Marked

by Kit Rocha

  "So sure I'm gonna win?"

  "Lesson number one," she breathed, easing closer on his lap. "We always have faith in each other, and in our men."

  He caught her thumb between his teeth and licked the pad, his eyes never leaving hers. She pushed farther, gliding her thumb over his tongue in a slow circle before pulling free. "Noah?"

  "Yeah?" His voice was low, husky. His cock was hard beneath her, straining at his fly, and she rocked against him.

  Then she rose. "You have work to do."

  Noah blinked. His mouth opened. Closed. When his lips parted again, a groan tumbled out. "Fuck, Emmy. You grew up mean."

  His approving tone made protest and indignation unnecessary. "You like me. Admit it."

  He grumbled as he swung back around to face the keyboard and screen, but a smile played around the edges of his mouth. "More every day, sunshine."

  "Uh-huh." Emma melted back against the wall to watch him, his words echoing in her mind.

  More every day.

  Maybe it would be enough.

  Chapter Six

  Sector Four's fight night was legendary.

  And it was real. Emma hadn't been wrong about that. Noah had run into plenty of O'Kanes on the job, and he'd gotten an eyeful of how they played. But taken on its own it was fragmented data, a sub-process that told him nothing about the whole.

  Fight night, on the other hand, was everything the O'Kanes stood for, distilled to the purity of their signature whiskey. Sex and violence, pride and challenge. Strength and protection. And standing next to Dallas O'Kane at the edge of the cage, Noah had the best seat in the house.

  Well, maybe the second-best seat.

  Most of the bare warehouse was standing room only, with a few battered tables and chairs around the edges. A few grizzled old men sat there with their drinks, taking bets and calling odds. But the space next to the makeshift bar held tiered stages covered in plush leather couches, and that was where the O'Kane women had gathered.

  They were screaming now, cheering as one of the O'Kanes beat an opponent into the rough cement. Noah had tried to pay attention to the fight, but his gaze kept drifting back to Emma. She was sleek and deadly tonight, in tiny leather shorts and a leather vest obviously invented by a sadist--some insane creation that snapped together beneath her tits and left so much of them bare that all he could think about was peeling it away to get his hands on her.

  Or his mouth.

  Or his dick.

  "Lex told me everything, you know," Dallas drawled without warning, hauling Noah's gaze back to the leader of Sector Four.

  Noah had figured she would, but it still cooled his lust. Dallas knew the truth, and no one would stop him if he tried to put Noah in a shallow grave. "Yeah? You want me gone?"

  "Didn't say that." Dallas crossed beefy arms over his chest and watched the fight, but Noah had no doubt the man was aware of everything around him. "There's some ugly shit in your past. Doesn't make you special. But if you can't let it the hell go because she matters more, it makes you not fucking worthy."

  Noah looked at Emma again. She caught the glance and smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear in a gesture he'd seen a hundred times. If he closed his eyes he could picture her, younger, softer, blushing as her fingers caught a stray lock of hair and smoothed it back from her face.

  She'd always seen good in him, even when he was sure it wasn't there. He'd been equally sure she couldn't want the reality--the messy, fucked-up truth of his desires, the things he could barely admit to himself.

  Sex and violence, pride and challenge. Strength and protection.

  Possessiveness and submission.

  Fuck, she'd been around the O'Kanes for three years now. She probably understood it all better than he did.

  "Lennox." A tall, dark-haired man slammed back a whiskey and shoved his glass at a passing woman, earning himself a curse and a punch in the back. He ignored both. "You and me, in the cage."

  It took a second for Noah to place the rough face, but when he did, a name followed, floating up from the data he'd assembled on the people of Sector Three. Andy Charles, a small-time player in the black-market trade between Sectors Two and Three.

  Noah hadn't messed with the guy--but he'd refused to work for him. That was all it took to piss off a bastard like this, when they could almost taste the money Noah was cheating them out of by refusing to play ball. He'd beaten down plenty of guys like Andy Charles, usually in back alleys or broken-down warehouses, using the moves Cib had taught him to end the fights fast and dirty.

