by Kit Rocha
It hadn't been perfect. The keys felt different than the piano she'd learned on, but even the missed notes hadn't bothered her, not when the sound was so rich, so full. She'd fallen into it, unaware that her father had risen and crossed to her side. Not until the last note echoed in the room, and he shattered the peace of her spell by dropping a heavy hand to her shoulder.
But when she looked up, her father was beaming at his second-in-command, a humorless man in his mid-thirties who oversaw all of the Fleming factories. "See what a prize I'm giving you, Logan?"
That was how Lili learned who her husband would be.
Her fifteenth birthday had taught her many things. That gifts were traps, and that getting older meant adding to the list of things you had to endure. It taught her that her father could backhand the mother of his children so hard he split her lip and bruised her jaw, and no one would twitch so much as a finger to help her up from the floor--especially if she deserved the blow for daring to suggest fifteen was too young for marriage.
But it was during the weeks leading up to her wedding that Lili and her mother both learned the most important lesson of Sector Five: no husband was unbearable when you had unlimited access to drugs.
Lili kept hers lined up next to the kitchen sink in neatly labeled bottles, the end result of five years' worth of experimentation in the best ways to detach. Nothing addictive, of course--it would be incredibly gauche for her to dabble in the common drugs her husband and father peddled on the street--but a single pill from the right bottle could grant sleepy peace or pleasant indifference or even icy numbness.
It had been a long time since she'd felt anything but icy numbness.
She was reaching for that bottle when the front door slammed open. Her fingers closed around the plastic, the tablets rattling in her suddenly shaky hand. It was too late for breakfast but too early for lunch, and Logan rarely made an appearance for either in any case.
"Pour a few drinks, Logan, and we'll toast our success." Her father, his voice smug and pleased.
Footsteps in the hallway. Lili was still in her nightgown and robe, her hair around her shoulders and her feet bare. Unforgivable enough in front of only Logan, but potentially disastrous if he'd brought her father and a business contact home for a celebratory drink.
But she didn't panic. She had vague memories of how fear felt--a quickening pulse, a tightness in her chest, thoughts that seemed to race. But that was the beauty of numbness. She had all the time in the world to float across the cool tiles, and no shame at all at the indignity of hiding from her husband and father in the pantry.
She pulled the slatted door shut as Logan rounded the corner, his expression as stern as ever in spite of whatever news her father felt compelled to celebrate. The liquor cabinet stood across from the pantry, its shelves lined with expensive bottles displayed like works of art.
Logan appreciated having his property exhibited to best effect. Especially his wife.
"You'll understand if I don't stock your specialty," Logan said, the words filled with a pleasure his hard features didn't reflect.
And the words themselves made no sense at all until a third man stepped around the corner with a laugh. "That's what I like about you Sector Five bastards. None of this sanctimonious fuckery about a quality product. You save the good shit for yourselves and fuck the little guy."
Lili's father snorted. "If the little guy wants quality, he can damn well get rich enough to buy it."
Logan poured liquor into a glass--O'Kane liquor, by the looks of it--and handed it to her father. "And if he prefers quantity--or can be encouraged to require it--far be it from us to deny him."
"Mmm." Mac clinked his glass against the third man's. "I'm so glad you understood what an opportunity it would be for us to collaborate on this. You're a visionary, Mr. Tierney. Much more forward-thinking than O'Kane."
"He'll be too busy going to war with Liam Riley to do much thinking. Pete passed the word--Liam's already been summoned for a meeting. I'll be on Dallas O'Kane's throne inside a week. And maybe on that woman of his, too."
"The bitch from Sector Two?" The slur fell from Logan's twisted lips as he shook his head. "I'd put her down, if I were you. No whore tricks could be fancy enough to risk one of Cerys's vipers in your bed."
Pain throbbed in Lili's hand, and she realized she'd clenched her fist around the bottle until its hard edges dug into her palm. She loosened her fingers--carefully, so carefully. She kept her breathing careful, too. No sudden gasps. Nothing.
