Beyond Control (Beyond, Book Two)

by Kit Rocha

  Fire.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to center herself, but Dallas stripped it all away with another deep drive of his hips. Fast, faster than her racing heart.

  Exactly what she wanted.

  His satisfied groans rose behind her, raw animal sounds that prickled over her skin and punctuated his speeding thrusts. He cracked his open palm across her ass with his next advance and growled. "Up on your elbows," he commanded, pulling back on one shoulder to lift her upper body. "I want to watch your tits bounce in those ridiculous fucking mirrors."

  He wanted her to watch, to see the quick slam of his cock into her pussy. To watch him take her.

  She arched her back and gave it to him--but not too easy. "Motherfucker." Reaching up, she slipped her fingers into his hair and pulled. Hard.

  Dallas just laughed and fucked her faster. Oh, he liked the hint of pain, almost as much as he liked the control.

  And he had it. He shifted her hips with one hand, guiding her back into a deeper arch. He always knew just how to fuck her with his fingers--when to hold off and when to drive her higher--but this was different. Possessive. Desperate.

  Fierce.

  When she found his reflection in the mirror, the truth hit her as hard as his next thrust. He was wild, his lips parted in a needy snarl, his eyes narrowed and dark, so dark. Every inch of control he gained over her stripped away a layer of the control he had over himself.

  Give and take. Not about bodies, or even the breathless ecstasy lighting her up from the inside out. Suddenly, it made sense, and she knew what he really needed.

  Every thrust bordered on pain now, grinding her against the bed. She could barely speak, but she managed to hold his gaze in the mirror and let him see her truth. "You have me," she rasped. "I'm yours."

  He shuddered, his fingers digging bruises into her skin. "Come for me. Come all over me."

  Her head hit his shoulder. She couldn't stop shaking, but there was something, something-- "Harder."

  "No." One hand caged her throat as he slammed into her with a grunt. "Just like this." Another thrust, angled just right and riding the sharp edge of too much. "Just hard enough."

  His hand tightened a little, and Lex shuddered. She gripped his wrist, her nails digging in to his skin. "More."

  "Filthy girl." His lips crushed against her ear, teeth scraping her lobe as he carefully, oh-so-slowly tightened his fingers. "You want it rough and raw," he rasped in a low whisper. "I'll give you that, love. I'll give you the fucking world."

  Yes. The world he spoke of, beautiful and bright, spun around her in dizzying, white-hot circles. The pressure of Dallas's hand collided with the pressure building inside her--until it all exploded in a blinding, choking rush. And this time he was there, riding her ecstasy, his obscene torrent of words reduced to a guttural snarl of her name as he came inside her.

  Her knees wouldn't hold her. As soon as the hand around her throat eased, Lex stumbled. Dallas caught her and swung her up onto the bed, though he didn't seem particularly steady, either.

  It didn't stop him from pushing her hair back from her face and brushing a soft kiss to her lips. "You with me, darling?"

  Her tongue felt thick, useless, but she managed a slow nod.

  "Good. I'll be right back."

  The mattress shifted, Lex opened her eyes and watched the low light gild the hard, muscled lines of his Dallas's body as he stripped off his clothes. "The lamps should have voice controls."

  "Damn waste of resources," he grumbled, but she noticed he still took advantage of it, sliding into bed beside her before ordering the lights to a bare glow.

  His warmth bolstered the soft haze of pleasure that still blurred the world around its edges, and Lex curled up in his arms. "The big meeting's tomorrow?"

  "Mmm. A few hours of backbiting and arguing while everyone circles like stray dogs. And, if we're really lucky, maybe an assassination attempt by lunch."

  She might have laughed--if it hadn't been so terribly likely. "Watch yourself, okay?"

  He curled a hand around her rib cage, spreading his fingers until his thumb brushed her breast. "You, too. And don't you try'n ditch Mad, either. If he loses sight of you outside this room, I'll beat his ass down."

  "I wouldn't." Wandering around Sector Two with no backup appealed to her about as much as sticking her hand in a snake pit.

