Free Beyond Addiction by Kit Rocha Page B

more than now, when he was all over her, touching her like he couldn’t get enough. Like he could breathe her instead of oxygen, live forever on the panting moans he drank from her mouth.
    She was an O’Kane. Getting off was easy, simple. This was more, her body drawing him in and holding him as the first pulses of orgasm wracked her, and the world dissolved in a white-hot rush of pleasure until there was nothing left but Finn.
    And when he stiffened above her, surging deep with a final, guttural noise, there wasn’t even him. Just them . Trix grabbed on to it like the stolen moment it was, digging her nails into Finn’s rigid, trembling arms, willing time to stand still.
    But it couldn’t. Finn exhaled slowly and eased his grip on her chin. “You okay?”
    Not even close. “Yes.”
    His gaze clashed with hers in the mirror, and the lazy pleasure on his face faded. “Don’t lie to me, Trix.”
    She lifted her hand to his cheek. “Not okay. Better.”
    He was still stiff. Wary. Hell, that edge in his eyes was damn close to fear. “You’re good?”
    How could she possibly explain? Here, like this, she finally understood how disconnected they’d been from each other before, and it terrified her. If being with him had felt like this, she wouldn’t have had the strength to leave, to save her own life.
    They’d both be dead.
    “This is good,” she told him instead. “I’m just...remembering.”
    He pressed a kiss to her palm before pulling away, straightening his pants as he rose. “Better makes sense, then.”
    She stretched out on the bed and rolled over to watch him. “You should hate me. I don’t know why you don’t.”
    Finn grunted. “I told you to cut that shit out.”
    “Why?” She swallowed hard. “It’s how I feel.”
    He dropped to the edge of the mattress and bent down to unlace his boots, giving her a glimpse of the scars decorating his back. “Fleming gave you drugs, right? The good shit?”
    “The best.” Vial after vial of his own personal stash, the stuff they didn’t even sell on the streets.
    “You know what that means, right?”
    “I’m not stupid,” she snapped. There had always been only one reason Mac Fleming would summon a woman to his office. Only one reason he’d bend her over his desk and rape her, all the while daring her to cry.
    Trix clenched her teeth. Of all the goddamn things in her life, that had to be the one memory that haunted her with crystal clarity—tears streaming out of her eyes to soak into the papers stacked on Fleming’s desk, smearing the ink. Knowing he’d look at the blurred words later and be so very, very pleased with himself.
    Finn’s boot thumped to the floor. “I could never hate you for anything that got you away from him before he—” He ground out a low curse. “I’m glad you left. You could have put a bullet in me on your way out, and I’d be saying the same thing.”
    Before. Nausea roiled in the pit of her stomach. She’d left to save herself, but also to save Finn. If she’d gone back to him, he would have known the truth, and he’d have gotten himself killed. Better that he didn’t know, even now that Fleming was dead. It would only hurt him.
    “That’s not what I meant,” she said instead. “I should have found a way to let you know I was all right, that’s all.”
    His other boot hit the hardwood floor, and he stretched out beside her. “And maybe Mac would have found you sooner if you had.”
    She curled into his arms. “Mac wasn’t looking for me. He was looking for the woman who got Dom kicked out of Four.”
    “Fucking Dom.” Tension tightened his body, but he stroked her arm gently. “I don’t know what Beckett will do with him.”
    Nothing compared to what Dallas would do when he found out what had happened. “I’m spun, and I killed the mood. I’m sorry. When we get back to Four, I’ll have my head on straight.”
    “Hey.” He gripped her arm and waited until she met his eyes. “It’s