by Kit Rocha
Dylan dropped one hand to her knee. Instead of naked skin, he encountered soft, delicately knit tights. Another quiet indication of the wealth she possessed. Nothing finer than thick socks was made in any of the sectors, meaning this was another item of clothing that had been shipped in from far away, like her silk robes or lace nightgowns.
He wondered if she knew any other way, or if her wardrobe was simply left over from her time in Sector Two. The O'Kanes preferred rough denim and supple leather, a baffling mix of mass-produced clothing and lovingly handcrafted items, but that didn't seem much like Jade. Supple, flowing cotton, perhaps, handmade and hand-printed.
She was watching him, waiting, so he returned her smile. "Tell me more about how silly I am."
"Not silly. Dedicated." She smoothed her hand down his neck and across his shoulder. "Strong. Focused."
He felt himself melting under her touch, so he turned his voice to velvety steel. "Jade, did you come here to bring me more than dinner?"
"I told you why I came here." Her hand drifted back up, her knuckles grazing his throat. "It's the thing inside me that made me so valuable. They twisted it all up, turned it into a weapon…" She traced his mouth with one fingertip. "But I still want to take care of you."
"You do, love." Slowly, carefully, he rolled the chair away from his desk.
"It's still a tangle. What I wanted to do, what I had to do..." She pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if Mad needed me to be a victim because, on some level, he knows what it means if I wasn't."
The fear in her voice shivered through him and clenched in his gut. "You did what you needed to do to get by, Jade. And it isn't just about surviving, it's about making the most of your situation. Sometimes that's the only way to change it. And Mad knows that."
She pressed closer, her body molding to his with sweet warmth. But her words were dark. "You were an interrogator, weren't you?"
In the past, the question had made him freeze up, colder than the dark of night out in the endless desert. But Jade wasn't just curious—she needed to know. "Not exactly. The doctors who attend interrogations are discouraged from speaking. It makes the whole thing that much more terrifying."
"So your job was to make them hurt."
"Sometimes. Mostly, I was there to make sure no one died—at least, not too soon. Not before the Counselors got what they were after." Horror slowly dawned on her face, so Dylan tried to reassure her with a smile. It felt more like a grimace. "I was usually there to facilitate the torture, not perform it. Usually."
"Oh, Dylan—" Her voice cracked, and she buried her face against his throat. "It's sick. It's sick to take the best part of someone and make it evil."
"Don't be sorry for me, love. I made my peace with it a long time ago."
Her fingernails pricked his skin. "Don't lie to me. Not about this."
He'd forgotten how easily she could see the truth, even when she wasn't looking for it. "Fine, peace is too generous a word. But I've accepted the fact that no amount of regret can change the past. All I can do is move forward, the best way I can."
"I want to do that. I'm trying. But I can't stop thinking." She shivered and pulled back, her dark eyes haunted. "What do I want? Why do I want it? Is it me, or is it them, or is it both? And does it matter?"
"You mean, does it matter to you...or to Mad and Scarlet?"
"To me."
He touched her chin and gently forced her eyes to his. "You're not the only one who can hear lies, you know."
She stared at him forever before wetting her lips nervously. "Does it matter to you?"
"Honestly? A bit," he confessed with a tiny smile. "But only because I'd like very much to believe that you're drawn to me for reasons other than your training."
"I wasn't trained to be drawn to men." She reached for the top button of his shirt and slipped it free. "I was trained to draw them to me. To find out what they were most ashamed of wanting, and to give it to them. The men in Eden had so many layers of shame. They loathed the things they wanted more than I ever could."
"Then you're in luck." He grasped her wrist, stilling her hand. "No one in Sector Four is ashamed of wanting anything."
Jade took a shallow breath, and then another. Her pupils were huge. "You know what I want."
"Yes." He tightened his grip on her wrist until he heard her breath hitch. "Do you need me to make you do it? Is that what this is?"
