Beyond Control (Beyond, Book Two)

by Kit Rocha

  "You're a few months early," he drawled, tracing his finger over one of the thorny vines. "But that's all right." He lifted his gaze to hers, and the easy warmth in his voice didn't reach those predatory eyes. "I'll take it."

  Oh, shit.

  Seemed like miracles could happen outside the walls of Eden after all, because he'd rendered Lex speechless.

  Not that she needed to talk. Her actions were speaking loud enough all on their own, and so was that ink etched from one hip to the other. Ace's work, without a doubt, recognizable not just by his skill and style but his stubborn adherence to the idea of truth in art.

  Trust Ace to turn a simple name into a maze of subtext and hidden messages. Like the rosebuds, so tightly furled, except for the one wrapped around the s. That one looked like it was struggling to bloom in the shadow of his name. The vine climbing the D, on the other hand, was thick with thorns, more than one jabbing into the calligraphic letter. One thorn glistened with a barely visible drop of blood.

  That felt about right. Sharp edges and blood, and dragging his gaze from the tattoo only showed him Lex, staring up at him in some confused tangle of brashness and nerves. She might well be too scared to speak--God knew she should be--but she wouldn't show terror with everyone watching.

  She wouldn't scratch his face off, either. Probably. Without taking his eyes from hers, he unhooked the carabiner from his belt and held it out. "Bren. My desk, top drawer on the right. Bring what's there."

  Bren moved to obey, and the jangle of keys almost eclipsed Lex's words, ground out between clenched teeth. "You wouldn't."

  A glance around the room showed plenty of people scurrying to find a way to seem occupied. Half of them were probably straining to hear their words over the music, but most couldn't without edging closer than they were willing to get.

  Well, they'd get their show soon enough. He stroked a lock of Lex's hair away from her cheek and wondered if he'd end up bitten for his trouble. "What wouldn't I do, Lexie?"

  She struggled beneath him and tried to sit up. "It's not funny--"

  He caught her throat, laying his thumb over her rapidly beating pulse as he closed his fingers. Not hard enough to choke, but the precise gentleness of it shut her up faster than roughness would have. She was frozen, half-raised on her elbows, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'm not joking."

  Lex shuddered. "Don't," she rasped. "If you do, you can't take it back."

  "Can you take the tattoo back?"

  She bit her lip. "I guess I deserve it."

  "A fate worse than death, huh?" She'd etched an invitation into her skin, but now he was the monster, dragging her to certain death by the hair. It stirred a dark frustration that spiked when Noelle made an angry noise and reached for them. Before she could open her mouth, Dallas jabbed a finger at Jasper. "You keep your woman out of shit that doesn't concern her."

  Jasper locked an arm around her and pulled her back. "Not our thing, remember?" he whispered. "Theirs."

  "That's right, baby girl. This is me and Dallas." Lex pushed up into his grip, challenging him not only with her movements but with a bold stare. If he didn't pull back, she'd end up grinding bruises into her own skin, forcing him to leave the mark of his hand around her throat.

  No winning there. He loathed the idea of leaving marks on her flesh that weren't purposeful and planned. But the only other choice was retreat, and he didn't know if he could back down with her staring at him. Daring him. She'd get what she wanted one way or another...and maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Not with all he was about to take.

  He gave her the lingering victory and locked his arm. He didn't need to tighten his fingers, not with her shoving up into his hand. If she wanted bruises, she'd get them.

  After too many long moments, she relented, easing back to gasp for breath. The delicate skin of her throat was red, but she acted as though he'd answered a question. "The collar better not be one you've put on anyone else."

  He smoothed his thumb over her ravaged skin. "Look at you, jumping to conclusions. You knew what would come of this tattoo, didn't you?"

  "Am I wrong?"

  "No. Am I?"

  But she wouldn't give in, not that much. She averted her eyes. "Your boy's back."

  Bren must have run and taken the stairs three at a time to get to Dallas's office and back so quickly. But he wasn't out of breath, and his expression remained calm as he held out the collar. Dallas accepted it with absent thanks and held it up.

