she had the attitude.
Noelle clearly agreed. The pretty brunette clapped her hands together and let out a delighted noise. "Oh my God, those pants. Lex, look at her. She's hot."
"I know." Lex sat on a long, low table in front of the couch, leaning back against it with her elbows digging deep in the cushions. The position stretched her tiny T-shirt across her tits, her nipples showing through the thin white fabric. "Bren'll have to keep a tight lock on you tonight, honey."
It was the sort of statement that would have scared her before she knew Lex. It went without saying that no man here would lay a hand on her without her permission, because if any man dared, Lex'd be the first to rip that hand from his body.
Well, maybe not the first. "I think Bren's fighting tonight," she said, dropping to sit next to Noelle. "A few of the guys from Three will be here. Probably won't hurt to remind them not to piss him off."
On the other end of the couch, Rachel finished her drink and laughed. "Sweet, but beside the point. I think Lex was talking about herself."
Lex tilted her head back with a smile, her dark hair flowing over the deep black velv
et covering the sofa. "Guilty."
Oh. Six's cheeks heated, and not only from embarrassment. Lex had the same magnetic quality that Scarlet always had, a larger-than-life personality that radiated strength and confidence. Dallas's queen could be hypnotic, and sometimes Six couldn't tell if she was jealous of her, or just a little turned on.
"Be nice," Noelle scolded, throwing an arm around Six's shoulders. She managed not to stiffen at the embrace, though being hugged still felt awkward. More so when she let herself remember that the woman hugging her was Edwin Cunningham's daughter, a legitimate princess out of Eden.
It was kind of absurd for a sheltered city girl to protect her from flirtation. Her lips twitched, and maybe she'd gotten used to smiling, because it didn't even hurt. "Bren's not the boss of me."
"But he'd have to be part of any games you play." Lex tilted her head. "I know how it is."
"I'm glad someone does," Six muttered without thinking, setting off another round of hugs and sympathetic sounds, and she could see why Jasper had gotten Noelle a kitten to cuddle. It was probably the only way he could go fifteen minutes without being smothered in adoration.
Against all odds, Six was starting to believe it was earnest. Weird and painfully naive, but how could Noelle be anything else? She was from the city.
And Rachel apparently knew how to distract her. "Is Jas climbing in the cage tonight?"
"I hope so." Noelle released Six only to drop a hand to Lex's hair, stroking her fingers through it absently. "If he does, I'm tempted to climb right on in with him after he wins."
"That's not his thing," Lex teased. "It's Bren's."
"I bet I could convince him. You don't think he'd get off on having everyone watch me blow him? On playing the victorious, conquering barbarian?" Noelle shivered, her expression dreamy. "Delicious."
"Is that what it's about?" Six asked, unsure she wanted to know the answer. Everyone talked about how Bren liked to bang women in the cage after a fight, but she had yet to see him do it.
"Could be about the rush." Rachel stretched out on her side, her head propped up on the heel of one hand as her other joined Noelle's in combing through Lex's hair. "They get all worked up for the fight, and that doesn't magically fade the second someone taps out."