by Kit Rocha
"You do." She canted her hips, opening herself to the ravenous craving in his eyes before sliding her fingers deeper with a sharp sigh.
"Watch her," Cruz told Ace, gripping the other man's cock again. But not stroking, not pushing him toward the edge. Cruz held Ace in a tight grip, his gaze heated as he sought Rachel's eyes. "You want to be inside her, don't you? Feel her pussy clenching around you, so hot and wet."
"I didn't die, did I?" Ace ground out. "Of course I fucking do."
"Too bad." Cruz released him and sat up, sliding his hand along Rachel's leg and up her body. "I don't think she's done taking what she wants yet."
Rachel bit back a whimper. She let instinct guide her instead of thought, hooking her fingers in the loosened denim Ace wore. She lifted up and dragged his jeans down to his knees, far enough to bare his muscled thigh, then moaned as she settled on his leg again, skin to skin.
Ace groaned, flexing his leg, rubbing up against her as much as he could. "Fuck, Rae. You're so wet."
"Make me wetter." She rocked, grinding harder. "Tell me what you see."
Ace shuddered. "My lovers."
"That's right." Cruz dragged Rachel's hand toward his lips. His tongue swept out, licking her wetness from her fingertips, and he made a low, approving noise. His other hand slipped between her legs to stroke her pussy, sending shivers of pleasure up her spine as he toyed with her clit.
Oh God. She rolled her hips up to his touch, watching Ace's face as she moved. He reached for her again, and this time Cruz let him settle those strong hands on her legs, his thumbs stroking high on her inner thighs.
Cruz growled his approval against Rachel's temple as his fingers worked into her, deep and a little rough, stretching her. "He loves to watch you. He's painting you in his mind, over and over. Give him a memory, sweetheart. Give him you."
She wanted to wait, to drag out the sensation, to have him watching her like this forever. But Cruz curled his fingers inside her, the heel of his hand pressing hard against her clit, and she lost it. She shivered through the orgasm, crying out again when Cruz bit her throat, marking her with his teeth the way he'd soon mark her with ink.
When she stilled, Cruz eased free of her body and leaned forward, pressing her against the heat of Ace's body as he glided slick fingers over the other man's lips. "Taste how sweet she is. You want to be inside her, don't you?"
"Fuck, yes." Ace held her gaze as he licked Cruz's fingers.
So many things she wanted to do, but it was all too intense to slow down. She slid back, pulled Ace's jeans the rest of the way off his legs, and sank to the bed beside him. Pretty words bounced around her brain, seductive and sexy.
They vanished before they could reach her mouth. "So take it," she whispered instead, winding her hand in his hair.
Ace rolled on to her. Rocked into her. It was nothing like the other times they'd fucked, no precise choreography or endless taunting, just his hips pinning her to the mattress as he worked his cock into her with slow, steady thrusts.
He braced his hands on either side of her head and lifted his upper body, his gaze locked to her face as he pushed deep. "You were never the one falling," he whispered. "I was. I've been falling forever."
Not anymore. She wrapped her legs around his waist and framed his face with her hands. "We've got you, baby."
"We've got you," Cruz echoed, coming to his knees behind Ace. "All you have to do is decide you want us both."
Ace's breathing hitched. He groaned. Reached down. Hooked an arm under Rachel's leg and hauled it higher, spreading her wide, and she gasped as he pushed deeper. "Do you want that, angel? Want him to fuck me while I'm fucking you? All three of us fucking each other?"
More than a fantasy--a way to show him the truth. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in to his skin, and looked up at Cruz. He stared back, love in his eyes, and relief, and sharp anticipation.
It lingered as he reached for the lube, as he stroked a hand down Ace's back and lower, until his fingers brushed Ace's shaft as he thrust into Rachel again.
"You don't come until she does," he said, easy words with the sharp edges of a command, and she knew the moment he pressed his cock against Ace's ass because his body went stiff above her, his arms trembling.