  It was some damn expensive custom work, made from smooth, supple leather. Flat at the back, it split into four narrow cords on each side, the top and bottom lengths forming a frame for the pieces woven in and out of sterling silver Celtic knots. And at the front, carved with amazing precision, the O'Kane logo, situated where it would nestle in the hollow of her throat.

  A far cry from the plain black leather he'd buckled around women's throats in the past, and Lex would know it.

  She swallowed hard and met his gaze. Waiting.

  No one interfered. No one would, and that made him move slowly. He swept her hair aside, twisting it around his hand and then up. "Hold this, love."

  She kept her eyes locked on his as she braced her hands on the cushion and crept out from under him just far enough to sit. She lifted her hands, fingers sliding over his as she took over holding up the mass of her hair.

  He'd seen that look in her eyes. The one that said he'd pushed her past fear or anger into driving, vengeful lust. Never before had he taken what that look offered. Blowjobs and spankings were good clean fun, but he didn't fuck a woman he had to share. Not even Lex.

  If he wrapped this scrap of leather around her throat, he wouldn't have to share her--and if he dwelled on that, his hands would shake before he got it fastened. Still moving carefully, he laid the etched centerpiece against the hollow of her throat and admired it for a moment before fastening the collar.

  "How does it look?" she asked--low, breathless.

  He told her the truth. "Beautiful."

  She glanced around, taking note of all the rapt stares, and her voice dropped even lower. "What now?"

  Dallas smoothed her dress down before rising to offer the silent crowd a lazy smile. He held out one hand and waited for Lex to take it. She was still wary, unsure of what she'd gotten herself into.

  Good. He wouldn't be the only one, he'd just hide it better. He tugged her to her feet and draped an arm over her shoulder. "Now we let Jasper and Noelle have their moment back."

  "I don't think it'll matter. Noelle wants your blood." Lex shook her head. "I'll have to talk to her. Later."

  A glance at Noelle proved the truth of that. She didn't look like a soft little city girl now. With ink around her throat and her eyes burning with protective anger, she looked like an O'Kane, one who might not be satisfied with his blood if she could get a knee--or something worse--close to his balls. Jasper was talking to her in a low, even voice, but the words didn't seem to be banking that inner fire.

  Jasper was either going to have the hottest time of his life tonight trying to tame that, or he'd end up sleeping alone. If he found himself in a cold bed, Dallas really would owe him for fucking up what should have been a good night. "Think Jas can handle her?"

  Lex flashed him a look of sharp rebuke. "If you had any question about that, you should never have let him mark her."

  He bit back his retort--that the girl who'd stumbled into their midst wasn't the same one slowly bending under Jasper's words and touches, and Lex should know since she'd been partly responsible for that transformation. But he'd seen the hints of this fierce tiger in the clumsy kitten Noelle had been a month ago, and he was confident Jasper could handle anything she threw at him.

  It didn't mean he'd always enjoy it, though. "Collared all of two minutes and you're already second guessing my decisions, huh? You could at least get me a drink first."

  She exhaled--it could have been a laugh or a scoff--and nodded once. "Yes, sir." Then she headed in the direction
of the bar set up along one end of the room.

  Prickly. That was fine. The full impact of what he'd just done was starting to catch up with him, which made the walk back to his couch take forever. The dais was empty, and even Six had abandoned her spot. No one would tread too near with his temper presumably still close to the surface.

  If only they knew. The momentary flash of outrage at Lex's presumption had vanished under the gut instinct to turn it to his advantage. He'd missed his window of opportunity on collaring her during the Wilson Trent blow-up, but this time he wouldn't give her a chance to get skittish.

  It was a pity that pressing this particular opportunity involved skipping a few key steps. Discussion. Negotiation. The setting of guidelines and the drawing of boundaries. Collaring was ownership, however temporary, and a smart man made sure his idea of ownership fit before trying to shove a woman into it. Doing otherwise tended to end badly.

