by Kit Rocha
"I don't care." She framed his face with her hands, skating her fingertips lightly over the scruff on his jaw. She'd memorized his face already, every line, and she'd do it all over again--a hundred times, a thousand. "Mark me, Noah."
His gaze swept down to settle on the bare stretch of skin along her collarbone, and the tip of the marker tickled as he wrote his name in careful letters. After a moment's hesitation he added two more words.
Noah Lennox loves me.
Warmth slipped through her veins and turned to heat at his proximity. "Did you mean it? That you'd say it with ink?"
"Yes." He tossed aside the marker and traced the words he'd written with his fingertip. "That's what O'Kanes do, isn't it?"
The need pounding through her exploded, obliterating the last of her self-control. She kissed him, but it wasn't enough. He'd never understand how deep and how hard she loved him, not from a kiss, so she raked her nails over his skin as she dragged him closer.
She couldn't bear to break contact, not even to speak, so she whispered against his lips. "You're staying with me?"
"I'm yours," he said again, but his fingers had wound their way into her hair, twisting tight. "If you're not ready to be mine, I'll wait."
The thought was unbearable. "No--now."
He groaned and kissed her again, licking her lips until she parted them. He was still methodical, still determined, but the hungry edge in his kiss was so close to the surface.
It wouldn't take much to shatter his self-control, and Emma wanted it more than breathing. His belt clicked under her fingers, and she tugged at the ends of his open belt until his hips ground against hers and he hissed out a breath.
"Now?" He gripped her hips and lifted her up. "Christ, Emma, I swear I didn't come here just to get my dick in you..."
Too goddamn bad, because it was all she could think about now. "Tell me." Her voice was almost embarrassingly low, husky. "Tell me what you want. The truth."
He shuddered. "I want to watch you come riding my cock."
The tattoo chair was right behind them. Emma flipped up the arms to get them out of the way and pushed Noah down onto the black vinyl. She watched him as she kicked off her shoes and tugged her jeans open with one hand, riveted by the sight of his muscles flexing as he unzipped his pants.
He had his cock out by the time she was naked, but when he hauled her astride his lap, he didn't drive into her. He held her hips to his, his shaft grinding against her pussy, and licked a hot path down her throat. "Touch yourself. Your tits. Please."
"My--" The words dissipated as he rocked his hips, and the head of his cock nudged her clit. The intensity of the slick glide--somehow lazy and desperate, all at once--stole her voice.
So she moved instead, cupping her breasts for him. His tongue swept out, hot and wet, circling her nipple. Then he sucked it into his mouth, and his hands kept clutching, kept moving, rolling her against him, urging her to rub her clit along his shaft.
The chair rocked with them, and Emma shivered. "Noah--"
"Now?" He tightened his grip, lifting her. "Is this what you want?"
"Please." She didn't have to memorize him anymore, or lock this moment into her brain forever, because he was hers.
He shifted until his cock was poised at her entrance, and then he let gravity pull her down. Even though she was inescapably turned on, impossibly wet, he still filled her with an aching stretch that left her trembling on the edge.
His head thumped against the seat, and he closed his eyes and gripped her hips. "Christ, don't move. You feel too fucking good."
"Not even like this?" Emma braced her toes on the floor and eased up until only the head of his cock remained inside her, and she pressed her thumb between his lips as she hovered over him.
Growling, he closed his teeth, trapping her hand as his thumb slid through her folds. His eyes popped open, blatant challenge in his gaze as he circled and stroked, working toward her clit.
The contact shot up her spine like a shock, and Emma shuddered. The liquid heat gathering in her lower body flared, making her legs shake as his thumb circled again. The heat didn't subside, just swept over her in a sudden, sharp orgasm, the kind that came and went in a heartbeat, left you trembling.
She drove down against him, crying out as her clenching muscles gave way to the sheer size of him. He bit off a curse, thrusting up into her, harder, deeper, and his voice broke through the blood pounding in her ears. "Fuck yes, I love it when you come all over me. Let me feel it. Let me feel you."
