by Kit Rocha
She’d escaped from Sector Two, but the weight of it still pressed down on her as Ford’s gaze swept back over her breasts and toward her face. “What do you see?” she whispered, barely daring to hope.
“Soft.” His breath caressed her skin. “Sweet.” He licked her again, tracing his tongue down the curve of one breast. “Beautiful.” He sucked her nipple into his mouth with a groan.
It was too much. She gasped and sank her fingers into his short hair, clutching at the back of his head as her own tipped back. Sharp, bright points of pleasure flared every time he sucked, and there was nothing lazy or easy about it.
She opened her mouth—to ask, plead, something—and his hand shifted, his fingers slipping through wet folds. He found her clit with a firm, circling touch that never seemed to cease, only recede and come rushing back as each rough fingertip slid over her in turn.
“Oh—” It was all she could say, the same noise over and over again. She was gasping, panting, squirming on his fingers without grace or thought or any care to how awkward it would be the next time she had to sit down at his desk and try to concentrate on work and not how it felt to be riding his hand.
He wound a hand in her hair and tugged her head back. “Do it again.”
She wasn’t doing anything, and that realization should have terrified her. There was no thought in her now, no control. Every sound, every movement—it was pure impulse. Instinct and desire.
Truth.
The reckless danger of it only made everything hotter. He’d bared her throat, his fingers twisting tight enough in her hair to trip the line between pleasure and pain, and his words drifted back, a memory edged with new heat.
I could savage you with a bite.
She lifted her chin higher with a shaky moan, offering him the vulnerable line of her throat in silent trust.
He took it, closing his teeth on her skin with a groan. His fingers pushed deeper, curling into her as he pressed the heel of his palm against her clit.
Her body seized. The bite was delicious pain, the kind that burned into pleasure, but his fingers— She’d known it would sting, but his fingers were so broad and there were three of them, and she was so far past deception. She couldn’t bite back her hiss of pain or hide her flinch as she struggled to relax, to adjust—
It was his turn to freeze.
She took a careful breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I just—I need a second—”
“Shh.” He didn’t stop, only eased back until the blunt tip of one finger remained inside her. “Like this.”
The discomfort had already faded. One finger was enough to stretch gently as she rocked onto it, pushing him deeper, and she shuddered as that need built, slower this time. Fuller, somehow, and not only because she was hyperaware of the intimacy of taking him into her body.
Another finger joined that one as Ford licked the bitten spot on her neck and made another low noise. “That’s it, baby. Take it.”
Approving words, and God, she hadn’t realized how badly she needed it. Discomfort didn’t matter. She clutched at his hair and panted, willing her body to relax, to accept him, to welcome the way he stroked deep and filled her. “I’ll take more,” she whispered shakily. Begged. “Let me, for you.”
“Damn straight you will,” he growled. “When I give it to you. Say it, Mia.”
She lifted her head and met his eyes, and even though the world felt hazy, he was sharp. All perfect lines, strong jaw, and full lips. His brows lowered over intense, commanding eyes, and her heart pounded.
Her choice. This wasn’t Sector Two, and no man would ever own her again. It was her choice, and she’d already made it when she bared her throat to him. “Yes. I’ll take what you give to me.”
“When I give it to you.”
The pressure inside her was shifting toward discomfort again, but not from the size of his fingers. She wanted to rock and squirm against the heel of his hand until the achy tension snapped. It was torture to hold still like this, shaky and helpless as she stared at a release she couldn’t quite reach.
But that was the game, wasn’t it? Granting him power, trusting in the implicit promise that he’d give her something in return. That was the lie everything in Two was built on—the promise no man was expected to keep.
She wasn’t in Sector Two anymore.
Mia dropped her hands to his broad shoulders and splayed her fingers wide, struggling with the temptation to simply move and seek her own pleasure. “I’ll take what you give me,” she repeated softly, her voice only trembling a little. “When you give it to me.”
