Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  What a way to go.

  She moaned, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “Quietly, doll. I’m not sharing you with the whole damn farm. Bite me if you have to.”

  Trix rubbed her cheek over his, her mouth close to his ear. “You like that, don’t you? Something just for you.”

  If you listened to the stories, the O’Kanes fucked each other on every available surface, in public and private. He’d never given the rumors much thought because he’d never cared, but now he had to imagine her there, her limbs tangled with another person’s, her face alight with pleasure—

  Jealousy wasn’t nearly as hot. He tried to bite back a growl, but it rumbled free as he tightened his grip on her. “I never was good at sharing.”

  Her whimper turned into a sigh that teased over his skin. “You’re the one I want, Finn.”

  It was more than he deserved, but he still took it. He took her, claiming her mouth again as he spun blindly and pressed her to the door.

  She dug her teeth into his lower lip and arched her hips, harder than before. She was trembling, clutching at him for purchase as she shifted in his arms.

  So close. So close to coming apart for him.

  He braced her with one hand and slid the other up her body. She’d always had a nice rack, but her curves were killer now. He cupped one breast through her nightgown and worked her nipple with his thumb. “I can’t wait to get my mouth right here.”

  “Finn—” She slipped her fingers into his hair and pulled—hard.

  Pleasure raced down his spine, reminding him how long it had been since he’d had a woman’s hands on him. “Tell me how to get you there, baby. Tell me what you need.”

  Her hand dropped to cover his, and she met his gaze as she dragged his fingers up to nestle around the base of her throat.

  She felt fragile under his hand. She always had, but so much more like this, with her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers. If he tightened them at all, he could cut off her air, leave her struggling to draw breath as he drove her toward release.

  Mac Fleming had done it all the time. It had been one of his favorite games, and a surefire way for a junkie to get her hands on the good stuff. Sometimes he fucked her himself, sometimes he told someone else to, but it was always Mac’s fingers around her throat, his whim to let her gasp in air or taunt her with the possibility that he might never let go.

  It was hard to tell which ones genuinely liked it and which could fake anything for the drugs Mac gave them as a reward, but that had always been the ugly truth seething beneath the surface of Mac Fleming’s sector. His men didn’t force women. They didn’t have to. Women ran to them with flattering eagerness—because most of them were hooked on the shit that had nearly killed Trix, and would do anything to keep the high rolling one more day.

  So willing was a word that had lost meaning a long time ago in Sector Five. The reminder should have killed Finn’s hard-on, because his only high ground was that he’d never lied to himself about it. He’d known touching Trix was wrong, from start to finish.

  The fact that it hadn’t stopped him then should really stop him now.

  But it didn’t.

  He rubbed his thumb up and down the side of her throat and met her gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not even if you ask.”

  “I don’t want you to.” He felt her swallow beneath his hand. “I need to know that you could, but you won’t. Not ever.”

  “Never again.” He knew what she needed now. Bracing her weight, he caught one wrist and dragged it above her head, pinning her in place as he rolled his hips. “But I’ll give you anything else. Anything.”

  She closed her eyes, and her breasts pushed against his chest as her breathing sped. A shudder wracked her, then another, and a moan vibrated up her throat. She bent her head and muffled it by closing her teeth on his wrist, but the sound broke through anyway—low and tortured, sharp and relieved.

  Watching her come, her mind clouded by nothing more than pleasure, was the best fucking thing that had ever happened to him.

  Anything.

  Trix struggled for breath as she drifted down. It had nothing to do with the careful hand around her throat—and everything to do with it. His control was an illusion, betrayed by the fine tremor of his fingers. A seductive illusion, but not nearly as alluring as what lay past it.

  He’d lost control before, and she knew what that felt like—intense, rough. Wild. What she didn’t know was what would happen if he let go. If he relaxed his iron grip and set himself free.

  But she could find out.

  She opened her eyes. He was watching her, utterly focused, as if she couldn’t feel his cock straining against her. “You come so pretty.”

  A fresh flash of hunger twisted in her belly, and she freed one hand to touch his mouth. “Are you going to watch me like this all night?”

  He bit the tip of her finger. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  His lips curved into the rarest thing of all—a lazy, warm smile. “How many more times you get off on riding my cock.”

  “Depends,” she echoed, then arched off the wall to grind against him.

  Groaning, he hoisted her away from the door and turned toward the bed. “Undress me.”

  Another thing that skated along the edge of familiarity. She had done all of these things before—undressed him, seduced him, come apart in his arms—but never with this sort of clarity. Everything before was like a dream, but this was solid, clear. Sharp as a blade.

