by Kit Rocha
The way he said it kindled the fantasy in her, too, and she opened her mouth to lick his fingers. Bound and used. It could have felt dirty, shameful, but all she could think about was whether Ace would tremble at the touch of her tongue. What kinds of glorious things he'd say as he fucked deep into her throat.
With the machine still humming along, she didn't realize the pain had stopped. Not until Cruz gripped her chin, his fingers still pressing down on her tongue, and turned her head.
Ace was looking at her. Staring, really, his hand hovering six inches over her skin, the tattoo forgotten as his gaze fixed on her mouth, her lips.
When Cruz pumped his fingers deeper, Ace choked on a strangled noise.
She had to have him. Now.
Rachel twisted, straining against the leather cuffs with a pleading hum, and she knew she'd won when he cut off the machine and rose so fast the wheeled stool went skittering into a nearby shelf and toppled with a clatter.
Ace didn't seem to notice. His hands shook as he ripped open his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. His cock was already hard, lovingly outlined by the faded denim, and she licked her lips as the quick rasp of his zipper shivered up her spine.
She couldn't look away from his hands. Cruz had moved, but she didn't know where until his fingers hooked under her panties, dragging them down her legs, leaving her naked. Bare, but not vulnerable, not until he stepped between the leg-rests on Ace's clever tattoo chair and pushed them wide, spreading her legs with them.
It was instinct to try to draw her legs back together, but Cruz's grip was implacable, holding her in place as his breath tickled over her. "I never asked why you did this," he murmured, brushing his fingers over her bare pussy. "For the shows?"
She struggled not to arch her hips to his touch. "At first. But I like it."
"I bet you do." Ace drew her attention back to him with a hand on her cheek, and his cock was so close, the head almost, almost resting on her lips. "You like to feel exposed, don't you, Rae? More than the pain, more than the rough fucking...you want to be just like this. Spread open and naked where everyone can see."
How could she not get off on the power of being desired like this? "I'm not untouchable anymore," she whispered, stretching out in an attempt to close the distance between them. "So touch me."
His hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head back with delicious roughness. "No, not until Cruz gets his fingers inside you again. Tell him you want them. Tell him you want him to feel how tight and wet your pussy gets when I'm giving it to you fast and hot."
She'd wanted it ten minutes ago. A lifetime. "He knows how hungry I am. How much I ache."
Ace rubbed his cock against her lower lip. "Then tell him for me, angel. So I can hear those filthy words from the mouth I'm about to fuck."
Holy shit. "Cruz," she managed to rasp, though she couldn't quite tear her gaze from Ace's set, determined features. "I want you to fuck me with your hand. Not so you'll know how turned on I am--you already do--but so you can tell Ace. Because I won't be able to."
Cruz didn't answer with words, filthy or otherwise. He answered with action, pumping two fingers into her, giving her a scant moment to savor the pleasure before his tongue found her clit.
It hit her with a shock, like the time she'd tried to replace the solenoid in Dallas's favorite car without unhooking the battery first. She jerked against the cuffs with a cry, and Ace took advantage of her parted lips, fucking deep as Cruz lashed his tongue over her a second time.
So different like this, everyone and everything moving after staying so still. Rachel focused on gliding her tongue over Ace's shaft, quivering when he growled his approval and thrust deeper, his gaze never leaving hers.
And his words...
"Every time," he hissed, rocking back and forth, taking her with all the greedy need they'd both been holding back. "Every time I get your beautiful fucking skin under my needles and watch you get all wet and soft, this is what I imagine. Fucking you until you come all over this chair so hard, I can never give another tattoo without getting turned on."
She'd been so distracted she hadn't noticed the rush creeping up. It was on her now, full force, the cascade of endorphins that left the world fuzzy and gray around the edges. It had happened to her during tattoos before...but never like this.
It freed her from the last of her inhibitions. She sucked harder and rocked her hips against Cruz's fingers, his tongue.
