Beyond Ecstasy (Beyond #8)

by Kit Rocha

  Jeni would have bet all her money that the penalty for adultery—no matter the circumstances—was steep. “What happened to her?”

  “I don't know.” His voice roughened. “I mean, she's still over there. I see her sometimes, once or twice a year. But she stares through me like she doesn't even recognize me. They did something terrible to her. And it will always be my fault.”

  “Why? For the unforgivable sin of falling in love?” Jeni gripped his chin and turned his face to hers. “You lost your home. Do you blame her, or is that one on you, too?”

  His tiny smile broke her heart. “For a lot of years, I blamed Alya. I was cruel to her the day he drove me out. I knew how that bastard treated her, that he had hurt her and would keep hurting her. But I told her it was her fault, and she believed me.”

  “Well, I hope you've apologized to her for that. A lot.”

  “For the last fifteen years, give or take. Doesn't mend what broke.” He cupped her cheek, his touch soft. Almost tentative. “Now you know, Jeni. Why I move slow, why I have to be careful. When I'm not, people get hurt. And sometimes I'm sorry can't fix it.”

  There were so many conclusions she could draw from his revelation, so many things that fit—why it mattered to him that she wear his collar, a blatant symbol of ownership. Why every move he made was calibrated, calculated, as if he had to consider every angle before allowing himself to want something at all. Even why he'd been fixated on her involvement with Dallas and Lex, the two people with the power to turn him out of a sector for the second time in his life.

  Her heart ached for him, for the things he'd lost and the weight he still carried. She couldn't ease his pain, but there was one thing she could do, one thing she could give him.

  Trust.

  She took a deep breath, the sound almost lost under the thundering rain on the barn roof. “I want it now.”

  The thumb tracing back and forth across her cheek stilled. “The collar?”

  “The collar.”

  “Why?”

  So many reasons, but only one that mattered. “Because you trusted me enough to share this with me, even though it made you vulnerable.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “I told you, I've been hanging out with Noelle and Jas. Maybe that ink is supposed to mean that she belongs to him, but he's just as much hers. And that's what I want. To be yours as much as you're mine.”

  Her heart thumped painfully. She'd seen it before, all around the O'Kane compound, but she'd never felt it. Not like this. “I won't hurt you.”

  “I know.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Check my back pocket.”

  The wet denim clung to his skin. She worked her fingers into his pocket and closed them around warm, supple leather. “Oh.”

  “I brought it. Just in case.”

  Jeni pulled it free and studied it. It was simple black leather set with silver and a few glinting green jewels that looked like emeralds. In the center was a beautiful, delicately wrought Celtic tree, just like the one inked on Hawk's chest.

  It was gorgeous, and it was too much. “Are these real?” she asked, holding up the collar. “Hawk, I can't.”

  “Why not?” He took it from her, his large fingers deft as he worked the delicate clasp at the back. “What else am I supposed to spend all that fight night money on?”

  “Your family?”

  “They get most of it.” He paused with the collar open, waiting for her to lift her hair out of the way so he could wrap it around her throat. “Let me be selfish, just once.”

  She lifted her braid, and he fastened the leather around her throat. It fit snugly, hugging her skin without being tight enough to constrict. “A perfect fit,” she whispered.

  He rubbed his thumb over the silver tree. “It is selfish, you know.”

  “Because everyone will know.” His shirt was wet enough to be transparent, and Jeni traced the tattoo on his chest the same way he was touching the medallion at her throat. “They'll never have to wonder who this collar belongs to. Who I belong to.”

  “No, they'll never wonder.” His gaze finally met hers. “I'm learning to be okay with how badly I want that.”

  “You think you shouldn't?” She tugged his shirt up. “It's an animal desire, nothing civilized about it. But that doesn't make it wrong.”

  “So you O'Kanes keep telling me.” He lifted his arms so she could strip away his shirt, revealing hard muscles and vivid, elegant lines of ink.

  She completely lost her train of thought, but that was okay. All that really mattered was leaning in, her mouth on him, and tracing all those beautiful lines with her tongue.

