Aug 20 2013 11:00am
A woman with no future…
Live fast, die young–anything else is a fantasy for Six. She’s endured the worst the sectors had to throw at her, but falling in with Dallas O’Kane’s Sector Four gang lands her in a whole new world of danger. They’re completely open about everything, including their sexuality–but she hasn’t survived this long by making herself vulnerable. Especially not to men as dominant as Brendan Donnelly.
A man without a past…
Bren is a killer, trained in Eden and thrown to the sectors. His one outlet is pain, in the cage and in the bedroom, and emotion is a luxury he can’t afford–until he meets Six. Protecting her soothes him, but it isn’t enough. Her hunger for touch sparks a journey of erotic discovery where anything goes–voyeurism, flogging, rough sex. He has only one rule: he won’t share her.
In Bren’s arms, Six is finally free to let go. But his obsession with the man who made him a monster could destroy the fragile connection they’ve forged, and cost him the one thing that makes him feel human–her love.
Get a sneak peek of Six and Bren's story with an exclusive excerpt of a selected scene from Kit Rocha's Beyond Pain (available August 26, 2013).
Sparring usually went better when she wanted to hit Bren.
It wasn’t fair. She’d known that at the start of her restless, uneasy night. She’d known her invitation hadn’t been enthusiastic or seductive, so who could blame Bren for not taking her up on it? But her sense of fairness warped in on itself as those tense moments in front of her door replayed themselves over and over, building embarrassment on self-consciousness until she was half convinced she’d thrown herself at him only to be met with disgusted rejection.
It had felt that way, anyway, leaning against her closed door with her body aching for a release she was too tangled up to find. A few futile minutes with her fingers between her legs had made that clear. She’d met people who got off on humiliation, but she sure as fuck wasn’t one of them, so now she was frustrated on top of everything else.
It made for great motivation. Unfortunately, it didn’t make her faster. Or smarter.
Her back hit the mat hard enough to drive a grunt out of her as Bren circled, as light on his feet as ever.
“Pay attention,” he snapped.
She shook off the shock of the impact and rose, staying on the balls of her feet as she pivoted to keep him in front of her. No wasting her breath on excuses or retorts, because she needed every scrap of focus to watch for the tiny signals that would indicate his next attack. But he just stood there, with not a single twitch to indicate which way he’d move.
Until he did.
He lunged for her midsection. This time, she twisted out of his path, jamming him in the side with her elbow to give her more time. She’d drilled enough men in the ribs to know most of them hesitated, but he followed through, pushing into the pain to hook an arm around her waist and drag her clear off the floor.
He followed her down to the mat and pinned both of her arms behind her. “You can’t always be stronger, so you have to be faster.”
She slammed her head back but only managed to knock him in the chin, and frustration lent her snarl a rough edge. “Nothing stops you. Another man would have flinched or winced or something.”
“You’re the one who wanted to learn.”
No, he wasn’t tolerating excuses or whining today. It only pissed her off more, because she shouldn’t want to whine, but there was a new significance to every touch now. A second meaning. His grip on her wrists wasn’t simply an obstacle to overcome, it was a scrap of knowledge some lurid part of her wanted to file away.
This is what it feels like when he pins me to the ground,that part whispered, making her hyperaware of how large his hands were, how easily his fingers encircled her wrists. How even her frantic, determined struggling hadn’t forced him to tighten his grip to the point of pain, as if he had such finely tuned control over his body and hers that he could judge just how hard to squeeze without hurting her.
Her body was carrying on some lewd conversation with his, one she didn’t want to hear and couldn’t fucking ignore if she tried.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stop struggling, to lie passively beneath him. “So what do I do next time?”
He released her. “Don’t let me get you off your feet, that’s—”
She struck before he could finish the sentence, throwing herself up and back while he was off balance, caught in mid-rise. So easy to slam into him, spill him to the floor, but she didn’t dare risk losing control of the moment. In a heartbeat, she was straddling his stomach, her knees crushing his arms to the mat as she curled a hand around his throat.
He stared at her, frozen, for a handful of heartbeats. Then the bastard started to laugh.
She was damn tempted just to choke him.
Copyright © 2013 by Kit Rocha.
Kit Rocha is actually two people—Bree & Donna, best friends who are living the dream. They get paid to work in their pajamas, talk on the phone, and write down all the stories they used to make up in their heads.