Chapter 8 #2
The blunt words break through his hesitation. He kisses me—desperate and hungry, hands holding my hips hard enough to leave marks. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"We should talk. Before this goes further."
"About what?"
"Safe sex. Medical history. The practical things adults discuss."
He pulls back slightly. Not retreating, just creating space to look at me. "You're very direct."
"I'm a doctor. Too old for games." I hold his gaze. "I'm clean. Even though I haven't been with anyone since David died, I'm on birth control, so pregnancy isn't a concern. What about you?"
"Clean. Tested before discharge. Haven't been with anyone since." His expression shifts. "Haven't wanted anyone. Until you."
He's showing me vulnerability he hasn't offered anyone in years.
"No condoms then. Unless you want them."
"No. I want to feel you."
Heat shoots through me at the honesty. I pull him down for another kiss. Deeper this time. His hands slide under my shirt, finding bare skin.
"Inside," he murmurs against my mouth. "Don't want an audience."
We make it to his quarters. The door locks and his hands are everywhere. My shirt comes off, then my bra. His mouth finds my breast, teeth grazing the nipple hard enough to make me arch into him—then he gentles, tongue soothing where he bit. The contrast sends heat flooding through me.
I work his shirt off. Run my hands over his chest, the scars that mark deployments and damage. He's all lean muscle and coiled strength, warm skin over hard planes.
"Bed. Now."
He guides me backwards until my legs hit the mattress. I sit. He kneels between my thighs, hands working my jeans open. For a moment he just looks at me—really looks—like he's trying to memorize this. Hunger takes over completely.
"Have to taste you first." His voice is gravel and desperation. "Been thinking about this since the first time I saw you."
"Then stop talking and do it."
He strips off my jeans and underwear in one rough motion. His mouth is on me and coherent thought shatters.
He's methodical about it but there's desperation underneath the precision. Tongue and fingers working together, learning what makes me gasp, building rhythm. I'm holding his hair, thighs shaking, past caring about noise.
"Christ, you taste good." The vibration of his words sends shocks through me. "I could do this for hours."
"Don't you dare. I want you inside me before I lose my mind."
He adds a second finger, curling them exactly right while his tongue works my clit with devastating focus.
The orgasm builds fast and sharp, pleasure coiling tighter until it breaks.
I cry out, thighs clamping around his head, muscles pulsing around his fingers.
He doesn't stop—keeps working me with tongue and fingers, drawing it out until the pleasure edges into almost too much.
When he finally eases back, I'm shaking and oversensitive.
When he pulls back, satisfaction and wonder cross his face.
"Your turn."
I push him onto his back, work his pants open. He's hard and thick, pre-come already beading at the tip. When I wrap my hand around him, he hisses, eyes closing.
"Look at me."
He does. Watching as I take him in my mouth, lips stretching around his thickness.
I work him with my tongue, learning what makes him groan—the sensitive spot just under the head, the firm pressure along the shaft.
His hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white, every muscle in his body going rigid with the effort of staying still.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, using my hand on what I can't fit.
Salt and heat and the weight of him on my tongue.
His breathing gets ragged, hips twitching with aborted thrusts he's fighting to suppress.
"Let go. I can take it."
"Don't want to hurt—"
"You won't. I've got a gag reflex like a medical professional. Trust me."
The blunt reassurance breaks his restraint.
His hand comes to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.
Not forcing but guiding, showing me what he needs.
His hips lift, finding rhythm, and I take him deeper.
The head of his cock hits the back of my throat and I relax into it, let him use my mouth while he fights to maintain some semblance of restraint.
"Helena—fuck—your mouth—I'm close—"
I hum around him, the vibration making him curse. His cock pulses on my tongue and then he's coming, hot and bitter, hips jerking with each pulse. I swallow everything, work him through it with lips and tongue until he's gasping my name and trembling.
When I pull back, he's staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, shock and satisfaction warring on his face.
"Get up here."
I crawl up his body. He pulls me down for a kiss that tastes like both of us, deep and hungry but also tender. His hands stroke everywhere, learning the feel of my skin, memorizing me. Cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples. Sliding down my ribs, my waist, my hips.
When his fingers find how wet I am, he groans into my mouth. "Christ. You're soaked."
"Biology. Happens when someone knows what they're doing."
His fingers slide through my folds, teasing, exploring. Two fingers sink inside me easily and I rock against his hand, needing more. "Have to make sure you're ready for me."
"I'm ready. Have been since you kissed me outside." I grind down on his fingers. "Stop stalling."
He flips us in one smooth motion. Suddenly I'm on my back and he's between my thighs, cock hard again and pressing against my entrance. But he's not moving. Just looking down at me with dark eyes full of want and fear.
"What if I lose myself? What if I can't—"
"Then you lose yourself. I'll survive." I wrap my legs around him, pull him closer. "I want you, Eli. All of you. Even the parts you're scared of."
He searches my face for doubt. Finding none, he positions himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance. "Tell me if it's too much."
"I will. Now get inside me before I change my mind about how patient I'm feeling."