  Hawk hissed in a breath, his head falling back as his eyes closed. But his hands were already moving, finding their way beneath the blankets to tug at her dress. She climbed into his lap as he pulled it up, and she shivered when the wet fabric rasped over her breasts, hardening her nipples to tight, aching points.

  He tossed her dress aside and bent his head. He closed his mouth around the tip of her breast, blazing hot on her chilled skin, all tongue and teeth until he sucked hard enough to make her hips buck and leave her shuddering above him.

  Jeni gripped his hair, his shoulders, anything to hold on, but it didn't matter. The storm outside was nothing compared to this one.

  “Jeni.” He groaned against her skin, his hands sliding down to grip her bare ass. “Fuck—”

  It was all the warning she got before he rose and laid her down on the blanket spread over the hay bales. Hawk sank to his knees between her legs, running his hands up the insides of her thighs to push them wide. He was on her before she could drag in another breath, that blazing mouth covering her pussy, his tongue thrusting deep.

  It should have been too fast, but she was primed for this. For weeks, months, she'd lived on some shaky edge where all it took was a word or a glance to coax thwarted arousal into biting, throbbing life. Ever since the first party where Lex had leaned over her, her skin as hot as the breath against her ear, and told her that Hawk was watching her.

  Now, with his tongue nudging her clit and his fingers biting into her thighs as thunder crashed outside, it felt like destiny. Fate. Two objects in different orbits drawing closer and closer together until they collided.

  He lifted his head, panting, and she felt his fingers on her. Parting her pussy lips, baring her completely to his gaze. He stared at her with such intensity, such possessive satisfaction, that she had to clench her fists in the blanket to keep from squirming away.

  Whatever had been chained up in him before, carefully, meticulously contained, had been set free. Like the storm outside, his lust raged, and she was at his mercy.

  Still watching her fiercely, he brushed his thumb over her clit. She lifted her hips, chasing the caress, and moaned as pleasure zipped up her spine.

  His moan joined hers, low and muffled as he bent his head again. His tongue replaced his thumb, wet and firm, lashing against her without mercy.

  Jeni tried to hold back a groan. It slipped out as a whimper, one she muffled with her hand. But Hawk growled against her—an unmistakable, wordless command—and she dropped her hand to the blanket.

  Then he touched her again, two fingers gliding over her sensitive flesh. She grabbed his other hand and held on tight as he worked his fingers into her in slow, maddening increments.

  More. Jeni tried to form the word, but all that came out was a strangled plea. Hawk must have understood, because he gave it to her—thrusting fingers, the delicious rasp of his tongue, gentle suction that turned rough when he drew her clit between his lips.

  He fucked her with his fingers and his mouth, searching for the right rhythm. Jeni helped him, riding his hand and his tongue until the tense heat began to unfurl around the edges and the first threads of bliss snaked through her.

  Her shocked cry echoed through the stillness of the barn, louder than the storm outside, but she didn't hold back. She couldn't, not when this was Hawk touching her, drinking in her pleasure as it wound
tighter and tighter, holding her as the tension shattered into a mind-melting orgasm.

  He carried her through it, his touch gentling until she slumped back against the blanket, drained and dazed. His thumbs moved in slow, soothing strokes over her skin, coaxing her back to sanity. “Are you with me?”

  She struggled up onto her elbows. “You're still wearing pants.” Christ, she sounded as dizzy and giddy as she felt. “Unacceptable.”

  Hawk rose and tugged his belt open with a slow smile. “Are you ready for what happens when I'm not?”

  “Nope.” She inched back, making room for him on their makeshift bed. “Take 'em off anyway.”

  He did, kicking off his boots and then stripping off his pants. No more teasing, no more slow seduction. He came over her in a rush, his knees driving her legs wider, his broad shoulders and powerful chest blocking out the world. His cock slid against her, as hard and thick as she remembered, grinding against her clit.

  She shuddered and almost jerked away. Instead, she pressed her nails to his shoulders in warning. “Hawk—”

  He rocked again, gaze locked on hers. “Tell me.”