And Cruz held him there. Held them all there, anticipation twisting higher with every panted breath, until Ace dropped his head forward with a groan. "Goddamn it, brother, just fuck--"
Cruz thrust forward, driving a cry from Ace's throat, driving Ace into Rachel. The force of it pushed them up the bed, and she whimpered as she braced her hands on the headboard.
It was a position meant for a slow grind, and she embraced it. Using the headboard for leverage, she pushed back. Every nerve ending blazed to life, bringing into sharp focus the tiniest details--the delicious weight pinning her to the bed, muscles in Ace's stomach flexing against hers. The quick rush of Cruz's breath as he shifted position slightly.
Ace's mouth found her jaw. Her cheek. His own was unshaven, three days' worth of stubble rasping over her skin as he sought her ear. "Is this how you feel when you're trapped between us?"
"Yes." It was reflected in his eyes, the same emotion. That it was all so good he might not survive it, and he didn't care, because for once everything was right. Exactly the way it needed to be.
Complete.
Cruz bent forward to grasp the headboard, every beautiful muscle in his arms flexing as he set their pace. Slow. Deep. Ace was already close, his body tense, trembling. He buried his face against her chest, breath falling in hot pants. "Don't let me go. Don't--"
"Shh." Cruz laid one hand on Ace's head, but his gaze locked with Rachel's, full of love and determination but also a silent plea. This was what he needed, to be the one who made it okay for them to fall, because he'd always hold them.
She picked up the rhythm, rocking up with the slight retreat of his hips, following the searing heat of Ace's body as he moved between them. Over and over, as the slow build slipped away from them, replaced by a desperation that left them rough. Grasping.
The first clenching waves washed through her. Rachel shuddered and cried out as she reached for them, her shaking hands slipping over sweat-slicked skin. Ace came with her name on his lips, whispering against her skin before he closed his teeth on her throat.
A possessive gesture of dominance. A helpless moment of surrender. It couldn't be both, but it was, because they were both, and more. Everything for Cruz, who stiffened with a growled curse.
His hands dropped from the headboard to the mattress, his trembling arms barely holding the bulk of his weight off their bodies as he shuddered. And he stayed like that, above them, around them, a solid wall of muscle and strength who'd tear apart the world to keep them safe, or maybe even just make them happy.
Rachel couldn't breathe, and she still protested when he rolled to the bed beside them. "No, not yet--"
"Shh." Ace moved--not enough to pull away from her, just enough to shift her to her side, and then Cruz was tight against her back, his legs tangled with theirs, his arm across their bodies, his breath hot on her nape.
Close, so close she could feel their hearts pounding in time with hers. "This," she whispered finally. "This is what makes me whole. Without both of you, there's a part of me that's missing."
Cruz kissed her shoulder. "Me, too."
"It's more," Ace whispered hoarsely. "It's... When I was a kid, my mother couldn't afford art supplies. But she saved everything she could and got me these pencils, orange and green and blue. And I loved them. You can do a lot with orange and green and blue. I knew there were other colors, I saw them all around me. But that was my world. Orange and green and blue."
The undercurrent of pain in his voice tore at Rachel, but she ran her fingers through his hair and kept silent. Let him talk.
He slid his fingers up her arm and caught a lock of her hair, wrapping it around his finger. "When I got that first box of twenty-four colors, I didn't know what the fuck t
o do with them. Seeing color doesn't mean you know how to use it. I kept leaning on orange and green and blue, because even if it wasn't everything it could be, I knew I could make it work."
He'd done far more than that--she had the ink to prove it--but his words weren't about how practice made perfect. They were about fear, and the comfort of old habits. "Ace?"
He smiled, brushing his thumb along her lower lip before twining his fingers with Cruz's. Their joined hands settled on her bare hip, warm and heavy. "You two are all the colors I've been missing," Ace whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm going to make gorgeous fucking art with you."
