by Kit Rocha
She dropped her hand to his, her fingertips teasing at the inside of his wrist. “I have some already.”
“So I’ll get this for my room.”
“Or you could stay with me.”
Yes.
It was the answer to a problem he hadn’t realized he had, a way to smudge that final line between them. But it created a whole set of new problems, too. Everything about the room Dallas had given him screamed temporary. It was sterile, empty, full of furniture without personality. A roof over his head, but not a home. Trix made it home when she was there, and took it with her when she left.
If he started sleeping in her room, surrounded by her, it would be easy to forget he didn’t really belong.
But he’d have her to himself. All of her. All the time. “You sure, doll?”
“I’m sure.” She stared up at him, her fingers tightening on his wrist. “I want you there, Finn. Sharing my home with you didn’t end at the sector border.”
He covered her hand with his, stroking that soft skin that probably smelled so good because she rubbed some of the lotion from one of these endless shelves into it. “And sharing yourself with me? Where does that end, Trix?”
Her fingers trembled, and she tugged her hand away. “I have to pay for this,” she mumbled. “The shampoo, too.”
Finn followed her more slowly, reaching the counter in time to add his two bottles to the stack and pull out his cash. Stubborn pride, maybe, but it felt good to be able to provide something other than dirty words and obligation.
It felt even better that she let him get away with it.
Trix fidgeted with the bag until the door closed behind them with a jingle. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him around the corner of the building, into the shadowed alley, away from the bustle of the street.
She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t.”
They were almost entirely in shadow. When he braced an arm against the wall and leaned closer, it was like the rest of the damn world wasn’t there. Just him and her and a moment that felt too heavy for sunshine and daylight. “What doesn’t, baby?” Say it. Say all of it.
“Sharing myself. There isn’t a place where that ends.” Her eyes were huge, luminous. “Not with you.”
Funny how the words could send satisfaction roaring through him but still leave him wary. Because she’d only seen his guilt, the side of him that gave and gave because giving felt good, and he was too damn scared to take. Even now, she was gazing up at him with total, endless trust.
Like she couldn’t imagine a world where he’d hurt her.
And he never would. Never, even if it meant holding back forever. Touching the corner of her mouth with his thumb, he shook his head. “There should be. With all the shit you’ve had to survive, all the shit I didn’t protect you from.”
She laid a soothing hand on his cheek. “Not because you didn’t try, Finn.”
“I tried.” He smoothed his thumb to the center of her full lips and pressed down to still any protest. “You promised you’d say no to me.”
Her lips moved beneath his hand as she nodded.
He gripped her hips and spun her so quickly she gasped. The bag of oils and shampoo thumped to the cracked pavement as he penned her in by bracing his arms on either side of her. Still protected, still sheltered from the gaze of passers-by, but trapped.
His.
Stifling a groan, he nuzzled his way beneath her hair and found her ear with his lips. “What if I’m not so different from those Sector Five perverts? What if I get off on imagining you in a pretty dress and pearls, getting on your knees and begging me to fuck that perfect mouth until your lipstick’s all over my dick?”
The breath she drew in was sharp, but her voice had gone soft around the edges, lazy with lust. “But you need me to get off on it, too. None of Fleming’s men—Beckett’s men—would care if I even wanted it. They’d take it anyway.”
It didn’t seem like enough for redemption. Fuck, it was just the bare fucking minimum of acceptable behavior, as if making her come in return was some trial or obligation. “Would you get off on it?”
“Maybe I don’t want to tell you,” she whispered. “Since you seem to think it’s so perverse.”
He slid a hand around her body, splaying his fingers across her abdomen to hold her in place as he rocked closer. “You know where I’m from, baby, and you know what it’s like there. What would you think if you were me?”
“I’d think—” She shuddered, and her head fell back against his shoulder. “I’d think you can find beautiful things even in ugly places.”
He had. He’d found her. “But you never learn how to take care of them,” he murmured, toying with the button on her pants. “Teach me, Trix. Prove it can be beautiful instead of twisted.”
Her head tipped forward this time, coming to rest on the dirty brick as her hand dropped to cover his. “It would get me off.” Her fingers nudged past his and undid the button. “Your hands in my hair, holding me so you could take your pleasure. It’d get me off, because we’d both know the truth.”
Finn was starting to suspect he’d never known any truths, or that they made truth different here in Sector Four. With the impossible softness of her skin under his fingertips, he groaned in her ear. “What’s that, doll?”
“It’s not about force, or about taking. It’s a different kind of surrender.”
“Yeah, it is.” Her panties had a lace edge, and it was wrong to stroke them like this, in an alley, in broad daylight. He could hear people in the street, their shouts echoing across the market square. People going about their lives, bickering and laughing and living.
Everyone here was so damn alive. He could be, too, if he slid his hand a little lower and trusted her. “Don’t let me hurt you, Trix. Promise me.”
“I promise.” She braced both hands on the wall above her head. “Please.”
Not permission. A plea, and he’d never been good at denying those when they fell from her lips. So he cupped her pussy and growled in her ear when the damp fabric of her underwear rubbed against his knuckles. “So wet, already.”
