Beyond Addiction

by Kit Rocha

  He bit back his instinctive protest—I can’t. Weakness was alive inside him, and it was hard as hell to tolerate. Here, surrounded by her friends who wanted to be his enemies. He needed to be strong enough to weather the abuse headed his way, and that meant shoring up his vulnerable spots. “I promise I will. Just point me to a bathroom.”

  “No. You’re going to hurt yourself even worse.”

  Adding pain to the list of things he was ignoring, Finn reached for her. Closed his fingers around her waist and jerked her off her feet, into his lap. She landed straddling his thighs, one knee pressed to the mattress, and Finn curled one hand around the back of her head. “I know from bullet wounds, doll. Soft bed. Med-gel. Compared to the last few times I got shot up, this is a goddamn dream.”

  She framed his face between her hands with a wry laugh. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

  “Only about my ability to put my own damn pants on. Unless you’re trying to distract me...” He flexed his fingers on her waist and in her hair, savoring the feel of her beneath his hands.

  Being distracted wasn’t so bad. The real world stood beyond that door, but here, like this, they were still living in his dream. The one where he’d fucked her slow and deep and then quick and hard, watching honest-to-God pleasure paint her features. Nothing vague or lost or distant, not anymore.

  Staying naked and vulnerable was worth a few more moments of playing pretend.

  Her gaze fixed on his mouth. “Maybe I’m still scared.”

  “Don’t be.” He slid his hand up and spread his fingers wide between her shoulder blades. “You’re home. Safe. And I’m hard to kill.”

  “Not that.” She leaned closer, resting her forehead against his. “I want you to love it here like I do. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

  Even if he could—even if he did—it wasn’t likely the O’Kanes would ever love him the way they loved her. Truth, maybe, but it wouldn’t soothe the tension stiffening her body. So he stroked her spine and lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “Show me. Show me the things you love.”

  “Really?”

  Not quite enough of an edge to qualify as disbelief, but Trix was wary—and he was glad. Blind trust was too much damn responsibility for him right now. Too much guilt, because fuck if he could stop stroking her, stop touching her. “Really, baby. If anyone can make me a believer, it’s you.”

  She closed her eyes and exhaled. For a moment, he thought she’d close the distance and kiss him. But then she straightened—and grinned. “You’ve never seen me dance.”

  He fought the urge to tighten his grip on her, to choke back the dark thread of possessiveness unwinding in his gut. “Dancing, huh? I’ve heard stories about the Broken Circle’s style of dancing.”

  “Mmm.” She slipped her fingers into his hair. “I’ve got my own style.”

  She always had. Even now, in her sassy little polka-dot dress and whatever the hell she had on underneath it. Miles and miles of some sheer, crinkly fabric the same color as those polka dots, and the sweet primness of it made that knowing look in her eyes so much more dangerous.

  He skated a hand down to her bare knee. “I like your style.”

  The look she flashed him was stern, but he still heard the catch in her breath. “I meant my act. It’s all feathers and fans. Old-school striptease.”

  He tried to picture it, but with the softness of her skin under his fingertips, all he could think about was working his hand higher. He brushed his thumb along the inside of her knee just to hear her breath catch again. “You trying to make me jealous?”

  “Oh, I could make you jealous.” She tilted forward, rocking toward his hand. “Noelle and Rachel have been talking about putting together a show. Blonde, brunette, and redhead—and a whole lot of skin.” Her fingers clenched in his hair. “Is that the kind of dancing you’ve heard about?”

  His brain spun, trying to match the names to faces. His mental dossier covered most of O’Kane’s men, but other than Lex, the women were a mystery. Though fuck, hadn’t the councilman’s daughter who’d ended up with O’Kane had an N name? There’d been a video of her going around for a while, all brown hair and pale skin and screaming her way to messy, gleeful orgasms—usually with Lex’s face between her thighs.

  He imagined Trix in her place and damn near groaned. Jealousy and arousal—a more potent cocktail than anything Mac Fleming had ever bottled. “I didn’t think you liked girls.”