The pain was gone, leaving a languorous contentment in its place. "It'll take a while," Rachel murmured, her lips against his. "Maybe forever."
"That's what I'm counting on, angel."
Trix
The night was quiet, clear, and cold enough for Trix to be glad not only for her coat, but for the solid warmth of the man beside her. "Thanks for walking with me, Zan."
"Any time, darling." Zan shoved his hands into his pockets and eyed the empty streets. "Not that many people are out tonight. I'd say Dallas made his point about who still runs things."
His bloody, emphatic point. "Not like he had a choice."
"Hell, no. It's been coming for a while." He shrugged one big shoulder. "That's the price, right? You can be easygoing most of the time, but when it's time to teach a lesson, you better make it stick."
That was the thing Mac Fleming never could understand. His lessons had always been swift, brutal--but unpredictable. With Mac, a personal betrayal or a casual, ill-considered comment could have the same violent result.
No rhyme, no reason. And the bastard had reaped what he'd sown.
She asked the question burning in her gut, because she knew Zan would answer it honestly. "Do you think Fleming will let it go, or come after Dallas?"
"Doesn't matter," Zan replied without hesitation. "Dallas won't let it go. It's going to be war, one way or another. Only question is who hits first. And who hits hardest."
Trix managed not to wince. "I left Sector Five behind for a reason. I guess I'm not excited to have it all back in my face, is all."
"I know." Zan slung an arm around her shoulders. "We won't let those drugged-out bastards fuck with you. You're an O'Kane now. Don't forget it."
What would he think if she told him the truth--that even having the collected might of the O'Kanes at her back couldn't protect her from the biggest threat in Five. "Thanks, Zan. That means a lot."
"Any time, girl. Now where are we--?"
It happened so fast. Screeching tires, a burst of gunfire, and Zan hit the wall, his hand still on the butt of his holstered pistol. Trix was already reaching for him when she caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye and realized this wasn't a drive-by, not at all.
An arm slid around her waist and yanked her off her feet. She fought, kicked, and one lucky blow connected. The man dropped her, and she slammed painfully to the pavement on her knees.
Zan. He was still, dreadfully still--but if she could reach his gun--
"Not a chance," a low voice growled. A hand closed around her wrist, wrenching her arm back so brutally, tears sprung to her eyes. "You killed enough of us last time around. Cy--get the drugs."
No. She thrashed against the man's steely grip, but he held tight and dragged her toward a van on the corner. The side door slid open with an ominous shriek, and he shoved her toward it.
More hands came out of the darkness. They closed on her clothes, on her arms and legs, dragging her into the vehicle. She got one last glimpse of Zan, sprawled in a growing pool of blood, before the door banged shut and tires squealed.
"Here," a rough voice barked, and the arm holding her tightened. He pushed a plastic inhaler against her nose, and she knocked it away.
She yanked one hand free and reached for the switchblade in her belt, but it tumbled away when the man they called Cy slammed her hand against the van wall.
Another hand covered her mouth, rough fingers crushing her lips against her teeth until she tasted blood. The inhaler jammed tight under her nose, and tears streamed out of her eyes as Trix held her breath.
Never again. She'd sworn it, through every last night sweat and muscle spasm. Every gnawing ache. No more drugs, not for anything--
Her burning lungs yielded to the need for air, and she breathed in. It hit her almost immediately, and her head began to swim with hazy flashes of color and snatches of thoughts.
Revelations, really, only every time she tried to hold on to them, they slipped away. The answers to her predicament were there--the answers to the world--but she was too fucked up to see them.
It was the story of her life.
The pressure on her face eased, along with a little of the rush clouding her brain. She dragged in a sob. "What do you want?"
They ignored her.