  Lex came back to the dais, a whiskey triple in one hand. The ice clinked as she held it out to him, the perfect picture of submission, ruined only by the glimpse of fire he caught before her lashes lowered.

  She reached up, and the collar shifted as the top of her halter dress loosened and fell to bare her chest. The slinky red fabric slipped down to her hips, then the floor, and she stood there, clad only in his ink, his leather, and her high-heeled shoes.

  So much for giving Noelle and Jasper back their spotlight. "Thanks," he drawled before patting his thigh. "Care to sit?"

  "We can do better than that." She dropped to her knees.

  He'd lost count of the number of times she'd blown him right here, just like this, and every memory paled beside the reality of having her on her knees. Burning, like that collar was the only thing holding back the kind of explosion that would singe a man to ash.

  Sometimes she was a little scary when she looked at him like that, and fuck if he didn't like it. "I don't know, love. The way you're looking at me, I don't trust you not to use your teeth."

  She laid her hands on his knees, slid them up his thighs. "Has that ever stopped us before?"

  "Not really." He rested the hand holding his glass on the back of the couch and slid the other into her unbound hair. "Is this what you were going for, Lexie? Is this what you wanted?"

  "I always do." His belt buckle clicked, and leather whispered over leather as she drew open the belt. She reached for the button on his pants, the zipper--all by touch, as if she knew this moment too well to even look down.

  He tightened his fingers in her hair, a quick tug of warning. "So you're going to swallow my dick like nothing's changed?"

  "You want something else?" she asked, pulling against his grip as she leaned over his legs. Closer. "Is that why you asked me to sit on your lap? So I could ride you right here? Now?"

  The first time he buried his cock in her, no one else would be watching. He'd been waiting too long to share any part of that first time, even the sight of her coming for him. "No," he murmured, pulling her hair hard enough to edge her chin up. "But being collared means you get my dick when I give it to you."

  "Oh." Her hands stilled. "So that's how it's gonna be."

  He left his drink balanced precariously on the back of the couch and stroked his thumb over her lips. His skin was chilled from the ice, and her breath burned as hot as her gaze. "Is that a surprise? I remember you saying you knew all about what gets me off."

  "Of course." She smiled, easy and bland.

  Sometimes it amazed him, how fast she could shutter her eyes. A product of her training from Sector Two, no doubt. Sighing, he released her hair. "That ain't it."

  Lex sat back on her heels and folded her hands in her lap. Waiting, silent and obedient and so sweetly submissive they were attracting stares again. Lex on her knees was nothing new, but Lex in a posture of surrender...

  This is what he got for trying to play the game without discussing the rules first. She was gazing at him like an empty-headed doll, and he had no one to blame but himself. "Get dressed, Lex. Tomorrow we'll have a talk."

  She snatched up her dress but didn't bother slipping into it before she stalked off, through the crowd and out the door.

  "Well done, old man," Dallas grumbled before draining his whiskey. The party would go on, and he'd sit and endure their looks and their barely concealed speculation, but by God if one of them dared pity him--

  Well fucking done, indeed.

  Jasper stared at him in sympathy. It wasn't overt, but Dallas had known him long enough to see the commiseration beneath his seemingly impassive features. Then he broke the awkward near-silence with a muttered question to Noelle, one she answered with an eager nod.

  At some point, the flogger had found its way from the dais to the main floor. Bren handed it over to Jasper, who tested its weight and balance in his hand before drawing the suede tails slowly through his fingers--and then across Noelle's bare, upraised ass.

  The crowd fell silent, and even Dallas held his breath as Jasper began to twirl the flogger, rotating his wrist until the tails swirled in a smooth figure eight. The tense silence broke when he let the first hint of suede thud against Noelle's skin, and her grateful moan ripped through the room.

  A show. The kind that would please his woman but also distract a drama-hungry crowd from gossiping about Lex's sudden departure.