  “That depends on the situation,” she murmured wickedly. “Almost everything naked does.”

  Growling, he slipped his thumb higher, brushing her inner thigh. “Congratulations, doll. I’m jealous.”

  “Bullshit. You’re curious.” Her breathing sped up. “But you’ll figure it out. It’s fun, and it feels good, but it doesn’t mean I want you less.”

  That made him smile as he stroked the edge of her panties. “How much do you want me?”

  “A lot.” Trix kissed his forehead and slid off his lap. “And I’m going to show you. I promise.”

  Half the sheet went with her, slipping to the floor. Finn refused to lunge for it, even if it bared all of his scars—and the prominent hard-on that was well on its way to aching as much as the rest of him. “Does that mean I can get dressed?”

  At first, she kept her eyes locked on his face. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, her gaze drifted down, and she licked her lips.

  He bit back a groan, but he couldn’t stop the mental image—that tongue, gliding over his cock. Those lips parting wide as he pushed between them, savoring the slickness, the heat, the sight of her sucking him off, as eager and hungry as he was.

  Watching her face, he wrapped a hand around his shaft and pumped once, slowly. “Or I could stay like this.”

  She gasped, her chest rising with her sudden, indrawn breath, her breasts pushing against the low-cut bodice of that damned dress.

  Something wild slid through his veins, sweeping away exhaustion and discomfort. The sounds she made were better than adrenaline. Better than any drug Mac Fleming had ever created.

  And suddenly they weren’t enough. “Come here, Trix.”

  She was shaking her head even as she stepped forward. “You’re injured.”

  He grabbed her flouncy skirt and used it to draw her in, close enough to get his other hand under all those layers of ruffled fabric. He caressed the outside of her thigh and savored another hitching breath. That was what he wanted, what he needed. More of those noises. “You’re not.”

  She closed her eyes and swayed toward him. “Tease.”

  He hooked a finger under the edge of her panties. “Take these off, and you’ll find out if I’m teasing.”

  Trix shivered and reached beneath her skirt, her hand brushing his. “You always used to tease me. That’s one thing I do remember.”

  It had never been meant as a tease. More like an offering, a way to assuage his guilt every time she climbed into his lap and he didn’t push her away. It’s not so bad if it’s all about her, he’d tell himself, knocking her hands away from his belt and sliding his own beneath her clothing. Paper-thin rationalizations that shredded with her first moan.

  As if getting her off could ever be penance.

  “It’s not a tease if you follow through,” he said, already dragging the fabric off her hip. “Eventually.”

  She braced her hands on his shoulders and breathed a sound that was half moan, half strangled sigh. “Not fast enough.”

  Another day or two and he’d have the stamina to take her fast and hard. The twinge of soreness in his muscles as he guided her panties down her legs was a reminder that tonight was about slow. Careful.

  Thorough.

  The dainty fabric fell to the floor, and Finn used one foot to urge her stance even wider. “You look so proper in this get-up. So sweet.”

  “Is that good or bad?” she asked, innocence edged with something a little wicked, because she already knew the answer.

  Or she thought s
he did.

  He had never let her see all the dark places his mind wandered. Or the twisted, beautiful, fucked-up shit that got him hard. “It’s bad,” he whispered, brushing the backs of his fingers over her pussy. “It makes me think bad things.”

  Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Like what?”

  Like bending her over his lap, flipping that ridiculous skirt up over her back, and spanking her until she writhed her way to orgasm against his leg. Like dragging the scoop neck of her bodice down until her breasts spilled free and fucking her like that, disheveled and half-clothed, debauched perfection.

  Her pussy lips were bare. Smooth. He parted them and slid one finger over her, relishing the slick glide. She was already wet for him, already eager. Not afraid, not even a little. “How many of those stories they tell about the O’Kanes are true? Ropes and chains and people on their knees, sweet and submissive?”

  She shuddered, her hips bucking against his hand. “All of them, and more that no one ever hears.”

  The prick of her nails was all the encouragement he needed. He pumped one finger into her, shuddering as she clenched tight around it. “Do you know why I teased you, Trix?”