  She shoved his leather vest off his shoulders and dragged it with her when she slid to the bed. She reached for his shirt next, tugging at it as she came to her knees.

  He stripped it over his head, revealing his chest. It was just as broad as she remembered, but leaner, his muscles cut in stark relief. Tattoos covered him from shoulder to shoulder, the familiar intricate shapes and flames bisected by new scars—scars that shouldn’t have been there at all, especially on a man who worked for the leader of Sector Five. Med-gel might be a luxury for some, but it had been readily available on Fleming’s compound.

  She touched one pale, silvered line. “What happened to you?”

  “Shit’s been dangerous.” He caught her hand, holding it to his skin. “The scars were to remind me of my place. Mac needed me alive. He didn’t need me whole.”

  Her throat ached as she gently freed herself and caught his belt. “They’re beautiful, like the rest of you.”

  He snorted roughly and ran his finger over a flower Ace had tattooed on one of her arms. “I’m as beat as my ink. And it was never all that pretty. Not like this.”

  “I didn’t say pretty.” His skin beckoned, and she kissed the flat of his stomach, just above his navel. “I said beautiful.”

  He shuddered. Her nightgown pulled tight against her arm as he fisted one hand in the fabric at her hip. “Take this off. Fuck, Trix, let me see you. All of you.”

  She was naked beneath it, and the fabric whispered over her skin like a caress as she lifted it over her head.

  For one silent moment, Finn simply stared at her. His gaze swept over her, tracing from her face down to her knees and back up, so she smiled and wrapped her fingers around his belt again.

  The worn leather was supple under her fingers, warm from his body, and goose bumps prickled up on her skin as she drew the belt free.

  His hand dropped to her shoulder. Drifted. He grazed his knuckles along the line of her throat and down, the back of his hand brushing one breast. “This is a bad idea. You deserve sweet. Gentle.”

  He could be both, in his own way. “Other things, too. Hard and rough, if I want it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Honestly?” She slipped the button on his pants free and drew her fingertip over the bulge straining his zipper. “There isn’t much I don’t want from you.”

  He hissed in a breath and froze with the back of his hand pressed against her stomach. “I told you, Trix. Anything. Name it, and I’ll do it.”

&n
bsp; Metal clicked and rasped as she tugged at the zipper pull, slowly parting the teeth. “Let me?”

  That made him move. He shuddered and plunged both hands into her hair, tilting her head back as he loomed over her. “I said you could have anything. It doesn’t have to be— You don’t have to—”

  “Shh.” He’d never understood how touching him could bring her pleasure. Hypocritical, when she’d seen the same sort of satisfaction light his eyes at her moans and cries.

  The thought of watching him shudder with more than anticipation sparked breathless need. She dragged at the heavy denim until she bared his cock—proud, hard, straining toward her with a hunger that gave lie to his denials.

  She wrapped her hand around the base, gasping when he thrust into her touch with a groan, then slid lower on the bed. Lower, until she could draw her tongue in a slow circle around the head of his cock.

  “Trix.” His fingertips pressed hard on her scalp, hands trembling with restraint. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

  She flicked her tongue against the spot beneath the crown, and his hips jerked in response.

  He flexed his fingers, tugging lightly at her hair. “Look at me.”

  She closed her lips around the tip of his cock before tilting her head just enough to meet his gaze without pulling away. He stared down at her, every beautiful muscle tensed as he rubbed small circles on the back of her head.

  His fingers tightened. Hardly at all, but enough to guide her head forward, and he watched her lips inch up his shaft with dark hunger.

  It could have felt like a demand, but Trix could see the truth burning in his eyes. This was acquiescence, not force.

  Surrender.

  She shivered and took him deeper, moaning when the movement yanked her hair taut in his grip. He bit off a curse and pulled harder, dragging her back. “Is this what you want? To suck me off?”

  Yes. But that was too simple, not quite right, because what she really wanted was to give him everything he’d offered her. So she swallowed the answer and rose, shifting to her knees and stretching up to draw him into another kiss.

  That trembling control inside him snapped.

  He dropped his hands to her ass and hauled her up into a brutal, starving kiss. His teeth scraped her lower lip before closing in a harsh bite, taunting her with the vibration of his low growl. He hoisted her higher, off the bed entirely, only to bear her back down.

  Her back thudded against the mattress and he pinned her there, his cock grinding between her legs, his hands tangling in her hair as he gripped the bed sheets and rocked. “Do you want this? Do you want me to fuck you?”