“Oh, God—” Her feet bumped his as she shifted her legs wider.
He slicked his finger over her clit, a testing brush that made her hips jerk into the touch. “Pearls. Someone in this marketplace must sell jewelry.”
“Stuart—the leather worker,” she gasped. “His—his sister.”
He’d buy whole strands of them. He’d blow through every credit to his name and wrap them around her while he fucked her. “That’s all you’re wearing tonight.”
Trix whimpered. “You only want me wearing them?”
Oh, fuck. He growled against her ear and pumped one finger into her with a shudder. “Dirty, dirty girl. I wonder how loud you’d scream if I rubbed them right...” He curled his finger. “Here.”
She shook in his arms, a low, desperate noise bubbling up in her throat as her pussy clenched around his finger. “More. Give me more.”
“Shh.” He clamped his free hand over her mouth, muffling her needy, approving cry as he worked a second finger deep. She squirmed, grinding back against his dick, and he had to bite back his own noise as he worked the heel of his hand against her clit, driving her toward a quick, hard climax.
“What the fuck?”
The words were the only warning before a fist twisted in the back of his borrowed shirt, dragging him back so fast pain exploded through his face before he got his hand out of Trix’s pants.
His lip split against his teeth from the punch, and instinct took over. He swung back, trying to make room to get between the attacker and Trix, but he was too slow, his brain still sluggishly shifting gears. His face hit the wall, the brick scraping one cheek as the barrel of a gun dug into the other.
“You son of a bitch.” Low words, vicious and deadly. “I should fucking shoot you right—”
“Jasper.” Trix squeezed between them and shoved the other man back. “What the hell are you doing?”
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“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Jasper’s arm shook, but he lowered the gun. “The bastard was hurting you.”
“No, he wasn’t.” She turned to Finn and winced as she reached up to gingerly prod at his lip. “Jesus Christ.”
Finn steeled himself against the urge to laugh. The worry in Trix’s gaze was real, so she wasn’t likely to appreciate it. But Jasper’s fist crashing into his face was the first thing that had made sense in days, the realest, most comprehensible thing that had happened to him.
He had legitimately had it coming. For so many reasons.
Trix’s thumb touched the split in his lip, and he hid a flinch and caught her hands. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“This is horse shit.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder at Jasper as she dug a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket. “The next time you’re giving it to Noelle in some dark corner somewhere, I’m going to come kick you in the balls. See how you like the interruption.”
Jasper tucked away his gun and snorted. “I’m sorry, Trix. It looked fucking bad, okay? I didn’t think to stop and ask about safe words.”
It was perversely reassuring, knowing that Jasper McCray would eagerly blow a hole in anyone who laid a rough hand on Trix. Maybe he and Jas had something in common after all. “Leave him alone, doll. I get it. Better safe than sorry.”
She grimaced, shook her head, and dabbed at the blood on his face. “Don’t you start, too.”
“Sorry.” He turned his head enough to spit the taste of blood out of his mouth—and didn’t even aim at Jasper’s boots.
“You’re both impossible.” Trix pushed the handkerchief into his hand, buttoned her pants, and snatched up the fallen bag. “Fucking impossible.”
She pivoted and stalked away before he could come up with a damn thing to say, leaving him in the alley with a bleeding mouth, an uncomfortable hard-on, and the man who’d tried to shove a gun barrel through his cheek.
Jasper pressed his lips into a thin line. “She’s pissed.”
“Sure seems that way.” Finn stared after her, even after she vanished into the crowd. “I get it, McCray. I’m a sick SOB capable of damn near anything. But the one sure thing you can count on is that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Even let you assholes beat the shit out of me daily until you get it out of your systems.”
“I don’t know you, that’s all.” He relented with a half shrug. “But Trix does, and that should be enough. Under any other circumstances, it would be.”
“These circumstances are pretty fucked up,” Finn agreed. “I didn’t expect you all to greet me with hugs and cuddles. Maybe she did.”
“Or she wanted to, because it’s that important to her.” Jasper held out his hand. “Reason enough to try, right?”
His cheek still throbbed, and he hadn’t managed to clear his mouth of the metallic taste of blood. If it had just been him, he would have shrugged off the gesture. He didn’t need approval, especially from a man so ready to assume the worst about him.
He didn’t need it—but Trix did. So Finn slapped his palm against Jasper’s and resisted the urge to turn their clasped hands into a pissing contest by crushing the other man’s fingers.
Chapter Eleven
She had to go looking for Finn.
Trix checked the likeliest places first—his room, the bar, even the courtyard in the middle of the compound. She finally spotted lights burning in the garage and found him, alone, bent over the engine Bren had ripped out of one of his pet projects. He was bared to the waist, his skin smudged with engine grease and sweat. She watched, her mouth dry, as he tightened something deep inside the tangle of metal, the muscles in his arm and back bulging.
She leaned against the workbench. “You’re working late.”
He glanced up just long enough to flash her a smile. “Turns out I’m no good at sitting on my ass, twiddling my thumbs.”
There was plenty of work, and Finn could do it all—if Dallas and the others ever learned to trust him. She shoved the thought away. “I went back to the market this afternoon and picked up some things for you. My way of apologizing for this morning.”