She was dizzy by the time Cruz lifted his head, his beard scraping her inner thigh as he slicked his thumb over her clit. "This is your fantasy, Ace. What happens next?"
Ace eased free of her mouth, shifting his grip from her hair to her throat. His palm covered her collar, pressing it into her skin as he tightened his hand, not cutting off her breath--not quite--but still a dominating weight. "After she comes on your face, I mark her again by coming on hers."
The words did what the hand around her throat couldn't, and she panted for breath. "Please. Please, fuck--"
Cruz stole what was left of her oxygen with a third finger, and they weren't just inside her this time, stretching and still. He played with her, worked them deep, and Ace's face filled her vision, his hot smile, his free hand sliding up and down his cock as he held her tight. "You're so damn wet, aren't you? I love the sound of him fucking your pussy with those big fingers. Does it hurt a little?"
"No." Nothing hurt anymore. Everything was red-hot, glowing with a pleasure she'd only flirted with in the past. "I want more."
"Dirty, perfect girl," Ace whispered, leaning close, his eyes lost to darkness. "You'd let him do it, wouldn't you? You'd let us work you over for hours, until you could take his whole damn hand."
The sheer animal urge to bite him overwhelmed her, and she gave in to it with a moan, locking her teeth at the corner of his mouth. He groaned and pressed closer, grinding into her teeth until she tasted blood--
Cruz sealed his lips around her clit and sucked hard.
She came even harder. The back of her head hit the chair as she tried to chase the orgasm, drawing out every blinding moment. But she didn't have to, because every clench of her inner muscles around Cruz's fingers sent new pulses of pleasure rocketing through her.
She vaguely heard words, sounds--their voices, full of pleasure and approval. She might have screamed, loud and long, because the vibration was what followed her down into the darkness. Her whole body was alive, singing, and she never wanted it to stop.
Ace put his dick away.
Not the most comfortable choice, but a big part of his fantasy included having Rachel aware enough to appreciate the big finish. He took her fuzzy-headed floating as the compliment it was, and decided the rest of the outline could wait. Another round with the needles would just send her flying again, and that wouldn't work.
He had a whole different big finish in mind now.
They got Rachel untied, and Cruz settled into the chair with Rachel curled against his chest while Ace smoothed med-gel over her tattoo. The unfinished outline was lopsided, one wing missing, the angel's dress fading into nothingness. His streak of artistic perfectionism wanted to kick his ass, but then Rachel moaned and shifted languidly, and his brain shut down with a single half-hearted promise.
Later.
She stirred again, rubbing her cheek against Cruz's skin. "We moved."
Ace kissed the back of her shoulder. "You said you wanted more. That wasn't the position to give it to you."
She smiled lazily. "You two would find a way."
"Not for this." Cruz slid his hands down to cup her ass. "Not the first time we're both inside you."
The smile melted into a soft, pleading noise, and she dug her fingernails into his arms. Ace met Cruz's gaze and found shared purpose there, a second of communion hotter than having his hand around the other man's dick.
No conflict, no complications. They knew what Rachel wanted, and they wanted to give it to her. "Ace first," Cruz said, taking control of the moment with an ease that would have m
ade Ace smug in any other instance. Any time he wasn't thirty seconds from working his way into Rachel's virgin ass.
She turned her head and looked back at him, her hazel eyes gone dark with arousal. "Is this part of your fantasy?" The words held a teasing lilt, and she arched her back, lifting her ass to his view. And because God hated him--or loved him--Cruz shifted his grip, digging his fingers into her ass and spreading her cheeks.
Rachel was on display in the lewdest, most gorgeous way possible, and Ace's hand shook as he tried to get the damn lube open. Not because of the fantasy, but because of the sure, certain fucking knowledge that Rachel and Cruz could be bundled up in snowsuits, snoring and maybe drooling, and they'd still be the hottest damn thing he'd ever seen.