  She arched beneath him, helpless to do anything but beg. “Please, Finn. No more waiting—”

  He smothered her words with another tongue-tangling kiss. He hooked one hand under her thigh and lifted her leg, spreading it wide. “Tell me,” he demanded as his shaft slicked between her pussy lips, working her clit with tormenting friction. “Tell me to fuck you.”

  “Fuck—” Another flex of his hips sent a shock of pleasure racing up her spine, cutting off her words. “Fuck me.”

  Every muscle in the arm next to her cheek flexed as he raised his body. He loomed above her, half of his face in shadow, half illuminated by the firelight.

  He sought her gaze, held it. The fingers of his free hand brushed her pussy as he reached between them to grip his shaft. “Tell me how hard. Tell me how deep.”

  She whispered the only two words that came to mind, words that contradicted her pleas. “Tease me.”

  One smooth push and he was upright, standing above her with his hand still curled around his dick. “Roll over.”

  She obeyed, and it wasn’t until she braced her elbows on the mattress that she caught sight of the mirror in the corner, across from the bed. “Finn...”

  “Watch,” he whispered, smoothing one hand over her hip.

  He pushed against her, and she looked down in time to see the blunt head of his cock spread her pussy wide. The sensation slammed into her a split second later, and she whimpered as she tried to rock back, to take him deeper, faster.

  He stilled her with one iron hand on her hip. “Not like that. Watch in the mirror.”

  She lifted her head, and her gaze clashed with his. She was vaguely aware of everything else reflected in the mirror—naked flesh and twisting ink, all gilded by firelight and darkened by shadow—but all she could really see was his face.

  His eyes.

  “Don’t move.” Quiet words, skating the edge of something wild. “I can’t fuck you slow if you move.”

  She didn’t mean to, but sheer quaking need made her clench around him.

  In the mirror, she watched his eyes close and his lips part. His hips rolled, driving him deeper, and then he was over her, the hot skin of his chest pressed to her back, one strong hand under her chin, tilting her head. “Tell me to stop,” he hissed against her ear, even as his body caged hers.

  Never. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, relishing the play of hard, tense muscle beneath his skin. He kept asking her what she wanted, telling her she could have anything—

  “Give me this,” she whispered.

  He did.

  His next thrust was hard, forcing her to feel every inch of him. He muffled her shocked cry with his hand over her mouth, and Trix’s head swam, not because she couldn’t breathe, but because she couldn’t process the dichotomy of it all. How she could be caged but free, at the center of such a storm of need and yet still in control.

  And she was. Even as he thrust into her again, twisting the tense pleasure in her belly with impossible speed, he watched her. Carefully, so carefully, and she knew that one hint of distress and he’d stop.

  She clung to him instead.

  His beard scratched her skin as he pressed his cheek to hers. “Touch yourself. Get yourself off on me.”

  Christ. She slid her hand from his arm, down over her throat, stopping to cup her breast. She met his gaze before pinching her fingers tight enough to hurt. The pain bowed her back, and she shuddered as the position tilted her hips for his next pounding advance.

  She must have been so numb the last time he’d fucked her, cut off from everything. Surely she would have remembered this, the longing and lust. The ravenous look in his eyes as she dropped her hand lower to tease her clit.

  Pleasure deepened, and Finn snarled his approval as her pussy clenched tight around him. “That’s right, baby. Let me feel you.”

  I can’t. The words came out unintelligible, muffled by his hand. It was overwhelming, far too fast. She was hurtling toward release, and she’d barely had a chance to savor the aching stretch of his cock inside her. It couldn’t last, not like this, and the very thought broke her heart.

  What if this was all they had?

  She pulled her hand away.

  Finn curled his fingers around the column of her neck, gentle but heavy. “Is this what you want?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but she could feel a wild cry building in her throat, so she sank her teeth into her lower lip to hold it back. When her gaze fell on the mirror, Finn was still watching her. Not her swaying breasts or the erotic sight of his cock plunging into her, but her face. Her eyes.

  His hips flexed, driving him deeper. “Don’t hold back from me. Don’t fucking hold back.”

  He’d told her he wouldn’t share her, not even her screams, and suddenly she felt it, too. This was a moment just for them. No one else had to understand or approve, as long as they knew.

  He had to know. “I missed you so much,” she rasped. “I wish—”

  He smothered her regrets with another kiss, forcing her head up and back with one shaking hand on her chin. It was messy and raw, a tangle of tongues and teeth and low, animal noises, as he fucked her in short, rough strokes.

  He held her like that, wrapped in his arms, grinding against her, as if he couldn’t bear to pull away for even a moment. She could feel his heart pounding, thumping in time with hers,
and Trix gave in. Finn had always stripped away her resistance, and never 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?”