  It would be different here, and not just because Emma was watching. Stepping into that cage meant stepping out of the shadows. If Fleming didn't already know where he was, he would by the end of the night. And he'd know that Noah was done hiding.

  He glanced at Dallas. "You sure you want Mac Fleming gunning for me in your sector?"

  Dallas snorted. "You think that'd be new? Mac Fleming's been gunning for me since I took over Sector Three. It'd be a nice change of pace if he did it out in the open."

  The cage was empty now, the last fight over, and the burly man by the door was holding it half-open, watching Dallas expectantly.

  Waiting.

  "All right, then." Noah bent to tug at his boot laces, and Dallas must have made some sort of signal because the warehouse exploded in cheers and shouted bets.

  He let it all blur into meaningless sound as he stripped down to his bare feet and jeans. Andy had already done the same and vaulted into the cage, leaving Noah to cast one final look at Emma.

  She stared back at him as if the small army of cheering people around them didn't exist. Instead, the corner of her mouth tilted up in an almost-smile, and she winked at him.

  God, how long had it been since he'd won Emma's trust with winks? He'd been harder then, growing brittle and wary from trying to shoulder his father's responsibilities without turning into him.

  But she'd been worth softening his usual scowl with a wink, even though it looked ridiculous. Especially because it looked ridiculous. His face wasn't built for playful expressions, and the incongruity had always made her laugh.

  A wink didn't look silly on her. It was sexy, sultry. Almost a promise, and one he was fucking well going to take her up on.

  Soon.

  The cage door clanged shut behind Noah, and with the lights blaring down on him, he couldn't pick her out of the shadows anymore. The world constricted to the metal cage and the man facing him, a scowl twisting his features.

  Noah flexed his fingers and quirked an eyebrow. "Andy."

  "Should have known you'd find your way here." Andy's scowl intensified. "Guess O'Kane has pockets deep enough for you to get your hands dirty, huh?"

  "You never did get it, did you? Not everything's for sale."

  "No?" He feinted a jab, then danced back. "Looks different from where I stand."

  Of course it did, because he wasn't seeing a goddamn thing, not really. He'd never notice all the ways Four was different. He saw violent men and half-naked women, not the things that mattered. Strength in the women. Compassion in the men.

  Banter was useless. He got it or he didn't, and it wasn't Noah's place to enlighten him or change his mind.

  So he'd rearrange his face instead.

  Flowing out of the way of another feint, Noah went in hard and fast, smashing his fist into Andy's gut. The roar from the crowd eclipsed the man's pained grunt, but he didn't let the blow throw him for long. He struck back, sloppy and rushed, aiming for Noah's temple.

  Noah dodged the worst of it and took a glancing blow to the cheek--just enough to give him a nice bruise for Emma to fuss over later--but the contact put him inside the other man's guard.

  His punch didn't miss.

  His knuckles stung as he whipped Andy's head to the side, sending him stumbling back. He hit the metal bars, rebounded off, and charged Noah with a theatrical growl. Maybe it was supposed to intimidate him. If so, the man was an idiot, wasting time and breath making his in
tentions clear.

  It only gave Noah time to think. Plan.

  Bracing his weight, he let his opponent slam into his gut. A calculated step back, almost like a stumble, but Andy misjudged it. He'd lowered his head for the charge, planning to ram Noah over, but instead Noah slapped a hand to the back of the man's neck and smashed his knee up into his face.

  Andy staggered, jerking his head back. Drops of blood hit the floor, raining down from his broken nose. "Son of a bitch!"

  The sporting thing would be to give him a chance to recover, and Noah didn't give a shit. He hooked his foot behind the other man's calf and hauled him off balance, dragging him down with a hard shove to the chest. "Tap out, and I won't break anything else."

  Andy struggled, swinging a wild, easily deflected blow at Noah's head. "Fuck you," he wheezed.

  No, it wasn't sporting. But knocking Andy out before his pride could get him in even deeper shit was mercy, so he did it with minimum fuss. Two hits and the bastard's eyes rolled back, leaving Noah free to rock to his feet as the noise started.