Not exactly poetry, but maybe it would be enough. They would never turn to him for protection or support, never expect him to say the right thing when they were hurting. But they trusted him with the most naked parts of themselves, with their base, unfettered need--
No, it wasn't poetry. But Rachel whimpered when he pressed the slick head of his cock against her ass, rubbing and taunting with just enough force to let her feel it before easing back, and it didn't need to be poetry, because it was art. Fucking into her a little at a time, knowing which words to growl, which to whisper. He gave her encouragement as he worked her open, stretching her bit by bit, an act that could have been as shallow as lust and getting balls-deep in a tight, hot ass--
But it never was. It was living raw and to the edge of who you were, stripping away all the layers of bullshit that kept you alive in the unsafe parts of the world. It was the sound she made as he finally took his first shallow thrust--sharp and relieved, as if he'd broken open her world.
Rachel wanted to be herself, strong and powerful, making all of her own choices. Cruz understood that. But he still didn't understand this, the moment when Rachel's choice was to have no choices, to be taken, tenderly used, lovingly violated.
Cruz could give her love and all the right words, but at least Ace could give her this. His hand around her throat, his cock buried in her tight, tight ass, his mouth on her ear as he ground her clit down against Cruz's jean-clad cock. "You feel that dick? You want it inside you, don't you? One's not enough for you anymore."
She lifted one hand to his wrist, wrapped her fingers around it with a trembling moan. "Not when I can have this instead."
Ace withdrew, ignoring her groan of protest, and jerked her back, manhandling her into position until she was straddling Cruz's knees. "Open his pants," he ordered, taking back control. Here, now, there was no room for Cruz's brand of gentlemanly filth.
Rough and brutal, that was the only thing they'd never given her--and Ace didn't know if he should pray for Cruz to be a quick learner, or pray for him to never get it. As long as Cruz hovered on the wrong side of that line, they'd always need Ace.
And Rachel needed this. Her hands shook with excitement as she fought with Cruz's belt, her breath coming in short pants, and Ace slapped her hip. "Get out his cock and ask for permission to ride it."
"Please," she said eagerly as she eased the zipper down and reached into his jeans. "Let me--let me ride you--"
Ace used the hand across her throat to haul her back against his chest and slid the other down to lightly slap her clit. "That sounded like a demand to me."
"Oh, fuck." Rachel shuddered, her eyes unfocused as she looked down at Cruz. "Can I--that's what I meant. Can I ride you? I'll make it good, I swear I will."
Cruz pressed his thumb to her lips, rubbing back and forth so gently that it made his words all the more lewd. "What do you think, Ace? Am I still being too easy on her?"
"Fuck yeah." Ace rubbed his fingertips over her, reveling as her hips jerked every time he brushed her clit. "If I were you, I'd make her say, please, Sir, shove that big manly cock into my tight, hungry pussy. But that's not your style, and that's not what it's really about, is it, Rae?"
"I--I don't know." Her skin heated as she writhed between them, captive and captivated, and her next words came on a whisper that sounded like a confession. "I love it like this. When you tease me until I can't stand it anymore, and it doesn't matter what I say or how much I beg."
Because it wouldn't be submission if she could say a magic word and get exactly what she wanted. There was no trust in that, no real satisfaction. Begging was her final grasp for control, and being denied was permission to let go and float on freedom.
Cruz's gaze clashed with his, and maybe he did get it. His thumb slipped from Rachel's lip, and his hand traced down the center of her body until his fingers tangled with Ace's. They stroked her together, driving another whimper from her lips. "It doesn't matter," Cruz repeated, the words rough-edged and harsh. "Because you'll get what we want to give you, when we're ready for you to have it."
The tiniest question lingered under the words, and Ace answered it with his lips against Rachel's temple. "The begging's just a bonus. A hot, sexy bonus."
"Oh God." Her hips bucked against their hands, and she dragged in a sobbing breath. "Please, please--I need it. I need you both--"
She was past the point of grace. Ace had to help her lift her hips, but then he held her there, shaking and pleading as Cruz stroked the head of his cock over her, up to her clit and back, poised to push into her...