“I thought I was the one who needed to apologize.” He hefted a clean cylinder head and set it on the engine block before carefully nudging it into place.
“I lost my temper,” she explained. “Jas overreacted because he doesn’t trust you, and that made me angry.”
For a silent moment Finn concentrated on his work, starting to bolt the head to the engine block. “Jas doesn’t trust me,” he said finally. “That means he didn’t overreact. In his place, I might have pulled the trigger.”
Her chest ached. “What does that mean for us?”
Finn tossed the wrench aside and reached for a rag, wiping one hand clean before touching her cheek. “For starters, we don’t play that game again without a locked door between us and the world.”
She hadn’t been talking about sex, but about the rampant distrust. She understood the sentiment from her friends—even expected it, in some ways—but from Finn himself... It sliced at her a little more every time he spoke of himself in that damning way, as if he wouldn’t blame any of the O’Kanes for leaving him to die in an alley.
She swallowed past the pain and nodded. “I put your new clothes in my room, but I didn’t ask if you still wanted to be there.”
His thumb made a slow circle, tracing along her cheekbone and back down, so close to her lips. “Take me home, Trix.”
She almost bit his thumb—but he was right. Not out in the open, where anyone could stumble across them and jump to the wrong damn conclusions again.
So she pushed off the workbench and took his hand. They made the walk in silence, through the shivery night air of the courtyard, into the other building and up the stairs, all the way to her apartment.
She hadn’t expected to feel so nervous, but he’d never been here before. He filled the space as he took a few steps inside, his gaze sliding over the furniture and decorations, over all the little things she’d collected that made it the first real home she’d ever had.
“I’m on the list for a bigger one,” she said, anything to break the silence. “I was up next, but then Flash and Amira had their baby, and they needed the space more than me.”
“It’s still nice.” He stopped next to her four-poster bed and ran a hand up one of the columns. “Really nice.”
It was impossible to see him that close and not imagine him on her bed, in her bed. Waiting for her. Watching as she stripped off her clothes, piece by piece—a private version of the shows she put on downstairs, and all the more gripping because of it.
Here, it was just the two of them, in orbit around each other, with nothing else in the universe.
Trix gave in to the magnetic pull and reached out, brushing the backs of her fingers over his hip.
He sucked in a breath, the muscles of his hard abdomen flexing in a hypnotic dance. “Have you got a shower? I’m dirty.”
Goose bumps rose on her arms. “It’s big enough for two.” She slipped two fingers through one of his belt loops and tugged him toward the bathroom. “I’ll show you.”
Finn smiled as he followed her, a smile that lingered as she reached into the shower and he bent to haul off his first boot. “You gonna wash my back, doll?”
She pulled the decorative pin out of her hair and turned so he could get her zipper. “Is that really your best request?”
His other boot hit the floor with a thud followed by a tug on her zipper. The teeth parted with soft clicks, baring her spine to the heat of his breath. “Not my best. Just my first.”
Steam began to fill the shower and billow out into the bathroom. “How filthy do these requests get?”
Instead of answering, he left her dress half undone and slid a hand down her thigh. “You changed. I love these damn dresses.”
“It’s too cold to wear them outside right now, but they’re fine for shifts at the bar.” When she moved, his han
d rubbed the satin of her slip against her bare skin, and she moaned.
“Do you want to get dirty before we get clean?” he murmured, stroking the back of her leg. “I could finish what I started.”
Temptation almost overwhelmed her. But she couldn’t keep letting things happen to her, even things like delicious orgasms at Finn’s beautiful hands. So she shook her head and turned in his arms. “No. Not yet.”
Still smiling that dark, hungry smile, he reached for his pants. “Then get naked with me.”
A pulse of hunger left her wet and aching as she dropped her dress down over her hips and stripped her slip over her head. Finn was naked by the time it hit the floor, and he twisted a hand in her panties and ripped them off one hip with a satisfied noise that weakened her knees.
It didn’t matter. Once they’d stumbled into the shower, Finn pressed her against the tile and claimed her mouth, kissing her hard and deep as the water splashed against his back and ricocheted to cling to her cheeks.
Here, shrouded in steam, it was safe to take what she wanted. Trix stroked his slick, wet skin, every inch she could reach. Up to his shoulders, down his sides, to the hard swell of his ass. She dug her fingernails into his clenching muscles, delivering on the teasing promise from that morning.
Then she gentled her hands again and slid them around to where his cock nestled between them.
Finn broke from her mouth with a groan and pressed his lips to her ear. “Is that what you want, baby?”
“Your dick?” A helpless laugh escaped her as she wrapped her fingers around him. “Hell, yes. All the time. Any way I can get it.”
He braced his palms on the tile on either side of her head and pushed back just enough to block the spray. “Show me.”
She released him and reached for the soap instead, turning it over and over in her hands before smoothing the suds across his chest.
His eyelids drooped. Closed. His chest heaved with his sharp inhalation, but he let it out on a long sigh of pleasure. She let her hands follow the lines of his body, massaging lightly as she moved up to his neck and shoulders, then down to his stomach.