Being the daughter of a man like Mac Fleming meant hearing things. Being the wife of a man like Logan meant knowing things. It was part of the life, the dark corners you pretended weren't there. Innocence was her only defense against suspicion, because if they ever suspected you'd heard too much--
Lili thought about her mother, crumpled on the floor, blood splattered on the front of her perfect dress. She thought of the bland look in the eyes of her father's men--in Logan's eyes--all of them staring politely past the woman sobbing as she struggled against dizziness and pain to rise.
If her father ever realized she'd overheard him plotting against another sector leader, having her jaw cracked would seem like a mercy. So she'd forget. She'd be numb. She'd be innocent.
She'd be ice.
Chapter Sixteen
It was the first time Rachel had ever been bound to a chair.
Cruz stroked a finger over one wide leather cuff, tracing along its edge and up to the inside of her arm. "Is there any practical reason for these to be here?"
Ace wasn't listening. He was wholly, completely focused on the curve of her ribs, beneath her breast, his gaze a mixture of admiration and something just short of worship.
Rachel answered for him. "People squirm. But that's not why they're there."
"You're not squirming," Ace murmured, proving some words penetrated. "How you doing, Rae?"
He'd barely gotten started. The scrape of needle over flesh was still stinging and sharp. "It's not so bad."
"Good. Make it through the outline, and we'll make you squirm plenty."
His hair fell over his forehead, and he stared up at her through it with eyes that burned with the same carnal promise as his words. It accomplished what the needles hadn't yet--it made her fidget, jerking her wrists against the tightly buckled leather.
Apparently satisfied, Ace smoothed a gloved hand over her stomach with a soothing noise. "Not yet, angel. You don't want fuzzy lines, do you?"
"Then stop teasing me."
"He doesn't know how to stop." Cruz tilted her face toward him with a gentle hand under her chin. "Especially not with you."
Cruz's gaze was just as steamy, just as fraught, but he looked at her differently. So solemn, serious, even at times like this.
Rachel couldn't help it. She smiled.
Cruz touched his thumb to her mouth, the corners of his own lips lifting slowly. "How does it feel?" he asked as the buzz of the needle resumed.
"So far? Irritating." She whispered the words against his thumb. "But it's still good, because I know what's coming." The giddy rush.
"Do you?" He leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek. "He has you strapped in this time. Helpless."
She always was, whether she was shackled or not. That was why the bondage didn't matter to her one way or another, because what really held her captive was the sheer force of their desire. It pressed in on her already, stilling her movements when Ace's machine focused on the skin stretched taut over one of her ribs.
Pain flared, and she sucked in a quick breath before swallowing--hard.
"I know," Ace said softly, running his fingers over the spot. "Just a few lines up this high. But you're good, aren't you? Like a rock. Jas whines more than you do."
"The big ones always--" Rachel's words cut off with a hiss. Ace had moved on to a less sensitive area, but it was like that one moment of pain had set her entire body on alert, and there was no going back. The next touch of the needle screamed, and she bit
her lip.
Cruz cupped her cheek, his skin hot on hers, his hand large enough to cover the side of her head but still so painfully gentle. "How does it feel now?"
"It doesn't tickle," she managed.
"I'm sure it doesn't." With her body sensitized, his fingers rasped tauntingly over her skin as he smoothed that huge hand down to rest across her throat. "That's not what I asked, sweetheart. Tell me what you feel."
Hot. Her left side was on fire, and that heat had begun licking through her, spreading even faster at the gentle pressure of his hand around her throat. "It hurts," she murmured. "God, it's going to be so good."
"Only if you can stay still." Ace repositioned once more, hitting another spot that stung, the needle breaking the skin over and over. "Can you do that, Rae? Even with him touching you?"
"Yes." The answer came without thought, her voice dreamy and slow. This was always how it started, with a clumsy tongue she couldn't quite control.
Cruz slid his hand lower, circling one broad fingertip around her nipple. "Maybe I should test you. See how much you can take without moving."
"He wants to play with you." Ace's voice was rough around the edges, ragged, like the pain as he traced across her ribs again. "You should have heard the shit he was saying to me in the shower yesterday. Your city boy's got a massive hard-on for all sorts of filthy goodness."