  It was working, too. By the time Jasper began to intensify his efforts, landing harder and faster blows on Noelle's reddening skin, people had either gone back to screwing each other, or they were watching with a rapt attentiveness that left no room for thoughts about Dallas.

  And fuck if Dallas didn't owe him for it. Big time.

  Chapter Four

  Lex had a splitting headache, a sore neck, and a powerful urge to crawl back under the covers and hide from the world. All three were her own damn fault, and irritating enough to drive her from her bed and into the shower.

  Ten minutes to linger under the steamy water, and she forced herself out. She dried her hair first, then wound the strands into an intricate mass of braids, a style she hadn't worn since her days in Sector Two. More than a decade, and her fingers still moved automatically, smoothing every hair into position.

  She'd never be rid of that goddamned place.

  The last thing she did was fasten Dallas's collar around her neck. It was exquisite, easily the most beautiful thing she'd ever owned, and the weight of it threatened to strangle her. But what had she expected? That he'd lock her in a collar and suddenly change, read her mind and give her exactly what she wanted?

  Maybe she had expected that, and why not? Fuck, if a man wanted to own a woman like her, he'd damn well better earn it.

  With that rebellion fresh in her mind, she wrapped herself in armor--a boned leather corset and jeans that sat low enough on her hips to bare her fresh ink. Every bit of ownership carefully framed, from the tattoo to her collar to the darkening bruises on her skin.

  Let him look at what he'd bought.

  He answered on her second knock with a muffled, "Come in," and she pushed open the door to find him bent over the desk with a stack of papers under one hand and his hacked computing tablet under the other.

  His scowl faded when he glanced up, but frustrated tension still knotted his shoulders. "Lex."

  His gaze raked over her, and she welcomed it. All the other bullshit aside, she turned him on, quick and hard, so at least she wouldn't be the only one twisted up. "I came to discuss my duties."

  He frowned. "Duties? Really?"

  "Hmm, maybe not." She dropped into a chair and crossed her legs. "You made it pretty fucking clear last night this is all about appearances."

  "Is that what I did?" He shoved the papers aside. "Why don't we back on up to the beginning of this tangle?" He pointed at her tattoo. "Don't pretend I'm the one who set this off."

  After the humiliation of the night before, she'd pretend whatever she pleased. "I got a little ink, and you jumped at the chance to put me in my place."

  "No, I took you up on
your invitation."

  "Did you?"

  "Yeah. But I made a mistake." Dallas jerked open his desk drawer, rummaged around, and pulled out tobacco and rolling papers. "We skipped right over the important part, and I know better."

  She watched his hands, mesmerized by the leashed strength there. "The negotiation, you mean."

  "Mmm." He measured out the tobacco with easy, absentminded movements, most of his attention focused on her. "You put me in a hell of a spot, love. Normally, I'd tell you to take that collar off until you agree to what comes along with it, but you forced my hand a little, didn't you?"

  Lex would have admitted as much--hell, she had the night before, but now... "I didn't force you. You had other options."

  "Forced my hand, not me." He paused with the tobacco-filled paper pinched between his finger and thumb and gave her a level look. "Let's cut through the bullshit. We've been dancing around this for years, but until last month, I never thought you'd consider a collar. Because you don't get to be just another girl in my bed, Lexie. None of the others has been one of us. You know where this puts you."

  He'd had women in and out of his bed, always collared and always outsiders, women who came and went like clockwork. Shift change, Lex had ruefully called it.

  No more.

  "It means I have duties," she said, feigning a patience she didn't feel. "Is it the word that offends, or the fact that I'm not slobberingly focused on the many things I get to do to your dick once you deign to let me touch it?"

  His gaze dropped to her throat, where her fingers had come to rest on the collar. Lex tensed but refused to jerk them away, and he clenched his jaw as he turned his attention back to his task. "All right. Duties is fair enough, as long as touching my dick isn't one of them."

  As if she'd been the one to deny him. "That's the funny thing about these collars." She scratched one fingernail over the rough surface of the O'Kane emblem. "Most men put them on women they plan to regularly fuck the shit out of."