“Yes.” His fingers curled inside her, and he rotated his hand against her clit in slow circles of pressure, each one harder than the last, each one sparking along her nerves until she was on fire. “And I will, baby. I’ll fucking give it to you.”
“Oh—” she gasped, and that was all she got out before she flew apart.
Her body clenched. All of it, but nothing as fast and hard as her pussy, and even the throbbing pleasure couldn’t wipe away awareness of how exposed she was. He’d feel every shuddering pulse as she squeezed tight around his fingers, the proof that she wanted him.
Wanted more.
He continued to stroke her, slowing bit by bit, until she could think again. Then he pulled his hand away and settled it on her hip. “You’ve got a story, don’t you, Mia?”
Her limbs were liquid. She dropped her head to his shoulder, huddling close to all that warm skin. “Everyone has a story these days.”
“But yours is particularly interesting, I can tell.”
She wanted to play dumb, but it would have been another lie. A rebellious one, perhaps, but still deception. So she was blunt, instead. Crude. “Not really. Virgin whores are Sector Two’s most valuable commodity. Because that’s all that counts, right? Not what I know, not what I’ve done. Just whether or not some guy gets to be the first to shove his dick into me.”
“I guess,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about Two.”
He hadn’t reacted with anger or distaste, and some of the tension eased from the knot that had formed between her shoulder blades. Turning her cheek to his chest, she lifted her other hand to trace his collarbone, and the fact that he allowed the idle caress relaxed her further.
She was safe here. As safe as anyone could be, and that made it easier to talk. “They handle most of Eden’s trade with other cities. That’s why it’s so nice there compared to the other sectors, and why we had so many extravagant things. We—they got the luxury in exchange for taking all the risks.”
“And why all their customs look so pretty—on the outside.”
Yes, Ford would understand the business advantages. “Orchids have the most intense training, but the girls are meant to be more than companionship. We’re hostesses. Entertainment. Assets.”
She hesitated, her fingertip poised at the base of his throat. He had stubble, a lot of it, and now she knew how it felt against her skin. The intoxicating rasp of it, the shivery sensation. He was still hard beneath her, and if she shifted just right, the ridge of his cock would grind tauntingly against her sensitive pussy.
Might as well tell him all of it. A man like Ford must already suspect, if he didn’t know outright. “And we’re...spies, I suppose. I had a patron, but my loyalty was never meant for him. I learned that before I knew anything else.”
Ford snorted. “No shit. It wouldn’t do Cerys any damn good to train up her girls and then let them go, not really.”
“Because you’re thinking about her like she’s a businessperson.” It was amazing how many men in Two didn’t, even though Cerys ruled the sector as surely as Dallas O’Kane held Sector Four. “They don’t think it’s odd that she’d spend years training women to sell to them. Because the men think they deserve us. That they’re entitled to us.”
“Then what they really deserve is to get their dumb asses spied on.” Ford tilted her head up with his finger under her chin. “Who
was he? The man who thought he was entitled to you?”
“Vaughn Tyler.” Even the name tasted bitter, but she managed a wry smile. “It’s funny, in a way. He didn’t think virginity had anything to do with his dick, either. I wasn’t vapid and ignorant, so that meant I was filthy and used up before he ever touched me. Which is why he didn’t.”
“You know that’s bullshit, right?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “If I believed it, I’d still be there, letting him—” She ground her teeth together and jerked her gaze from his before her vulnerable defensiveness showed him everything. “I’m sorry. I know it’s bullshit. I do. But it was getting under my skin. Anything will, if you give it long enough.”
Ford nodded slowly. “Yeah, it will. Sometimes in ways you don’t even realize.”
It was true, and Ford was proof of it. It was like she was riddled with thorns that had been there so long she couldn’t feel them anymore, not until Ford brushed a sensitive spot and pulled one free. First the sting, then the giddy relief—
But it went both ways. He’d ground a few deeper, too, and would do it again if she kept hiding the things that hurt her. And one thorn was buried so deep, the thought of being free of it left her dizzy.