  There was only one word that mattered, more than yes or please or any of the other things dancing on her tongue. “Yours.”

  “Yes.” He rocked back again, and this time when he returned, the head of his cock pressed against her—inside her. He nudged deeper as his lips found hers, then claimed her with one long, relentless thrust. “Mine.”

  The sheer rush of sensation cut off her breath, and her eyes burned with tears. Not of pain or helplessness, but at the intensity of the moment. She'd had sex before—lots of sex, for money and fun and affection and even what she'd thought might be love.

  But it had never been like this.

  Hawk froze, buried deep inside her, and cupped her cheek. His thumb caught a tear at the corner of her eye. “I got you, Jeni.”

  “I'm not—” Her voice broke. “I'm good. I'm very, very good.”

  “You promise?”

  They were both trembling with anticipation. Jeni turned her head and licked the inside of his wrist. “I swear.”

  “I'm glad,” he murmured, a heartbeat before his lips found hers again. Soft, sweet, a kiss she could have floated on forever if she hadn't needed so desperately for him to move.

  And then he did, and it wasn't sweet at all. Hawk braced his weight on his arms and drove into her—hard. Pleasure streaked through her like a bolt of lightning arcing down to earth, leaving fire in its wake.

  She gripped his hips with her legs and urged him on with her hands on his ass. There was nothing hesitant about the way he touched her now. Nothing careful. For one precious moment, all his deliberations and plans had vanished, leaving her with the one thing she'd wanted from the start.

  Hawk, above her, his face tight with pleasure as he fucked her deep enough to curl her toes.

  Another thrust scattered her thoughts, and she cried out. No one had ever touched her like this, with single-minded desperation, as if the world could fall around them and it wouldn't matter, as long as he was still inside her.

  “Yes.” It was a snarl, a demand. He shifted his hips and found a new angle, deeper and starker. “Come around me, Jeni. Just like this.”

  It was too soon, too fast—and it was happening anyway, the kind of blinding, volcanic pleasure that started in her core and rolled outward. She shook with it, shuddered, screamed as it broke through her in rough, breathless waves.

  “Oh, fuck—” His rhythm faltered, and his lips parted. He froze above her, every muscle tense and trembling. His cock throbbed inside her in perfect time with her racing heart, and she clutched him closer, willing the moment to last forever.

  But it couldn't. Hawk pushed up on his arms and dragged in a deep breath. “Goddamn.”

  His hair was drying in odd angles, his eyes were glazed, and his face was flushed. He looked wrecked, and Jeni loved it. Loved that even with all his expectations, she'd managed to surprise him. “Is it my turn to ask if you're all right?”

  “Maybe.” He rested his forehead against hers with a soft, wry laugh. “I meant to take my time, but I wasn't ready for how good it feels to make you come. Or how fucking perfect it is being inside you.”

  Her breath caught. “Say it again.”

  “You're perfect.” His lips grazed her cheek on their path to her ear, and his low whisper curled through her. “And you're mine.”

  Outside, the storm raged on. Jeni wrapped her arms around Hawk. “Unless you want to make a mad dash back, I think we're stuck here for the night.”

  “If we go back, I'm sleeping in the guestroom with you.” His laughter was warmer this time. Wicked. “And we'll both be in trouble when you can't be quiet next time.”

  She ran her hands over his back, memorizing the way his muscles flexed beneath her touch. “Let's stay here instead. We don't have much time.”

  “Even if we don't get any sleep?”

  Especially if they didn't get any sleep. She'd been so nervous about coming to Sector Six, but now it seemed like an escape. Another world away from the constant tension that thrummed in Four, a place where she could stare at the grass and green fields and imagine that Eden was just a nightmare.

  But time was slipping through her fingers now, each moment faster than the last, and her only consolation was that she wasn't going back empty-handed. Her work could help them survive this war, and then…

  And then.

  Nessa

  Nessa's earliest memories were the rumble of her grandfather's voice and the pungent smell of molasses mash. She could remember the gleam of their lantern off the giant metal vat, and the way his body swayed as he stirred and stirred.