There was no hiding her pleasure from him, even if she'd wanted to. Instead, she embraced it, winding her arms around his neck as another wave of ecstasy gripped her. "Don't stop, Noah."
"Never. Never." He dragged her to meet his next thrust, crashing their bodies together. "You can mark every inch of me."
She already had, years ago, in ways no one could see but that were just as real, just as permanent. There was no part of him he hadn't yielded to her, heart and soul, past and future.
Fantasy and truth.
They moved faster, their bodies picking up the pace as they strove for the peak. It had never been so important to Emma to tip over it together, two people locked together as one.
She clutched his shoulders, her hands slipping on his damp skin until she dug her fingernails in for purchase, eliciting a hiss that turned into a groan. "With me," she panted. "Come with me--"
He kissed her, moaning her name against her lips as the first shudders took him, and Emma let go, let the pulsing of his body inside hers drag her over the edge too. She rode him through their orgasms, blinded to anything in the whole fucking world that wasn't Noah.
Finally, he stilled beneath her, and she came to rest--her forehead to his cheek, his heart pounding against her chest.
"Fucking hell." He smoothed her hair back with shaking fingers before turning to kiss her cheek. "All those years wasted, when I could have been loving you."
The answer was easy, obvious. "You were."
He choked on a laugh and coaxed her head back, urging her to meet his eyes. "Fine, then. All those wasted years, I could have been being loved."
"You were that, too." Her smile faded. "I always knew, Noah. Sometimes, I tried to tell myself you were just being nice to Cib's little sister, but when you talked to me... On some level, I knew better."
"You were a smart, sweet girl." He kissed the corner of her mouth, teasing her with flicks of his tongue and nips until she smiled again. "But you're a filthy-hot, tough, amazing woman. You're a partner. My partner."
"It won't be easy." Then again, things worth having never were.
Noah laughed against her mouth, and it was the first time in so many years that she'd heard him laugh, really laugh, all joy and no shadows. "Fuck easy. I want wild. I want you."
Laughter, love, and a lover who didn't need to be her savior, didn't need her helpless and at his mercy. Everything she'd ever wanted, in the one man she'd always craved.
Emma tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder and smiled. "Then you have me."
Beyond Jealousy
She's been looking for the perfect man. She found two.
When Rachel Riley sacrificed a life in Eden to protect the O'Kanes, she earned her place in the powerful Sector Four gang. But the former crime princess is tired of being everyone's sweet little sister . It's time for her to get wild, to embrace her fantasies as only an O'Kane can--with a delicious exiled soldier and the gang's wickedly sinful tattoo artist.
A saint...
Lorenzo Cruz is a warrior, taught by his commanding officers in Eden that involvement equals distraction. Emotion is a liability, and desire a sin. In Sector Four, he finds decadence, shameless sex--and his own dark urges. No battle strategy prepared him for how Rachel makes his heart race...or the way his rival for her affections sets his blood on fire.
...and a sinner.
Ace Santana has a dirty reputation and a mind to match, especially where his new lovers are concerned. He'
s eager to help Cruz embrace his dominant side, and to explore the lines between pleasure and pain with Rachel. But corrupting them quickly becomes an obsession, a need he can't deny--and a love he never imagined.
Three hearts on the line means a hundred ways their ménage a trois could go wrong. After all, even O'Kanes do forever two-by-two. One of them could be the missing piece that makes them all whole...or a temporary diversion destined for a broken heart.
Chapter One
She'd turned into a creeper, and it was all Ace's fault.
Rachel drained her third shot of tequila and fought a losing battle to drag her covetous gaze away from the cage--and the man inside it.
Of course, everyone was watching. It was hard not to when Cruz was setting a Sector Four record by taking on three opponents at once. And he'd apparently decided to go big or go home, because not a single one of the poor bastards had managed to land a solid shot on him.
It wasn't fair when even three-on-one odds couldn't bring a man down.