She wiggled back, careful not to put too much weight on his legs as she lifted her body from his and curled her fingers under the waistband of his underwear.
He locked his fingers around her wrist. “I wasn’t just waiting out my turn to get off.”
“I know,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “I want—” Words failed her. She wanted something selfish, something impossible to explain without laying out the ugly truth and killing the moment. She’d have to tell him about those miserable trips to Vaughn’s office. The heavy smell of liquor. The shadows, everywhere except for the sad bit of carpet where she knelt, naked but for her pride.
Neither of them had enjoyed those nights. Oh, Vaughn had achieved physical release every time, his fist sliding over his cock, fast and furtive, his gaze jumping across her body with hunger and loathing. But he’d hated it. He’d blamed her for every agonizing second, from the first stirrings of his unwanted erection to the instant he spilled across his hand, furious at his own weakness.
So he’d vented it on her. Slut and whore and filthy temptress and a hundred boring variations that she’d done her best to tune out, letting them roll past her like meaningless sound. That was all they’d ever been—a pitiful man’s guilt and confusion, all because blaming her was easier than accepting himself.
They’d still gotten under her skin.
None of that was in Ford’s eyes now as he watched her, or in his voice as he let go of her wrist. “Okay. Just wanted you to know, that’s all.”
Her hands shaking, she freed his erection. It was every bit as large as she’d imagined, hot and hard beneath her touch. And thick—her thumb didn’t meet her fingertips when she circled the shaft, and she shivered at the thought of rising up on her knees and trying to take him into her body. It would take patience to do it without pain—or a need that transcended discomfort.
She had a different need right now, one that left no room for patience as he wrapped his hand around his cock.
“The night I met you,” she whispered, “you offered to jerk off in front of me.”
“I remember.” He stroked the hard length once—and grinned.
All those lazy, sated places inside her tensed with renewed interest, and she swore she could taste her own racing pulse as she watched his hand. “Does looking at me make you hard?”
“Every time you lick your lips, buttercup.”
And he’d never hate her for it. She proved it by letting her tongue dart out, swiping it across her lower lip. “You like my tongue?”
“Mmm.” He followed her movements, then pressed his thumb between her lips. “I do.”
She caught his thumb between her teeth and licked the tip. Slow, taunting, the way she’d lick his cock if he asked her nicely enough, warm and wet and easy until he got growly and demanded more.
“I can jerk myself off,” he said casually. Lazily. “Or you could show me what else you can do with your tongue.”
Oh, she could do so many things. Dirty things, clever ones—things she’d never had the opportunity to try on someone whose dark eyes sparked with such intense hunger that no attempts to be casual could cover it.
She’d seen boredom. There were men in Orchid House—handsome, vacant men who could be trusted not to cross any lines or develop affections. They endured clumsy blowjobs with relaxed stoicism, offering bland critiques and even blander encouragement, everything carefully sterile and technical.
Uninspiring.
Ford was anything but. She let his thumb slip free of her lips and turned to nuzzle his hand, dizzy with anticipation and something else, something wild. The game that they’d started playing and hadn’t quite stopped, with its slippery exchange of power and trust.
Trust was fragile to start. He could have ordered her to her knees, demanded she part her lips. He could have fucked her mouth so deep she choked on his dick. She would have obeyed because she wanted to, but some tiny part of her would have wondered if she’d done it because obedience was easy when it only scratched the surface.
This would be different. Deeper. She pressed her cheek to his palm and met his eyes, knowing he might never understand the significance of this moment, and how much it cost her to let go of the control that had kept her safe when it was the closest thing to freedom she’d ever tasted.
“You know the answer,” she said, letting the words drop to a husky whisper that matched the heavy warmth uncurling inside her. “I’ll take what you give me, when you give it to me.”
Heat gleamed in his eyes. “That’s right, Mia.”