She barely bit back her moan. "You took a fucking shower together?"
"Whoops." The pain eased for a second as Ace rolled the stool up to the reclined head of the chair. "Don't blame him, I'm the one who started the half-naked fight."
Cruz grunted. "I was totally naked, as I recall."
"Details." Ace leaned over her, the fall of his hair tickling her forehead. "All I'm saying is, it wasn't premeditated. But if you feel left out, we can reenact it tomorrow."
It was impossible not to imagine it. Hell, even a saint would have--skin against skin, wet and muscled. And the noises--
Jesus Christ.
A shiver of heat low in her body had her squirming again, and she stretched up, trying to reach Ace's mouth.
"Uh-uh." He hovered just out of reach, a wicked smile her last glimpse before he vanished back down her body. "Patience, angel. But if you need a distraction, why don't you ask Cruz about a few of those ideas he whispered in my ear while I was jerking him off?"
"Shit, you're evil." Her skin prickled as the tattoo machine began to buzz again, mirroring the anticipation vibrating through her. She turned her head to Cruz, who waited until the needle had jabbed into her skin before smiling and catching her nipple between his thumb and finger.
Gently, still gently. But his eyes held hers, gaze intent. "Are you ready?"
She froze, even held her breath, and nodded.
All that gentleness turned to steel as he pinched tight. It hurt more than the constant, repetitive sting of the needle because it was more intense, a rush of sensation instead of a slowly rising wave. She steeled herself not to move as the pain crested, then subsided in a haze of relief so sharp she whimpered.
Silver caught the light, drawing her attention as Cruz lifted his free hand. A nipple clamp, like the ones everyone knew Ace kept in his studio. But these were different, a fact Cruz confirmed as he gently drew the magnetic cross bars apart and fitted the circle around her nipple.
"He got these just for you, you know." When he released the tips, the magnetic bars flew together, pinching almost as tight as his fingers had. "I made him show me everything. It'll take months to try it all, and every last piece he chose while thinking about using them on you."
It was unexpectedly sweet, the thought of Ace poring over items until he found exactly the ones he wanted, the ones that made him think of her. "Why?"
Cruz tugged at her other nipple, sending a shiver through her as he teased it tight enough to fit the other clamp in place. "Are you going to answer her, Ace?"
He grunted, not glancing up from her side, but she swore he looked self-conscious. "Hell, I don't know. Because it was different. It was..."
He trailed off, and Cruz brushed the collar around her throat. "It's a commitment."
It was hers, something he'd never given anyone else. "Thank you."
Ace rallied, flashing her a dirty smile as he reached for fresh ink. "I don't know why you're thanking me. You're strapped in my chair, under my needles, wearing nothing but tiny lace panties and sexy little nipple clamps. It's my best fucking day ever."
By the time it was over, Rachel had no doubt she'd be saying the same.
Cruz leaned over her, one hand trailing almost absently down her leg as he studied the beginnings of the tattoo. The bright blue of the marker was giving way to smooth, perfect black lines--her angel, caught in a joyful, dizzying dive, and Ace had captured everything she'd wanted. The rush, the freedom, even the paradox of lust and innocence, as the wind caught at the angel's modest gown, tugging it tight around a body bent in a sensuous, blissful arc.
"It's going to be beautiful," Cruz said, stroking his fingertips higher. "Perfect."
Everything Ace created was, whether he realized it or not. "What colors?" she asked, staring down at his hands as he moved the needle across her skin.
"Come on, Rae. You know what angels wear."
"Oh." White, the color that hurt the most. Ace had explained the reason to her before, but she'd been flying high already, fuzzy-headed and practically writhing from the dreamy heat of arousal.
"Mm-hmm." He rested a hand on her stomach. "Don't worry, it won't be all white. And I'll go easy on you...until you're begging me to go hard."
The heat of Cruz's palm settled across her thigh, his fingertips brushing the edge of her panties. "I think she's ready to do that now."
Rachel caught herself before she twisted up toward Cruz's touch, but she couldn't hold back her moan.