Rachel half wished she'd laid money on the match, just to have an excuse for her galloping pulse, not to mention the tiny drop of sweat that rolled down the small of her back. But she'd never been good at lying to herself, so there it was. The truth, in mesmerizing Technicolor.
Lorenzo Cruz, stripped to the waist and fighting like his life and dark mood depended on it, was a beautiful sight. Damn near enough to make a woman come from thirty feet away.
A tug on her shirt drew her attention away from the cage. "Show me where you want this?"
Shit, she'd forgotten all about Gunner, their conversation--and, frankly, anything that didn't have to do with licking a path straight down the center of Cruz's chest. "Uh, yeah." She lifted her hands automatically, allowing Gunner to pull her shirt higher. "I know the ribs hurt, but I was thinking my left side?"
"Sure, sure. No problem." He grinned at her. "I can put it anywhere you want."
"A tattoo," she said firmly. "Don't get your hopes--or anything else--up."
Gunner winked, a gesture more playful than suggestive. He knew better than to push his luck with an O'Kane, especially in the heart of their compound. "I'll be a perfect gentleman," he assured her, crouching to get a better look at her side. "So you want a fallen angel right across here?"
"Falling," she corrected. Not just an angel, and not one lying on the ground, her wings broken. That wasn't her. What she wanted to capture was the journey, the dizzy, spinning descent. "I want--"
Someone reached around her waist and jerked her shirt back down into place. Even before she looked down at the brash, beautiful sleeves of ink covering those arms, she knew who it was from the zing of awareness that rocked her.
Ace.
She slapped his fingers and turned to face him. "Hands off, Santana. I'm having a conversation here."
Ace's gorgeous face twisted into a scowl. "Not with him, you're not. Hell no."
It wasn't enough for him to dominate her thoughts, her fantasies. He had to own her skin, too. "Seriously? You think I'm gonna come to you for this?"
He shifted his gaze to Gunner, as if she hadn't spoken. "I thought we had an understanding, man. You got a sudden death wish?"
Gunner raised both hands in clear surrender, and Rachel shoved him out of the way. It wasn't about him anyway, not really. "If you have a problem with my life choices, Ace, have the respect to take it up with me."
Now she had his attention, one hundred and ten percent of it. He was usually so easygoing that she forgot how intense it could be when he fixed his dark gaze on her. "Letting that bastard ink you isn't a life choice. It's a fuck you."
She swallowed hard. "Don't you think you've earned it?"
"Maybe, but there are better ways to say it." He leaned in, the air between them heavy, electric, and even the roar of the crowd around them couldn't shatter the illusion that they were trapped in their own tiny world. "Did you think past sticking it to me? About how long it would take, how much it would sting? How high you'd be flying, with only some fucking outsider there to catch you if you fell too fast?"
"I hate you." The words slipped out, and she immediately wanted to snatch them back. Not because they weren't true--he'd hurt her, more than once, in ways that couldn't have been accidental--but because they revealed too much. How much she cared, when she shouldn't have, not at all.
Her cheeks burned. She turned on her heel and fled, heading for the back hallway and its maze of rooms and exits. Plenty of places to hide until the waves of mortification settled. She'd blame it on the tequila, laugh it off the way they did everything else--
"Rachel, wait."
"No way."
Ace caught her arm and hauled her to a stop. "Fucking hell, woman, stop for a second!"
"What?" She jerked away and smacked her shoulder against the hallway wall. At least the darkness would hide the sudden tears of pain that stung her eyes, though it did nothing to conceal her stupidity. "What do you want from me, Ace?"
"Fuck." His hand hovered over her shoulder. "I want to stop hurting you. But it's the one thing I manage, no matter what I do."
Did he stop to wonder why? To think about all the ways he was in her face, every day, showing her there was nothing he couldn't have if he wanted it? Nothing and no one, including Cruz.
Including her.
"I don't--" Her voice failed her, and she fought to speak past the thick, painful lump in her throat. "I don't want to do this anymore. We should just stay out of each other's way, okay?"
"Easier said than done," he whispered, dropping his hand to her wrist. He slid a fingertip over the cuff obscuring her city bar code, the first tattoo he'd ever given her.