It took her forever to answer, and even then it was barely a whisper. A sigh of relief. "Yes."
For her, absolute control over herself—her body, her emotions—was a matter of survival, an impossible burden she'd had to carry alone for far too long. For him, it was a gift, a trust he would have to keep earning with every breath.
He loosened his hold on her wrist but didn't quite release her. "Keep going."
She lowered her hands to the next button and then the next, coaxing his shirt open with clever, graceful fingers that grazed his skin as she worked in silence. Dylan slipped his free hand into her hair, dislodging the already messy knot, and soft locks tumbled down to join her hands in caressing him.
He gritted his teeth. His pulse thumped in his ears, and he counted the beats, marking the time until she slipped to her knees in front of him and reached for his belt buckle.
She eased the leather of the belt free of the clasp, her gaze still fixed to his as she rubbed the backs of her fingers over his erection.
He clenched his fingers into a fist, pulling at her hair, though he stopped shy of pain. This wasn't about hurting. "Now, Jade."
She obeyed. No more teasing or testing. Her deft fingers made quick work of the button on his pants, and she gripped his cock, firm and warm, her mouth so close that one jerk of her hair would put her lips on him.
He tugged her head back instead, gently guiding until she met his eyes. "I can give you this, love. As much as you want. But I can do something better, too."
"What could be better?"
He held her gaze. "When I show Mad and Scarlet how to do this. When I teach them what you love about it." Naked hunger filled her expression, fueling the lust her touch had kindled. "Scarlet has already figured it out, at least a little. And Mad—once he understands why it's so good, he'll drive you wild, sweet Jade."
"How?" she whispered, rubbing her fingers slowly up his cock. "Tell me. Please."
Dylan shivered. "How is easy. Everything he tells you to do will be a fantasy of his, something he never even knew he wanted until he met you."
She ran her thumb slowly around the crown of his cock. "And Scarlet?"
Mad was a tangle of desires he sometimes couldn't admit. Scarlet, on the other hand, embraced them, wanting it all as hard as she could—but nothing more than Jade. "You've already seen what she'll do for you. Anything. Everything. Even me."
"That's not why she touches you," Jade said softly. "She trusts you. You see all of us—where we fit together, and how, and why."
Maybe someday the words would be true. For now, Scarlet was content to watch him, to make sure he didn't hurt Jade or Mad. And it was heady, the thought that someone could see the weak spots in his carefully cultivated control. Touch them. Shred them. He dreaded that moment even as he welcomed it for its inevitability.
There were parts of him they could tear down individually. Perhaps all three of them could put him back together again.
He brushed away the thought, then brushed Jade's lower lip with his thumb. "Right now, I want to see how we fit. Show me."
She licked his thumb, caught it between her teeth in a quick nip. Then she bent her head, taking his cock into her mouth. Heat sizzled through him, from the wet pleasure of her mouth and the exhilaration of her submission.
Take. The word echoed through the darkness inside him, a darkness Jade craved because it matched her own. And, in the end, that was what allowed him to give in—knowing this was what she needed. Why she'd come to him this time.
So Dylan nudged the back of her head,
not hard enough to force her to take more of his cock, but just enough to let her know he wanted her to. She responded by squeezing the base of his shaft—firm, almost rough—and sliding her mouth down to meet her hand.
Then she looked up. Her gaze clashed with his, all hunger and satisfaction, as she began to suck.
"That's right." He barely recognized the harsh timbre of his own voice, so he focused on the cadence—soothing, like a rocking ship out on open water. "You could make me come with your mouth, even if I wanted to wait. You could use your lips and tongue and take it." He touched the curve of her jaw. "But that's not training, Jade. That's just how much I want you."
She moaned around him, her eyes glittering. Her touch intensified, her head bobbing faster, as if his words had been a challenge. Not smooth, practiced touches or precise strokes, but grasping fingers and an eagerness to please that cut him to the bone.