It was too much again, too intense. She broke free of his gaze and turned to kiss his fingertips, wishing desperately he’d already growled an order at her. Frantic and uncivilized—that felt good. She could drown in the passion instead of trembling through moments like this, naked and vulnerable, too aware she was being reckless with her body and her heart.
But when he spoke, it twisted her trembling even higher. “Go on, sweetheart,” he growled, low and taunting. Tempting. “Suck my dick.”
Yes.
No wonder Lex had come here, to these people who seemed oblivious to the idea of shame. Or maybe she’d helped corrupt them. Mia peeked at Ford’s face as she slid to the floor, and his anticipation and approval mirrored everything inside her.
She couldn’t shock him. Not by needing or wanting, not by being willing to take—or give. She stroked her fingers over his thighs. Fresh scars broke the skin of one leg, angry and jagged, and guilt twinged at the thought of him twisted onto this couch all night, suffering to give her space.
That wouldn’t happen again. She made the silent promise to herself as one hand found his wrist. She traced her fingertip up to where he still held his shaft in a loose grip, teasing over his fingers before brushing her knuckle up the underside. “Have you imagined this moment?”
“You, on your knees? Your mouth?” The corner of Ford’s mouth kicked up. “You bet your sweet ass.”
Her hair had dried in tangled curls. They tumbled around her cheeks as she lowered her lips to caress the head, blocking her view of him. Not that she needed it—his body was alive with clues. The tension in his muscles, the hitch in his breathing when she darted her tongue out to tease.
His cock jumped in her hand. “Open up, Mia.”
A choice that was no choice at all. Shivering, she parted her lips as wide as she could.
He guided her head down with a gentle touch. “Show me.”
Closing her eyes, she let herself go and fell into him. The spicy scent of him and the way he tasted on her tongue. And he was every bit as big as he’d seemed. She stopped when he reached the back of her throat, pausing only long enough to see if he’d push her deeper.
He didn’t. His hand rested on her head, a warm and encourag
ing weight, but he let her set the pace—for now. Slow. Slow and wet, sliding up and down, savoring the chance to give pleasure for the joy of it.
He gathered her hair away with his other hand, clearing a view of her face, and his hips flexed as he rocked up into her mouth. “Pretty. So pretty.”
Still soft. Easy. She drew up a little, curling her hand around his slick shaft to stroke as she focused everything she knew on breaking down his easy control. She needed him panting, desperate, his fingers snagging in her hair as he thrust up into her mouth. She needed him to need with the same helplessness he’d sparked in her.
He closed his hand around hers and squeezed tight. “Don’t think. Just take.”
Don’t think.
It should have been dangerous. Oral sex was a skill, imparted to her with the same rules and guidelines as her lessons in tech and first aid. You analyzed responses, adjusted strategies, kept your control while stripping away his.
You didn’t tremble. You didn’t let yourself get swept away in the moment. And you never admitted the truth.
Lifting her head to stare up at him, Mia broke all the rules. “I’m nervous. It’s never been real before.”
But Ford only nodded, despite the heat blazing in his eyes. “So stop wondering how to get me off...and get me off.”
Don’t think. Take.
Without breaking eye contact, she lowered her head. Licked. Around the crown and up to the tip, where she found her proof that he was plenty aroused. Just a few drops of liquid, but she painted her lips with the taste of him before opening wide and taking him deep.
He bumped the back of her throat before her lips reached their fingers, but she didn’t let that stop her this time. A shift in position, a tilt of her neck and she pushed again, her head swimming.
He groaned, holding her there for an endless heartbeat before dragging her up by her hair until only the head of his cock remained in her mouth. Back and forth, up and down, until he was shaking.
But still he held back, gritting out words through clenched teeth. “Show me how you want it, Mia. How do you want me to come?”
A dozen possibilities flashed through her mind. On her face. On her breasts. Spilling across her tongue. So many symbols, and the meaning and implications slipped away in a haze of drunken want.