  “Because—” Her voice broke on a whimper. “Because you wanted to make me crazy.”

  Because only a sick motherfucker made demands on a woman when her life depended on him giving her another fix. “You couldn’t say no before. But you can now.”

  She looked at him, her gaze slowly sharpening as she focused on his face. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” He cupped her ass and dragged her closer. “That’s how selfish I am. It’s not enough to watch you ride my dick. I want you to love it. Need it. Choose it.”

  “Shh.” Her fingers skipped up his neck to thread through his hair. “I understand. You don’t ever have to worry about that, not anymore.”

  Because the minute he pissed her off, her friends would tear him to pieces. It was fucked up to find that soothing, but Finn was past caring. He hauled her astride his lap, her slick pussy rubbing along the length of his shaft as he rocked their hips together. “Then do it. Ride me.”

  “You’re still hurt—”

  He slapped the curve of her ass with a growl. “I said ride me.”

  Then she said it, the one thing he needed more than her pleasure. Clear, firm, fingers still stroking through his hair. “No.”

  There it was, that defiant spark that was all Trix. Tracy had never had it—or, if she had, it had been ground out of her by the time she’d rolled into Finn’s life. But Trix wouldn’t fall obediently to her knees. He’d have to coax her there. Put her there. If she stayed, he’d know she was as hot for it as he was.

  Fuck, if she stayed, he’d never be able to leave.

  Finn was hard, ready. Trix shifted slightly, and a bolt of undeniable pleasure raced through her as the movement ground the base of his cock against her clit.

  Easy, so easy. All she had to do was move again, slide up, position her body to take his, and let instinct do the rest.

  But she wanted more than easy now, more than the simple, effortless drift. She wanted to be strong, to be Trix. To show him what that meant.

  So she kissed him instead.

  He groaned against her mouth, his fingertips digging into her hips. So impatient, but he didn’t lift her, didn’t force her to give in. Instead, he bit her lower lip with a hoarse laugh. “I like you like this. I like a challenge.”

  “I’m not being a brat.” His mouth was soft, and she flicked her tongue over the center of his upper lip. “I’m taking what I want.”

  “So you don’t want my cock?”

  “Mmm.” She rolled her hips slowly and hissed in a breath. Even with her arousal easing the friction of the caress, it was hot. Electric.

  Bullet wounds couldn’t shake him, but when she did it again, Finn shuddered, his head falling back. “I know you do. I watched your face when I took you. You made the hottest noises when I fucked you deep.”

  “No.” She watched him, rapt, as she slipped her hands down over the hard, muscled plane of his back. “When you fucked me like you couldn’t get deep enough.”

  He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Give me a couple days, and I’ll get even deeper.”

  “Filthy.” She moved more carefully this time, rising until the head of his cock nestled between her pussy lips. “Tell me more.”

  “It’ll be hard.” He freed one hand from the tangle of her skirt and curled it around the back of her neck with his thumb resting heavy across her throat. “You want that, don’t you?”

  She wanted it all—hard and rough, slow and sweet. Everything. She whispered the word as she pushed down, taking him inside her inch by torturous inch. Dancing had left her strong enough to ease down gradually, but the sheer sensation rocked her, left her legs trembling as she fought not to slam down against him.

  “Yes.” His free hand found the zipper at her back, tugging it down with the same teasing slowness. “You were too fragile before. You couldn’t take all of me.”

  The words meant something more than the obvious—she could feel it in the weight of his gaze. But she couldn’t think about it, not with the already familiar haze of desire wrapping around her.

  Her dress slipped from one shoulder. He eased it lower, burying his face against her revealed skin. “Take all of me, baby. Ride me.”

  She closed the last bit of space between them with a snap of her hips.

  “Fuck.” Finn’s teeth closed on the swell of her breast, and the shock of it left her scratching his lower back hard enough to draw blood.

  But she couldn’t stop. She urged his mouth closer to her skin as she shifted her hips, grinding against him. “Don’t let me hurt you.”