He waited. Looked to Ace and held, every muscle tight with anticipation, with the struggle it must have been to give up control, even in this tiny way.
Ace had never needed control, not the way some of the other guys did, but that didn't make it any less hot to have the two of them hovering on the edge, waiting for a release only he could give them.
He nodded, and Cruz thrust up, driving into Rachel as Ace dragged her down to meet him. She went tense, rigid, then ground against Cruz with a startled, shuddering cry.
Coming already, and hard, judging from the way Cruz's head tilted back, pleasure twisting his features. And it would have been better to drag it out, make her come around him again and again, but that was the problem with being an artist. You could bleed out every feeling inside you, splash it across the canvas in an orgy of creation, but in the end you'd still be staring at an imperfect reflection, so fixated on the flaws that you could never share in the joy of discovery.
Rachel was made of joy. She was overflowing with it, shaking as Ace spilled more lube over his hand. The bottle slipped to the floor, but he focused on stroking his cock and positioning it, savoring the way she moaned when she realized what was about to happen.
It was clumsy and a little uncoordinated, and he shuddered as he buried his first two inches in the impossible clenching heat of her ass, but God, you couldn't see the imperfections when you were part of the art. Everything was slick and hot and good, and he leaned over to grip the head of the chair, burying his face in her hair as he flexed his hips again. "Fucking hell."
"Now." Rachel's fingers brushed his cheek, and she breathed his name. "All of you."
All of him. All of his cock, surging into her, all of his control, slipping away. He couldn't even find a profane word to say, because Cruz had shifted his grip to Ace's ass, and Rachel was crushed between them, so tight and hot and wet and warm and any of those would be perfectly serviceable filth if he let them roll off his tongue with the right undertone of approval, but when he parted his lips, the only thing he could manage was another groan.
Cruz slid into the silence, driving up into Rachel with a grunt. "Do you still want more?"
"Always, love." Dreamy words, shivery and appreciative. "Everything I can get."
"Then tell him." He freed one hand to tangle in the chain swinging from her collar, twisting it tight to tilt her head back. "We both know what he likes. Filthy, dirty, hungry begging."
But she didn't beg. "The first time I saw you was in this room," she murmured softly. "You were covering my bar code from the city, and you made me forget that I was all alone."
Ace sank his hand into her hair and turned her head, just far enough to
press his forehead to her temple. "You were never alone, not after that day. I took your bar code and gave you ink."
She rocked, down and back, against Cruz and then Ace. When she spoke again, her voice had gone low and husky, thick with pleasure. "You took my heart, too."
He didn't deserve it. He never had, not when she'd held it out the first time, not when he'd smashed it without noticing. He didn't deserve her now, like this, moving between him and Cruz, giving them both everything, because the sweetest, most reckless gift she'd ever given Ace was a second chance to crush her.
He couldn't promise not to hurt her, but he could promise something else, the safety net that had brought them together, the one reason he wasn't just a reckless asshole playing cruel games.
No one deserved Rachel, but Cruz came close. So Ace put his trust in him, following the other man's movements as they drove Rachel up and up, until she teetered on the edge of another orgasm, one that threatened to sweep them all away.
Ace found her ear with his lips and whispered the most important truth, the one he'd cut out his own heart to protect. "You'll never be alone again."
Cruz would keep that promise, even if Ace couldn't.
Chapter Seventeen
Cruz had to give Dallas O'Kane credit--for a man with a reputation for having a short fuse and zero subtlety, he had a hell of a lot of patience.
Noah had followed the tracking signal to the main warehouse the first night, but Dallas had held back. With the tracer in place, they had an opportunity the Sector Four leader couldn't pass up--the chance to make a list of every outpost, every delivery, every person or place who'd had a damn thing to do with making or taking the bootlegged liquor.
When O'Kane set out to send a message, he didn't do it by half.