He made her wait. One endless moment, then another, with Ace burning lines of shivery pain into her skin and the clamps taunting her nipples with an ache too soft to be anything but pleasure. His gaze caught hers, held, and his thumb swept one slow line over her skin.
"What am I going to find when I move my hand?" he murmured. "Are you wet already?"
"Yes." A confession and a plea, all at once. She was torn between the anticipation of his touch and the pain dragging at her as Ace worked on her ink, and if one of them didn't give soon...
Cruz shifted his hand, brushing her abdomen as he slid down, down, down. Under her panties, over her pussy, fingers curling to cup her possessively. "Does he know what he does to you? Have you ever told him?"
She almost nodded, then stopped. Had she? It had always seemed so damn obvious that there was no way Ace couldn't know. But she'd never said the words because it would mean another layer stripped away, one more vulnerability on top of so many more.
"Ace turns me on," she said instead. "He always has. But that's not why I want him so much."
Cruz rocked his hand slowly, the heel of it a heavy pressure above her clit. Not direct enough to satisfy her, but enough to stoke her need, to deepen it. "Why do you want him?"
She couldn't have held back the truth, even without the encroaching haze of pleasure and pain colliding. "It's not the sex. I want him. The things he doesn't show anyone else."
Cruz held her open with two fingers and edged the third inside her, another shallow tease. "I'm lucky. I get to see all those things every time he looks at you. Especially when you're like this..."
"Like--" The word died as a pulse of pleasure rocked her, and Rachel shuddered, breaking her stillness. "Sorry, I'm sorry--"
"Cruz." Ace's voice held a warning, and the buzzing stopped. "I don't do wobbly lines, so if you can't keep your fingers out of her pussy--"
"She can do it." Cruz slid his free hand beneath her head, pressing his forehead to hers. His finger pushed deeper, broad and stretching all on its own, and even more overwhelming when he eased back and worked a second in alongside it. "Just this," he whispered against her lips. "You'll do it f
or me, won't you? Stay so very still, so I can feel how your pussy clenches when he hurts you."
There was no fucking way. The penetration alone was enough to tip her down a slippery slope of sensation, and if he kept talking, she'd never be able to stop.
But for Cruz, she'd try. She'd do anything.
Rachel balled her hands into fists and nodded, her lips brushing his. "I can."
"I know." He settled his arm more heavily across her body, pinning her in place. Ace started again, working his way down her side inch by dizzying inch.
The pain hit her in waves that left her pussy clamping around Cruz's fingers with each harsh crest. She hadn't been aware of it before, not exactly, but there was no escaping the sensation now. Every ripple drew him deeper, until it felt like he was fucking her, even though he hadn't moved his hand at all.
He moved his mouth, though, along her cheek, straight to her ear, where he groaned. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Staying so still. If you can hold it a little longer, we'll let you come. Do you want that?"
For a heartbeat, she was scared to open her mouth, scared that letting go just enough to answer would open the floodgates and she'd lose all control--
Except she didn't have control. Cruz did, and he always would. So she sucked in a shaky breath and released it on a sigh. "Yes. I want it."
"Look at me, Rachel."
He had his hand in her hair, and it pulled as she turned her head to obey. Every line of his face was hard, as sharp as the needles piercing her skin, and his gaze trapped hers. Held it. "Tell me the truth. Am I still being too gentle with you?"
"I don't want gentle." The words came in a dreamy rush, truth bypassing any part of her brain that might have constructed a lie. "I want you to need me like I need you."
His fingers flexed inside her. "I always do."
"It's more than that," Ace said, the rasping edge of his voice a tangible caress. "Need's a given, brother. She wants you to take."
Take. Her inner muscles gripped Cruz's fingers, so tight that he didn't even have to move for the contact to blaze through her.
He sucked in a breath, his hand tensing at the back of her head. "Then we'll take you. Just like this. Tied down, trembling and wet, already close to coming." She whimpered as he slipped his fingers free, and again when he brought them to her lips. "This is one of his fantasies, you know. Fucking your mouth while you're bound. I wonder how hard you'd squeeze me then."