The moment was burned into her memory. Ace had set her at ease with his friendly jokes and warm smiles, turning a terrifying moment into something simple, almost sweet. She'd clung to it, the only solid thing in a whirling storm of uncertainty.
He pulled away. As light as the caress had been, its absence was a punch to the gut. "If you don't trust me with your ink anymore, fine. But Emma's got more talent in one toe than that bastard will ever have in his life. And she's one of us."
"Okay, you win." The words caught on a hitch, and Rachel shook her head. "You always win."
"Sure as hell doesn't feel like it, angel."
"That's your own damn fault." She looked away, toward the low red light glowing at the end of the hallway. "You didn't even ask me why."
"Would you have answered?"
He was leaning closer. She could feel it, and she steeled herself against the seductive tug before she looked up and met his gaze. "Anything."
The space between them was too precise not to be deliberate. He should have been touching her somehow--an accidental bump of his hand, his chest grazing hers when she dragged in a breath--but the prickle over her skin was nothing but pure anticipation.
He let her hang there forever before closing his eyes. "Maybe I don't want to hear you say how much you hate me again. Once a night is all my wounded, delicate heart can handle."
Instead of temper, the words sparked a tiny frisson of guilt. "I meant it. But not the way you think."
The corner of his mouth kicked up. "My mistake. It's the good kind of hate."
"The frustrated kind." He always found a way to hide behind his joking words. Exasperated, Rachel reached down and grabbed his belt buckle, curling her fingers beneath the warm metal. "I know what sorts of games you and Cruz are playing these days. How come you two haven't knocked on my door yet? Think I can't handle it?"
"And what do you think you know?" Ace demanded, his eyes snapping open. His hands hit the wall on either side of her head, caging her. Trapping her. "Don't skimp on the filthy details. You know how I love dirty talk, angel."
She'd lost her mind--it was the only explanation for why she didn't retreat. "You've been sharing your women." She leaned closer, her mouth next to his ear. "Is it about pleasure or conquest, Ace? And do you take turns, or fuck them at the same time?"
"Co
nquest?" His eyes narrowed, and a new expression darkened his features, one she'd never seen directed at her before.
Anger.
Good. She could work with him hating her, too. At least that made sense.
Rachel snatched her hand back. "Sorry, I forgot the rules. Everything's a joke until it's not, and words don't mean anything until you want them to."
The arms on either side of her tensed, muscles flexing under ink. "We fuck them at the same time, because that's what they want. What he wants. Is that what you really need to know? What your city boy's doing now? How filthy he's gotten? Because you sure as fuck don't seem to give a shit about me."
If only.
Her eyes burned, and she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. It didn't stop the first hot tear from spilling down her cheek, or the ragged sob that tore through the knot in her throat.
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck." Ace cupped her cheeks, a warmth on her skin that lingered for only a heartbeat before vanishing. "Ignore me, angel. You're sweet and you're perfect and Cruz is in love with you. You're both too good for the likes of me, so don't cry."
The only thing that hurt worse than his censure was his pity. Desperate for escape from both, Rachel stumbled blindly toward the door. Any place was better than standing in front of Ace, hearing awful, hurtful words spill from her lips, when all she'd ever wanted was--
It doesn't matter. She repeated it like a mantra, a tiny whisper under her breath until she was outside, her breath puffing out into the frigid night air. She was heading in the wrong direction, toward the warehouses instead of the living quarters, but she didn't give a damn.
She had to get away.
It wasn't difficult to track down Rachel. Cruz had successfully stalked more elusive prey across far more expansive terrain, and had done so with less intimate knowledge of his quarry. When Rachel was rattled, she fled to higher ground, to fresh air and open skies.
So he wasn't surprised to find her on the roof. She sat with her back to the low wall edging the rooftop, a nearly empty bottle nestled between her knees. "Emergency tequila," she explained, holding the bottle aloft. Her teeth chattered, and her lips were several shades darker than their usual pink. "To keep me warm."