  "Good. I don't like this place. Don't like letting you out of my sight." His sigh tickled her temple. "Not just for your benefit, either. I don't have a damn clue how I'll keep my temper tomorrow."

  He'd do it, like so many other things, because he had to. She turned her face and kissed his jaw. "It'll be over soon."

  "Yeah? Do I get a reward for getting through the day without stabbing anyone?"

  She rubbed one bare leg over his. "I'll think of something creative."

  His laughter was a low rumble that vibrated through her as he rolled her beneath him. "I like you like this," he murmured against her lips. "Sleepy and sweaty and disheveled. Sexiest fucking thing in the world."

  Any other time, she might have fought the pleasure that rose with his words. But here, now, the satisfaction seemed not only acceptable but necessary.

  This was what it meant, the collar. The marks.

  She didn't hold back the slow smile that curved her lips. "Don't you forget it."

  Rachel

  You can do this. Rachel wrapped her hand around the slightly crooked door handle and hesitated. She'd wanted this tattoo for too long to punk out now, just because Ace was the man for the job. She was an O'Kane, and he laid O'Kane ink.

  Pure and simple.

  The door creaked as she pushed it open. Ace stood next to a table, straightening his pens and markers. He didn't turn or even look up, but his voice washed over her, warm and wry. "Rachel."

  "It's two o'clock." She dragged her gaze away from the muscled lines of shoulders, bare under his white wifebeater. "Are you ready for me?"

  "Of course." He glanced back with one of those easy smiles she hadn't seen in too long. "Hop up on my table, angel, and tell me what your heart desires."

  For a moment, all her heart did was shudder to a halt. She shook it off and climbed onto the table. "The tattoo we talked about--the O'Kane emblem across my chest."

  His gaze settled on her chest, and his smile took on an edge of teasing. "How big are we talking?"

  Her cheeks heated, and she cursed herself for wearing the sexy retro getup Trix had picked out for her. The capris were okay, and she'd worn the outfit specifically for the tight strapless top, since it meant she might not have to strip half-naked for her tattoo.

  Right now, though, it just felt like she'd tried too hard.

  She cleared her throat. "You're the artist. You know what would look good."

  "Damn near anything." But he relented and dropped to his stool. "Hanging out with that city boy's bad for your constitution, angel. I haven't seen you blush that pink in years."

  "Maybe you haven't been paying attention."

  "You think not, huh?"

  He'd been paying attention. Watching. Biding his time, and that was the part that made her irrationally angry--because now it was too late. "I think I want my tattoo."

  Ace sighed and rolled his stool back to the table that held his pens. "I can do a sketch on paper first if you want, but if you just want our logo..."

  "That's all I want."

  "Message received, angel." He rose and returned with a collection of blue markers clenched loosely in his fist. "Wiggle that top down. I need to see what I'm working with."

  She glanced down. "It's not low enough?"

  He didn't touch her, not with his fingers. Instead, he took the capped tip of the marker and set it against her skin, just beneath the hollow of her throat. "The logo's shaped kind of like an inverted triangle." He dragged the tip of the marker along her collarbone and down the inside curve of her breast. "The hilts of the daggers stick out a little, but for the most part it'll nestle n
ice and sweet, right between your tits."

  He'd need room to work, and the way he traced the pen over her flesh made her realize something else--the shirt would pull at her skin, distorting the tattoo.

  It had to go, and making a big deal out of that could reveal far more than her body.

  Wordlessly, she tugged the fabric down, doubling it over the wide belt cinched around her waist.

  "There we are." His gaze was tangible, a warmth that prickled over her skin as he studied her. It wasn't even all that lascivious--she'd seen Ace ogle women's breasts plenty of times. This was something else, something more. This was the deadly serious artist who lived beneath Ace's joking exterior, studying her like she was a masterpiece he intended to improve.

  The intensity drew her attention to his hands. Strong, but capable of such tiny, intricate work. And skilled in other ways--ways she couldn't afford to remember just now.

  Not that she could stop. The memory seized her, more sensation than recollection, of hot breath on the side of her neck as those hands roamed her body, eased under denim and lace to tease and then demand. She could still hear the music, feel the way he'd matched the rhythm beat for beat with slippery circles on her clit.