The heat was incandescent now, brighter than ever before. It would always be like this with Jade—burning hotter the further he pushed her. In turn, she'd find certain pleasure in pushing him beyond his limits.
But not tonight.
Dylan pulled her head up and bent until his mouth was inches from hers. "Now I want to know how much you want me."
"Completely," she whispered.
"Not with words, love." He helped her to her feet, then leaned back in his chair.
After a silent moment, she bent to unzip her boots.
She undressed gracefully. Carefully. Her boots first, and then the delicate, expensive tights. Those she set aside before gathering the heavy knit of her dress in both hands. Underneath was smooth skin and more silk—black panties edged with lace and a matching bra too thin to hide her hardened nipples.
She finished undoing her hair next, tugging the pins free and dropping them to the table. The soft plinks disappeared beneath her unsteady breaths as she shook out the full length.
Her hands began to tremble as she reached for the front clasp of her bra. The fabric fell away, baring those taut nipples, and he had to wrap one hand around the base of his shaft to quell the sudden ache that pulsed through him.
Her gaze followed his hand. She licked her lips and eased her fingers under that final scrap of clothing. It took her forever to coax her panties over her hips and down her thighs, until they slid to the ground and she stepped free.
Naked. Aroused.
He rose. Jade gasped when he crowded into her space, his body pressing close to hers. When he reached past her to sweep everything off his desk, she wrapped her arms around him to steady herself. "Dylan—"
"Shh." He lifted her, then leaned her back so she was laid out before him—a vision, an offering. A fantasy come to life.
He could fuck her, hard and fast, ride every orgasm to one deeper than the last. He could make love to her, nice and slow, until all she could do was cling to him as she sobbed with pleasure.
What he wanted was somewhere in between.
He slid his fingers, whisper-soft, up the silky skin of her inner thighs. They parted for him, and she ran her foot up his leg and reached for him in silent pleading.
"I won't make you beg," he assured her, already nudging the head of his cock between the slick lips of her ready pussy. "Not a single please or sir." He pushed into her, gritting his teeth when she moaned and arched her back. "But I will make you wait for me."
She gripped the edge of the desk, white-knuckled and shaking. "What else?"
Truth—bold and inescapable, just like the pleasure he was about to visit on her body. "I'll make you feel every second of it."
"Yes." She hooked both legs around his hips and tilted her head back. "Make me."
He ran his fingertips up her legs, past her hips, to her sides, the barest touch he could manage with her body so hot beneath him, around him. When she twisted and moaned, reaching out for more, he gave her his nails, dragging hot, pink lines across her skin.
"Oh—" Just a single syllable, caught between a moan and a gasp. Her gaze locked on his, and her pussy clenched around him as she pressed up into his nails. "Yes. Yes."
He moved on to her nipples next, flicking the taut tips until they puckered even tighter, silently begging for more. And he gave it to her, gentle tugs and pinches that turned firmer. Rougher. She'd be sore later, her tits aching from the harsh treatment, but all that mattered right now was the way her skin heated, the way pain turned to molten pleasure.
Her moans became shorter, more insistent. Her body shifted restlessly, and her fingers flexed. "I can't—" Her breathing hitched with another fluttering clench of her inner muscles. Worry filled her trembling voice. "I'm too close."
"That's all right." He laid his hand on her throat, closing his fingers with the tiniest hint of pressure—not enough to cut off her air, but enough to let her know he could. And that he never, ever would, not without giving her something transcendent in return.
As soon as her eyes lit with the realization, he began to fuck her with deep, quick thrusts. First to get her off, and then to turn that shaking, screaming orgasm into another, and another.
She released the table and grasped at him. At his shoulders, at his arms, her nails scratching matching lines into his skin as she clutched at him in utter desperation. Her lips parted on another silent scream that turned into a hoarse moan, and then a string of broken, begging cries, one word again and again—a plea and a promise and total, gleeful surrender. "Yes, yes, yes, yes—"
She came until she was limp and trembling, beyond thought or even pleasure, and yet still she pleaded with him to go on. She was in that place where nothing existed but giving—giving in, giving herself. Everything.