  Screaming. Cheering. The crowd roared their disappointment and approval with equal vigor, and for a heartbeat Noah found himself frozen by the unfamiliar sensation of being the center of everyone's attention.

  It was Jasper who opened the door, a rare smile transforming his stern face. "All right, Bruiser. You win. Get out so we can clean this mess up."

  Noah tried to smile in return, but the expression wouldn't come. Not until he got away from all the attention, out of the spotlight and back into the shadows. Not while strangers jostled around him, slapping his bare shoulders and shouting words that flitted past him as an annoying buzz.

  He didn't smile until he found her, standing on the edge of the floor in a circle of respectful space no doubt enforced by the O'Kane ink wrapped around her wrists.

  Blood pounded in his ears as he forced past the first knot of admirers. People followed the path of his gaze and began to melt away, until an empty stretch of concrete lined with too-curious spectators was all that stood between him and Emma.

  It was too fucking late. Fleming would know he had a weak spot by morning. By tomorrow night, he'd know it was Emma Cibulski.

  Fuck, this moment had probably been in the back of Noah's head all along, buried in that dark place he refused to go, as if avoidance could make it disappear. It had played out so pretty--stick around, put her in just enough danger that leaving would make it worse. Maybe he was everything he'd always feared--selfish and obsessed and lying to himself about whether or not he'd ever planned on letting Emma go.

  She was his. Good or bad, twisted or wrong, she was his, and he closed the last few steps with a hungry groan, buried his bruised hands in her hair, and kissed her.

  The crowd grew louder, but everything in Noah's world was Emma--her taste and her tongue and the fingers that clutched at his bare back, drawing him closer to the softness of her body.

  She wanted him violent. Bloody. She wanted him demanding, and she was proving it, going sweet and supple beneath his hands, open and eager, giving him everything he'd never dreamed of allowing himself to want.

  He growled against her mouth and caught her lower lip between his teeth. Emma shuddered, her hands gliding over his skin--ribs, sides, stomach--to rest on his belt buckle.

  Three steps put her back against the wall. Wrapped in shadows, but not hidden--awareness of the crowd behind him prickled along Noah's bare spine as he braced his hands on either side of her head and licked her plump lower lip. "Something you want, Emmy?"

  Her eyes were dark, glazed with pleasure already, as she traced her thumb over the warm leather of his belt. "I want to suck your dick," she murmured. "Right here, in front of everyone."

  The words were so sweetly obscene that his brain stuttered. Oh, he wanted it. Wanted it for all the basest reasons, and he was tired of fighting.

  Besides, before he promised to stick around, Emma should know who he really was.

  He dipped his head to scrape his teeth over her jaw. Up, until he found the soft spot where her chin curved into her throat, and he set his teeth and sucked hard enough to leave a mark.

  She whimpered and clutched the back of his head with the hand not lingering on his belt. "You have to say yes."

  If she thought he'd stop at something as passive as yes, she was in for a surprise. He lifted his mouth to her ear. "Get on your knees, sunshine."

  Her breath hitched, and she slid down the wall with a moan, pushing at his thighs until he took a step back, giving her room to kneel at his feet.

  Christ, she looked good there.

  And she knew it. There was no innocence in those dark eyes, no matter how big they were. There was hunger, strength, a reminder that the dominance games he'd played with the women in Five were rough and clumsy compared to the way the O'Kanes skated on the knife's edge between power and submission.

  She could cut him to pieces, and yet his erection already strained his fly. "Take my cock out."

  The buckle clicked as she worked it open, her movements fast and sure. His belt fell open, and she yanked at the buttons on his fly before dragging his jeans and his underwear down to free him.

  Emma exhaled on a shaky sigh and looked up, both hands clenched in the loosened denim of his jeans. She didn't touch him--not yet.

  Not without a command.

  "Good girl," he whispered, dropping one hand to cup her cheek. He swiveled his thumb to press against her mouth, drunk on the anticipation strung out between them. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

  "Yes." She whispered the word against his thumb as goose bumps rose on her arms and her nipples tightened beneath the thin leather she wore.

