Free The Price of Freedom by Joanna Wylde

the tip. Giving in to temptation, she closed her own eyes and leaned back against a storage unit, still holding him cradled against her body.
    She told herself she was just taking care of him. She knew she was lying. Each breath sent a new tingle of sensation winding through her. They started at the peak of each breast, then shimmered down through her stomach toward that secret spot between her legs. Oh, it was wrong. He was sick; he wasn't even conscious. But just holding him was so good she couldn't make herself stop.
    Feeling very daring, she raised her free hand and touched a strand of his hair. It was soft, and would hang around his shoulders when he was upright. Of course, she knew that from before. But somehow seeing it so close was different. Each strand was like silk. Bragan must have been helping him keep it clean somehow, she realized. She rubbed the lock of hair between her fingers. It was thick…what would it feel like to stick her fingers into it? She shivered.
    He gave a little moan in his sleep. Guilt washed over her.
    The poor man was probably in pain. His neck was injured; there was a terrible wound on the back of it. What kind of sick person would hold him this way and cause him more pain?
    Moving carefully, she lowered him to the pallet. He was difficult to maneuver, and at one point she accidentally pressed both breasts against his face. He moaned again. Such suffering… She felt so bad for him. Perhaps she could find a way to steal some painkillers like Bragan had suggested. They were locked up, but still, she owed it to him after the way she'd hurt him.
    Leaving the cup of water next to him, she stood and brushed herself off.
    She had work to do. And when she finished, she was going to find him some painkillers. It was the least she could do, under the circumstances.

    * * * * *
    Jess gave a moan of relief when she closed the door behind her. Touching her was heaven and damnation all at once. The softness of her breasts against his cheek was the most wonderful thing he'd felt since he'd come to this hellhole. And when she'd almost dropped him she'd crushed his face against both her breasts. It had taken everything he had in his body to keep from reaching his arms around her, pulling her down to him.
    Of course, his neck still hurt. He was weak. But he wasn't dead.
    She was incredibly naive. She had no idea the effect her touch had on his body. No one could have missed an erection the size of his under the blanket, yet she had been oblivious. It was a good sign; she may not be a virgin, but she wasn't used to a man's body. That meant she probably wasn't married. It had been a long time since she had had sex, if ever.
    One less person for him to kill, he thought darkly.
    Because if she did have a husband, he would kill him. Of course, if their escape plan worked he'd have to kill a lot of the Pilgrims. This was about survival. But killing Bethany's husband would have been more.
    He reached down under the blanket, feeling his rock-hard cock. He was swollen, close to exploding. It was a mixture of exquisite pain and terrifying pleasure to be near her. Hopefully she would be checking on him regularly during the day, he thought with a grin. He had a feeling he would be very thirsty, and he would need a lot of help with his slow recovery. A part of him—the part that used to be human rather than a disposable life on a mining station—reminded him that he probably shouldn't manipulate her like this.
    Fortunately, that part of him was no longer in charge. She was all his, whether she knew it or not.

Chapter Four
    Stealing the painkillers was much easier than she'd thought it would be. Just as she was waking the next cycle, her father came home drunk. Within seconds, he was bellowing at her to find "something to make his damn head stop hurting." She had her excuse.
    There were a few pain tabs in fresher, but she quickly pocketed them and went out into the living area. Careful to keep her eyes downcast, she