  She'd danced with him exactly once, a harmless encounter that had turned into something else entirely, a grinding, pulsing need that had culminated in a single perfect orgasm--

  --and had ended with him walking away as if it had never happened.

  Rachel looked away again, fixing her stare on the corner of the table behind him. She had to break the silence, but safe topics of conversation were practically nonexistent. "How long will Dallas and the others be gone?"

  "A few days, tops." He caught the cap of one marker between his teeth and pulled it off, his gaze still riveted to her chest. "No way will Dallas keep Lex in Two a minute longer than he has to."

  "No, I guess not."

  "Big, I think." He didn't offer a segue, just traced one fingertip beneath her collarbone, from one shoulder to the other. "Following all these pretty curves. Make a statement, eh?"

  She hadn't thought this through. Ace was touchy-feely anyway, but when he was in the zone, he got downright pornographic. "Don't you have a stencil for it or something?"

  "What, that fancy city shit?" He touched the cool tip of the marker to her skin and drew the first line, a swooping curve that must have been the top of the skull. "I save the tech for the ink, honey. You know that."

  "Sure." If she shivered, he'd have to wipe away the lines and start over. The threat of it kept her still, silent, and she closed her eyes.

  One large, warm hand folded over her shoulder, bracing her body as he leaned closer. His breath skated over her when he exhaled, tightening her nipples to aching points. "So tell me what gossip I've been missing lately. I hear you're showing Bren's wildcat around."

  "Six." Rachel cleared her throat. "Her name is Six."

  "I know." He edged the marker lower, dipping between her breasts. "Is she as snarly as she looks? I don't even dare smile at her. She looks like she'd gnaw my face off."

  Six was scared, out of her element. Traumatized. "If you smile at her, she'll probably think you're about to eat her. Face it--she might seem snarly, but you're the big, bad wolf."

  "Me? Never." He peeked up with a teasing grin. "I'm bad, and sure, I'm big...but I'm harmless as a kitten."

  Rachel grimaced. "Everything's a dick joke to you, isn't it? You couldn't hold a serious conversation if I put it in a fucking bucket for you."

  That wiped away his smile. "I didn't think you were serious. Shit, Rachel. That girl beat Wilson Trent to death with her bare fucking hands. I'm a little scared of her."

  God, she didn't want to talk to him, to get wrapped up in trying to figure him out again. "It's complicated. Don't give her a hard time, all right?"

  "All right, angel." He settled back into sketching, working in silence beyond the rasp of the marker and the slow, even sound of his breaths. Every once in a while he switched to a different pen, laying thick lines around the edges and going back with a fine-point pen to tease out details.

  He finished the guide sketch quickly and turned back toward the low table, and Rachel took advantage of his distraction to rub the goose bumps off her arms. "Can I lie down? The needles make me woozy."

  Ace tilted his head toward the chair. "Why don't you sit there? It'll make it easier to move around, if I need a better angle."

  A casual request, but everyone knew what kind of shit went down in Ace's tattoo chair. She swallowed hard, pushed away the mental images, and slid off the table. "Fine."

  He sighed as she settled onto the leather. "Now you're looking at me like I'm the big bad wolf. You don't have to worry about me, and neither does your city boy. I don't play that dirty."

  It stung, but only because it was so far from the truth. "I'm not arrogant or vain enough to think you can't keep your hands off me."

  "It wasn't an insult." He slid into place in front of her, scooting his stool between her legs. "No man with a working dick wouldn't be tempted, angel. Trust me."

  "Why should I?" Rhetorical enough to be safe...and earnest enough to be dangerous.

  Ace stared up at her in silence for a moment--long enough to remind her that he was mere inches away and her shirt was wrapped around her waist. If he bent his head, just a little, he could have his mouth on her bare skin, her breasts, and something about the tightness in his eyes and the sudden unsteadiness of his breathing made it seem like a possibility.

  But when he leaned in, it was only to reach past her for a mirror.

  Jesus, she was a mess. Her skin was flushed, from her cheeks down under the sketch he'd inked between her breasts, and even her hair was disheveled.

  She looked like he'd fucked her already.