Dylan drove into her one last time, burying his cock in the unbelievable wet heat of her body. It was more than any mortal man could resist, so he let go. Blood pounded in his ears as his balls tightened, and release ripped through him. He pumped into her, filling her up, giving her his control in return for her precious trust.
When it was over, he gathered her to his chest. Ignoring his weak knees, he carried her to the bed and covered her with a blanket, petting her as she shivered and slowly drifted back to reality.
She was still too raw to hide. He watched the emotions flicker across her face unchecked—the drowsy pleasure in her smile, the dazed wonder in her eyes as her lids fluttered open. And then the tightening of her lips and the gentle furrowing of her brow. Hesitation. Nervousness.
"Tell me," he urged, his voice hoarse.
"It feels so...so right," she started, sounding small and lost. "I need it to be mine. Something that's part of me. Not something they—they created."
He touched her flushed cheek. "Would you have given that to just anyone?"
"No." She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. "Does it get to be that simple?"
"I think maybe it does."
He felt her lips curve against his palm. "I'm not accustomed to sex being simple. That's a blasphemous thing for an O'Kane to admit, isn't it?"
The laugh rumbled up out of his chest with a warmth he didn't expect, but should have. "Somehow, I think they'll forgive you."
"I hope so." She reached up to trace his lips and his nose. His cheeks. "I'm still learning who I want to be. Who I could have been all along. I think we all are, in our own ways. It's less scary like this. Together."
"Mmm." And that was the heart of it, the core of what he could offer her—these moments, free of inhibitions and preconceptions and control, where she didn't have to think, only feel.
It had to be enough.
Chapter Sixteen
There were some things money couldn't buy in the sectors, even when you had as much as Jade did. Delicate chocolates oozing caramel and truffles dipped in cocoa powder were a luxury few people in Sector Four could afford—and most who could had other vices.
But if you were an O'Kane, bartering worked where money failed. An investment in Tatiana's growing business earned Zan's help in supplying the hard-to-find ingredients. A black market
contact came through with a collection of pre-Flare cookbooks, which secured Lili's skills in the kitchen.
It was a lot of effort to go through for a basket of chocolates, but every second was worth it when Avery smiled.
Not that the smile lasted for long. It faded as she stared down into the basket on her lap. "These couldn't have been easy to come by."
"Still easier than trying to steal them from underneath Cook's nose," Jade replied, keeping her tone light. "Besides, you didn't see Lili's face when she got the recipe to work right. I think she's found a new passion. We'll all be drowning in fantastical confections soon."
"That's nice." Avery toyed with a tuft of paper wrapping and fell silent.
Jade silenced the part of her that needed Avery's smile and reached for her friend's hand instead. "It doesn't have to be nice. You know you can feel however you feel with me."
"I know. But a lot has happened since those days in Rose House, Jyoti." She looked away and gently rattled the basket. "Gordon used to make them for me. They were horrible—always lumpy or grainy, he never could get them right. But he knew—" Her voice cracked. "He knew the trainers wouldn't let me have them."
"Oh, sweetheart." Her heart aching, Jade wrapped an arm around Avery's shoulders. The right words wouldn't come, maybe because there were no right words. The training house had been a place of dubious safety for Jade, but she'd had her mother as a buffer for those first terrifying years. Avery had only had the trainers and their determination to prevent her from blossoming into another Lex.
Nothing Avery ever did was right. They criticized her height, her weight, her lack of grace, and her inability to quickly master lessons. It didn't matter that she was no different from any other girl in the house—the teachers had picked and poked at her until her insecurities turned it into self-fulfilling prophecy. And so the other initiates began to avoid her, because no one could afford to attract the trainers' scorn.
No one but Jade, who had been on the fast-track to becoming Rose House's shining star.
"It's like a bad dream," Avery whispered, "and it never ends."