  She remembered being so, so proud the day she turned six, and her grandfather trusted her enough to let her measure out the sugar. The huge jars had been almost too heavy for her, but she'd taken her job seriously. She'd held them aloft, one by one, and as her grandfather waited for the molasses to dissolve in the simmering water, he'd quizzed her.

  “What are we making now?”

  “Rum.”

  “And what would we make if we had potatoes?”

  “Vodka.”

  “How about corn?”

  On and on, drilling it into her mind, into her blood and bones. She'd learned math in ounces and cups and teaspoons. She'd learned to read by sounding out recipes long-since committed to memory. The distillery had been her schoolroom, liquor her alphabet.

  A is for Apple Cider. B is for Bourbon. C is for Corn Whiskey…

  That had been their first setup. Back on the ranch in Texas, before Dallas had sent for them. They'd brewed and distilled whatever they could get their hands on, because there was never enough of the right things, never enough of anything, but Nessa was the only person she knew who never went to bed hungry. Because booze meant forgetting, and forgetting was gold.

  She was thirteen when they arrived in the sectors. Pop had been old then—old when they started out, and even older after the harrowing drive north. Too old to do more than supervise from his chair as Nessa surveyed the sorry state of Dallas O'Kane's newborn business.

  That had been in the earliest days, when the warehouse that now hosted fight nights was the one thing Dallas owned. When it had been empty and echoing, filled only with the equipment that Dallas and his earliest followers had been able to scavenge and rig together. They'd been limping along for a few years, churning out rotgut from inferior supplies, just enough to let them afford one shipment of good ingredients.

  Molasses. Sugar. Yeast.

  The O'Kanes were famous for whiskey, but Nessa knew the truth. Molasses and her grandfather's undeniable skill were the true origin story. Under his direction, she'd prepared their first batch of quality booze, and the credits had swept in like the tide.

  They founded an empire on the backs of those bottles. The rum bought the supplies they needed for more efficient distilling equipment, bigger vats, better ingredients.

&nbs
p; Rum bought the first supply of grain fine enough to turn out a batch of whiskey that burned in all the right ways. The whiskey had cemented the O'Kane legend, but Nessa still had a weakness for rum.

  She had a weakness for the aging room, too. When the loneliness got to be too much, she took the freight elevator down to the basement and savored that first moment of revelation, when the doors slid apart to reveal rack after rack of oak barrels.

  Her grandfather's legacy. Her life's work.

  Who needed a grand fucking romance when you had a thousand barrels of priceless liquor to keep you warm at night?

  The elevator shuddered to a halt, and Nessa held her breath, waiting for the first glorious sight of her empire stretching out before her. Instead, she got a first glorious look at something else entirely.

  Jas was standing in the main aisle, pointing toward one of the barrels. And the man next to him…

  Oh sweet Jesus, glorious didn't cover it.

  Dark brown skin. Beautiful brown eyes. Chiseled features that belonged on a pre-Flare movie star or some artist's masterwork. Even his fucking eyebrows formed a perfect arch that only enhanced all that seething, serious intensity.

  He was almost as tall as Jas, but he was built. Like Bren, or even Hawk—except Bren and Hawk topped out at jeans and leather in the style department. This stranger was wearing a suit as casually as Jared, one that had been cut to show off his wide shoulders and lean waist.

  Nessa had grown up around some of the most casually violent warriors the sectors had to offer. Her crush on Jared's sleek sophistication had been the closest thing she'd managed to teenage rebellion.

  That crush had been mild. Fleeting. The sudden eruption of butterflies in her stomach and tingles in parts of her that had been sadly neglected was something far, far more serious.

  God help her, she wanted him. And that was terrifying enough to have her praying the doors slid shut before they noticed her. If life was kind, if it was fair, she'd be back upstairs in a few minutes. She'd tuck herself away in her office until the handsome stranger was gone, and she'd be safe from temptation and this intolerable, aching yearning.