  “It’s just pain.” He licked the spot he’d bitten, sending shivers through her. “Pain won’t matter when you’re coming on my dick.”

  It had to, because they’d hurt each other for so long, and the only thing that would save them now was making it different. Doing it right. “It matters to me,” she rasped.

  His fingers twisted in her hair, tightening to the edge of pain. He pulled her back and pressed his forehead to hers. “Then I promise, doll. I won’t let you.”

  It was exactly what she needed. She tried to take it easy, but slow and gentle gave way to a wilder grind as pleasure built. Finn only encouraged her, panting crude promises against her lips. Promises to woo her, ravish her, fuck her rough and messy.

  To be there, which was the headiest promise of all.

  She came with a cry, wrenched from her as surely as the sudden orgasm that curled her toes in her shoes. She clung to Finn, who grunted, slid his arm around her back, and hauled her down into a final flurry of short, hard thrusts.

  When he came, it was with his face against her throat and her name on his lips. His breath blew hot across her skin, and she slid her hand up to rest on his mouth. “Say it again.”

  “Trix.” His lips pursed against her fingers on the T, so close to a kiss.

  So close.

  Chapter Eight

  Finn opened the bathroom door and almost lost his grip on the towel wrapped around his waist.

  O’Kane’s woman was sitting on the edge of his bed, her leather-clad legs crossed and one dark eyebrow raised. “Good afternoon.”

  Retreating back into the bathroom was a coward’s move. Walking into the same room as Lex Parrino with nothing sturdier than a towel to guard his dick was just asking for pain.

  But hey, he’d always been an idiot.

  Finn crossed the room and propped his hip against the small desk. “Lex.”

  She studied him slowly, a lingering perusal from head to toe. “You’re looking better than you did when you came in here. Of course, to look worse, you’d have to be dead.”

  “Seems like I damn near was,” he replied, keeping his voice as easy as hers. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “Standard operating procedure. We don’t let people die on our doorstep.”

&
nbsp; “Ever?”

  “Nope.” She rose and slid her hands into her back pockets. “Either they’re worth saving, or they’re worth saving so we can kill them more slowly later.”

  “The thought had occurred to me,” he admitted. “But I’m guessing you wouldn’t do that to Trix. Not for something petty like revenge.”

  “No. Hell, no.” One shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. “She seems to think you’re a stand-up guy who was stuck in a bad fucking situation.”

  Phrased as a statement, but Finn recognized the question. Lex was waiting for an answer and looking at him like she’d know if he lied.

  So he didn’t. “All of Five is a bad fucking situation. I didn’t do as much bad as I could have. But I didn’t do as much good as I should have, either.”

  “Truer words.” She rocked back on her heels. “What about now?”

  “Now?” Finn met her gaze and didn’t flinch, even when those too-knowing eyes stared right through him. This was a woman who wouldn’t be fooled by bravado or graveyard humor. She’d see the darkest parts of his heart, and he had to trust that the woman who took Dallas O’Kane to bed had a soft spot for obsessive motherfuckers. “I’m here for her. Whatever she needs.”

  “Uh-huh.” The first glimmer of a smile flashed across her mouth, only to vanish immediately. “You got any marketable skills, Romeo? Besides framing people for murder and pushing drugs, I mean.”

  “Sure,” he replied easily. “I hit things. I scare the piss out of people. I fix problems.”

  “No offense, sunshine, but I don’t think Dallas is ready to have you running point on any security operations just yet.”

  Finn grinned at her—the scary grin that usually sent his men stumbling back a few steps but had no damn effect on her at all. “You don’t say.”

  “Mmm. Maybe I’ll send you over to Bren, see if he’s got any work for you to do.”

  Bren Donnelly. The Eden sniper turned O’Kane. “I thought you didn’t want me killing people.”

  She scoffed. “Where’s your imagination? There’s more to life than snuffing motherfuckers out.”

  And there it was, stark as could be. The people in Sector Four killed readily enough to preserve their way of life, but then they put down their guns and their knives and lived. That was the part no one had ever taught him how to do.