  Good. Resisting the temptation to push into her mouth, he gripped his shaft, stroking once and shuddering when her gaze followed his fingers. The crown was already slick, and it satisfied something uncivilized inside him to trace the tip over her lips.

  She opened her mouth. Her tongue darted out, lush and pink, and grazed the head of his cock. A quick caress, over in an instant, and he might have imagined it except for the flash of animal satisfaction that had him growling. "Again."

  She blinked innocently, an expression belied by the wicked smile that followed. "Again?"

  Noah gritted his teeth. "Put your tongue on my cock."

  Only three snaps held her tiny leather vest closed, and she popped the first one free as she complied, lapping at his crown with short, teasing strokes.

  Too slow. He'd been hard before she got on her knees, and the liquid need sliding through his veins left no room for practiced seduction. He released his shaft and sank his fingers into her hair instead. "If you take out your tits, I'll think you want me to come all over them."

  Emma froze with her fingers on the second snap. "Tease."

  He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Sunshine, don't think for a second there's a single place in or on your body I wouldn't love to come."

  Her eyes flashed fire, and she fisted her hand around the base of his shaft with a low, drawn-out moan. "Dirty," she whispered, then drew her tongue in a slow circle around the head of his cock.

  Shuddering, he tightened his grip in her hair, holding her in place as he rocked forward, pressing between her lips and into the wet warmth of her mouth. "Not as dirty as the things I'll do to you before I get to that point."

  She moaned again, the sound vibrating through him in delicious tingles. She looked up, her gaze locking with his, wordlessly begging him to continue.

  So he did, focusing on the plea in her eyes to distract himself from the dizzy pleasure as she sucked him. "I never had all the fancy cuffs and chains O'Kane was showing off at that party the other night, so I learned how to improvise. Your arms folded behind your back and my belt around them... With your cheek on the mattress and your ass in the air, you wouldn't be able to get away from my tongue."

  Emma jerked, her hand tightening around his shaft and sliding back as she took him deeper.

  Yeah, she lik
ed that image as much as he did.

  He twisted his fingers in her hair in silent warning, tugging her back until he could thrust shallowly into her mouth. "I think you'd try to get away," he whispered. "I think you'd like it when I stopped you."

  She started to bob forward again, but he held tight. She gasped, straining for a heartbeat before relaxing with a gentle sigh, and a new languor softened her movements as she rubbed her head against his hand.

  How could anyone compare grudging acquiescence to this, the heady moment when a powerful woman trusted you enough to let herself be powerless? It was like his first shot of O'Kane whiskey after a lifetime of rotgut liquor, so good it ruined him.

  There was no going back. Nothing would ever be this good, this sweet.

  No one could ever be her.

  He withdrew, ignoring her whimper of protest, and taunted them both by stilling with her lips wrapped around just the head of his cock. "Maybe I'll get one of those bars with the leather straps that buckle around your thighs. You'd be able to wiggle all you wanted, and I wouldn't have to hold you open. I can think of better uses for my hands."

  Emma sucked hard before releasing him with a pop. "And you called me mean."

  He grinned at her. "Hey, if you can't handle what you're getting into..."

  "For you?" Her gaze was solemn. "I've been waiting for years."

  Levity bled into a fresh wave of hunger so intense that it shoved him across that final line. He shook as the truth tore from him, a promise or an admission or maybe a plea for forgiveness. "Me too. Christ, me too."

  Emma rose in a rush and clawed at his chest as her mouth found his in a desperate, bruising kiss. He ripped open the snaps on those tiny leather shorts, and then he had his hands on her bare ass, and he didn't care if every goddamn person in the warehouse lined up to watch them because nothing was worth another second of not being inside her.

  He hoisted her with his fingers under her thighs, only distantly aware of the wetness that greeted his fingers. She was as turned on as he was, and that was all the encouragement he needed to go fast and rough, shoving into her hard enough to slam her back against the wall.