Someone shoved her against the floor of the van. Bare metal and bolts dug into her cheek as someone else wrenched her arms back. Rope cut into her wrists, and a blindfold settled over her eyes, rough fingers catching her hair as they knotted it at the back of her head. She floated there, the rumble of the van's engine vibrating through her, rattling her teeth.
Then the van lurched to a halt and the door slid open. "Come on," a man growled, dragging her by the arm. The harsh glare of streetlights filtered in through the edges of the blindfold, and she dove toward the light only to be yanked back. She stumbled, hit the jamb of an open doorway, and then darkness closed in around her.
The darkness had a smell--antique wood and cigar smoke and money. It was burned into her brain, right alongside all her bleakest memories, and Trix dug in her heels, despite sliding across slick tile, because now she knew.
She knew exactly where she was.
Another shove, and she landed hard on a chair. She tried to stand up, and someone backhanded her across the face, snapping her head back. The taste of blood filled her mouth, but it didn't hurt, and that scared her more than anything.
Almost anything.
She could hear them breathing, but nothing else. Not until a careless hand ripped away the blindfold, taking some of her hair with it.
She barely noticed, not with a nightmare swimming into focus two feet away.
Mac Fleming had always been handsome. Put together. He wore an expensive business suit with the rumpled ease of a man used to taking beautiful things for granted, but there was nothing attractive about the darkness in his eyes.
They narrowed slightly. Widened. A cruel smile curved his lips as he set aside his drink. "Well, now. This is an interesting turn of events."
She tried to channel Lex, to think of something witty and cutting, the perfect fuck you.
In the end, she stared at him.
It only made his smile widen. "It's like looking at a ghost. I have to say, Dominic. It seems like your vengeance will fit rather neatly with mine."
She followed his gaze. Dom stood on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall with a smug, shit-eating grin on his face.
Trix. They'd kidnapped Trix, some sort of payoff for Dom, and Fleming hadn't known what he'd really be getting. Not until now.
She licked her lips and sat straighter in the chair. "It's been a long time, Mac."
"It has, hasn't it?" He leaned forward, cupping her bruised cheek. His thumb swiped across her lower lip, wiping away blood with a smile. "Welcome home, Tracy."
Before You Leave Sector Four
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Interested in more books in the BEYOND series? Series order:
Book #1: Beyond Shame (October 2012)
Book #2: Beyond Control (March 2013)
Book #3: Beyond Pain (August 2013)
Novella #3.5: Beyond Temptation (February 2013)
Book #4: Beyond Jealousy (March 2014)
Novella #4.5: Beyond Solitude (April 2014)
Book #6: Beyond Innocence (2015)
Book #7: Beyond Ruin (2015)
Beyond Shame, Beyond Control, and Beyond Pain are now available in a discounted bundle.
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Not ready to leave Sector Four? Turn the page for a preview of what's next for the O'Kanes...
Beyond Addiction
Logan Beckett was one sincerely unsettling motherfucker.
Finn recognized the irony of the sentiment. Next to Beckett's tailored suit, polished shoes, and clean-shaven jaw, his own three-day stubble and bloodshot eyes weren't exactly a character recommendation. The battered leather boots didn't help. Neither did the tattoos--Mac Fleming made a big deal about how his sector was civilized, and Finn had always figured the tattoos reminded him of Dallas O'Kane.
Reminding Fleming of Dallas O'Kane wasn't the way to get ahead in Sector Five.
Beckett knew that. He knew how to fake civilized like it was going out of style. Perfect clothes, perfect grooming, perfect loyalty. Hell, he even had a perfect wife--Mac Fleming's eldest daughter, the ultimate accessory for an ambitious man eager to take on a leadership role in the family business.
What he didn't have was a shred of humanity in his cunning gaze. Finn wasn't exactly in a position to throw stones there--he'd done shit that had given him horrifying dreams, and a few things so bad the dreams were better company than the memories.
But goddamn, at least he had nightmares.
"You heard me," Beckett said smoothly. "As of now, nothing recreational hits the streets without additives."