  Ace held the mirror steady and dipped his head to catch her eyes. There was something profoundly gentle in the way he smiled at her, not wicked or teasing, and all the more dangerous because of that tenderness. "Does the sketch look all right?"

  "It's fine," she murmured breathlessly.

  "Good." Once the mirror was back on the table, Ace returned with the tattoo gun and brushed a stray lock of Rachel's hair out of the way. "This is bigger than your last one, but it's simpler. Just the black. I'll go easy, but if it hurts or you need a second, you ask, all right?"

  "Okay." She clenched her fists as he poured out the ink caps and turned on the machine.

  Pain came with the first touch of the needle. Not much at first, just the initial shock that almost vanished in the next moment. Then it bloomed into a burning ache, a low-level irritation that couldn't quite distract her from the hand he placed above the spot he was working on, his fingertips brushing her throat and his thumb riding the curve of her breast.

  He'd said something to her months ago, when she'd first mentioned the tattoo. That laying ink over sensitive skin and bone could be excruciating. This was sharp and dull, throbbing through her slowly at first and then swelling into a prickling wave.

  She almost begged him to stop, had to dig her teeth into her tongue to hold back the plea. Then the edge of pain subsided, a wave flowing back out to sea only to be replaced with the crash of something else, hot and blurry.

  "Stay with me, angel." A gloved finger touched her cheek, tilting her head. "I need to know what kind of fuzzy you're getting."

  She rubbed the back of her head against the chair and tried to bring the room back into focus. "Ace."

  "Still good?"

  No, not good, but somehow she knew it could be. "So easy," she whispered.

  Concern furrowed his brow, and the buzzing of the machine cut off. Ace filled her vision, patted her cheek. "Look at me, Rachel."

  She couldn't. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back. "Just finish. Please."

  The buzz resumed a moment later, followed by the brain-scrambling, blissful pain. "I'll take care of you, Rachel. Doesn't matter what's between us or why. Or who. I've always got your bac
k. You hear me, girl?"

  "Yes." But it didn't mean anything. The real problem was why she couldn't seem to let go.

  "If you want me to keep going, you're going to have to talk to me. Prove you're not about to pass the hell out." He wiped at her skin, then moved his hand down, cupping the outer curve of her breast. "I don't care if you sing or recite the alphabet, just talk."

  "I can't." She tried to drag in a breath, but it sounded more like a sob. "I don't ever know what to say to you."

  He made a soothing noise as the pain spread along her shoulder. "Then I'll talk."

  He did, of random things like Noelle's dancing and the bar and what was happening in Sector Three. About the latest gossip out of the border whorehouses and who was favored to win the next round of cage fights.

  Nothing too heavy, nothing personal. Nothing real.

  Cruz talked to her, told her about the pain of his past and his hopes for the future. He was honest in a way she wasn't sure Ace knew how to be for longer than a few stolen moments at a time. Cruz was good, decent--

  And only the worst kind of woman would be sitting there right now, wishing Ace would kiss her, just once.

  A tear seeped out of the corner of Rachel's eye, and she let it track down into her hair as she breathed deep and focused on the pain instead of letting it fuzz away into the dark corners of her mind.

  She deserved to feel every single sting.

  Chapter Nine

  By the time the elaborate grandfather clock in the corner of Cerys's meeting room chimed to announce an hour of Dallas's life wasted, he was starting to think longingly of those assassination attempts he'd joked about.

  The ridiculous clock aside, the room where the sector leaders met to plan--and argue--was probably the starkest in Sector Two. It was dominated by a solid table, ten feet square. Just enough room for suspicious men to spread out, two on each side, but not enough to really keep them safe from one another. And they all knew it.

  They were arranged by sector, by unspoken agreement. Or maybe the original agreement had been spoken before Dallas's time, when the first group had tentatively gathered, mistrustful leaders of the strongest factions, the ones who were smart enough to realize the truth that kept the sectors alive. Too much organization, and the men who controlled Eden would sweep out from the city, use their superior technology to wipe away the threat that unified sectors could represent. Too much chaos, and Eden would be forced to exert a different but equally destructive kind of control.