Page 46 of The Freedom in Captivity

“I don’t care.” Idon’tcare as I arch again, this time expecting the sting. It’s nothing overly painful; nothing more than I’m used to anyway. I feel my skin break, and I’m positive I’m bleeding, but his licks don’t end.

The orgasm from earlier begins to return at the precise second Flynn lifts his head and robs me of itagain. Then a different kind of explosion sets off inside me when he crawls up my body, his tongue sweeping over the spreading blood from the cut I created. He doesn’t lick it per se, but paints the blood over my skin, his tongue like a paintbrush before lowering back to my centre and he’s pushing that blood inside me.

This is everything wrong, and I’m sure, we’re on the verge of giving me an infection, but I can’t find the effort to care.

“I hate you because you told me I was enough for you.”

I freeze, his admittance overtaking all bits of pleasure. But he returns to sucking my clit like he hasn’t spoken.

I’ll take his kindness, while he’s offering, because he’s likely seconds away from shoving me back downstairs and locking away the key when he comprehends what’s happening.

My legs tighten, gripping his head to keep him in place. The knife digs in again, but pain is so far gone, it doesn’t even register at this point. The heat builds, expands, my moan, the tease of what’s about to hit and—

Flynn pulls away, tossing the knife to the side, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he shifts into a kneeling position over me. For a third time, he’s robbed me of my orgasm, changing my shameless moan to a frustrated growl.

“What the fuck?”

His mouth on me wasn’t in kindness, or even desire. I was so wrong to think something had gotten patched up here. This entire time, it was some fucked-up revenge thing.

He lunges forward again and grasps my chin between two fingers, pinching painfully. His lips brush mine as he yells, “Tell me why you deserve to come, Rozelyn. You broke my fuckin’ heart! You deserve nothing but pain.”

And here it is. All his emotions hidden beneath his tough exterior emerge.

“You once vowed to me to never leave me. Youknewhow I felt about myself then. How I hadno onein my life because I wasn’t good enough. You told me I was, and I took that seriously. Months later, you’re telling me goodbye. Fuckin’why?”

My breaths come out in heavy pants that he immediately swallows, taking my life into his body. The same he once vowed to me he always would. The first time he saw a bruise was only days after our first meeting on the bench. He spotted a dark spot on my wrist and asked in a casual way,“Who the fuck did this to you, Rozelyn? Tell me, so I can ensure they never harm you again.”After only days of friendship, he took it upon himself to be my protector.

In the months following, as I got to know him, I hid more and more of the marks because while his care was everything, each one had him asking questions I couldn’t answer. Denying his help, his love, even his fucking honour made me sick to my stomach.

I try to speak, but his rampage continues, the pain of this conversation hurts more than his pinch,

“I deserve to takesomuch from you. So much more than just a fuckin’ orgasm.”

In a blink, his mouth slashes against mine, his kiss heated and possessive. His tongue probes, claims, strokes, and drowns me. There’s no more air to breathe; no more life to cling to—there’s only him. He kisses me like I’m the air he needs, like a weapon he’s wielding. It’s chaotic and explosive, packed with a million emotions. Vicious hate, conflicted passion, with a punishing hold I don’t want to be released from.

With a sudden jerk, he rears away, releasing my face with a snarl, as though wanting to punish me for him losing control.

The time to reveal my secrets isn’t here yet, but I also never foresaw Flynn being with the Corsettis. The moment he emerged from the shadows on the first day, all my plans have been changing. Survival became of upmost importance, but he became a secondary one.

So why can’t I tell him some of it?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wincing when he flinches. I reach for him, sitting up, laying my hand on his smooth chest, right over his Corsetti mark. After I finish, I want his story too.

“Sorry?” His tone is flat—deadly. Emotionless.

“I wanted to tell you who I was all the fucking time, but my father would have lost his shit if he knew about you. And you now see why. He threatened you once and I couldn’t allow it again.”

His heart skips a beat beneath my palm.

“This is the truth, Flynn.” The truth of our story at least. Of what I can tell him.

Flynn

Lies. More lies. All fucking lies.

That’s all this woman knows how to do.

“This is the truth, Flynn.”

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