He pushes inside in one slow, inexorable thrust.
The stretch is intense—overwhelming. I haven't done this in years, and he's thick and hard and filling me completely, spreading me open inch by inch. I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, thighs trembling with the effort of taking him.
He freezes halfway in. "Helena—you're so tight—"
"Don't stop." I wrap my legs tighter, forcing him deeper. "Give me a second to adjust, then move."
He sinks the rest of the way in, hips flush against mine, and we both groan at the sensation. He's buried completely, stretching me full, and my body clenches around him reflexively. He stays there, trembling with the effort of staying still while I adjust to the fullness.
"You feel incredible." His voice breaks. "So wet. So tight around me. Been alone so long I forgot what this was like."
I kiss him, deep and demanding. "Then remember. Take what you want."
He starts to move. Slow at first, measured thrusts that drag his cock against every sensitive nerve.
Pull out until just the head remains, then sink back in deep.
The friction is exquisite, building heat with every stroke.
But the restraint is cracking, and I can feel him fighting himself with every thrust.
"Harder. I'm not going to break."
"Don't want to hurt—"
"You're not. You won't." I rake my nails down his back deliberately, hard enough to leave marks. "Stop holding back and fuck me properly."
The blunt words snap what's left of his restraint.
He growls—an actual growl—and changes the angle, hitching my leg higher.
His hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise, holding me in place while he drives deeper, harder.
The bed frame hits the wall with each thrust. Past quiet.
Past careful. Just raw need and friction and the wet sound of our bodies coming together.
But between the rough edges, there are moments of unexpected tenderness. His thumb stroking my cheekbone. His mouth finding mine for kisses that are more about connection than heat. The way he watches my face, making sure I'm with him, making sure this is good.
"Touch yourself. Want to feel you come around my cock. Want to know this is good for you."
I slide my hand between us, fingers finding my clit, slick and swollen. I work it in rhythm with his thrusts, the dual stimulation making my thighs shake. "It's better than good. You're better than good."
His rhythm stutters, hips grinding deeper. "Helena—"
"I know. Let go."
The orgasm builds fast and sharp, pleasure coiling tighter with each thrust. When it hits, I cry out his name, body arching, muscles clamping down around him. He groans at the sensation of me pulsing around his cock, thrusts getting erratic, what's left of his restraint finally shattering.
"Can't hold—have to—fuck—"
"Do it. Come inside me."
A few more desperate, grinding thrusts and he's there, buried deep, hips jerking as he spills inside me.
Hot and wet and so much of it. His teeth find my shoulder, biting down hard in the moment of release—pleasure and intensity and loss of restraint all hitting at once.
I feel every pulse of his cock, every shudder that runs through his body.
We stay locked together, both gasping for air, sweat cooling on overheated skin. When he finally pulls out, we both hiss at the sensitivity. I can feel him leaking out of me, warm and slick. He collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest.
"Did I hurt you?" His hand immediately goes to my shoulder where he bit.
I touch the mark, already darkening. "You got a little carried away... I'll live."
"I didn't mean to—fuck, I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize for good sex. That's insulting to both of us." I kiss him to cut off the self-recrimination. "You lost restraint for about three seconds. I'd call that impressive given the circumstances."
He looks for lies in my face. The hard edges in his expression ease when he finds only truth. "I don't know how to do this. How to be good at... whatever this is between us."
"Neither do I. Not anymore." I settle against his side, head on his shoulder. "But we're both adults. We'll figure it out."
His arm circles around me, holding on. "I'm worried I'll mess this up. That I'll revert to who I was and push you away."
"Then don't. You get to choose." I trace the scars on his chest. "You spent years alone in the wilderness running from connection. That was one way to handle things. This is another. Your call which one you want."
He's quiet for a long moment. "Thank you. For not making it more complicated than it needs to be."
“I don’t like complications. They bore me." I kiss his jaw. "This works or it doesn't. We try or we don't. Everything else is just noise."
We lie tangled together in the darkness. My body aches in ways I'd forgotten—the pleasant soreness of being thoroughly fucked. The bite mark on my shoulder throbs. Evidence that this happened, that neither of us is alone tonight.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin. Gentle now, tender in ways that probably surprise him. He's fighting sleep, trying to stay present in this moment.
"We should sleep. Tomorrow's complicated."
"More complicated than this?"
"Much more. Cara needs to talk to Traci. We need information and we're out of time."
His arm tightens protectively around me. "Traci's not ready."
"I know. But ready or not, time's up."
We lie in the darkness. Connected in ways that complicate everything.
Just before I drift off, Eli speaks quietly. "Thank you. For seeing past the damage."
"I'm not seeing past it. I'm seeing all of it."
His breath catches. Then steadies. "Okay."
I listen to his breathing slow, feel his grip on me loosen as sleep takes him. My own eyes close not long after.
Pale light filters through the window when I wake. A few hours of sleep. Not enough. Eli's still beside me, warm and solid. For a moment, I just exist here. Connected. Not alone.
Then reality crashes back.
I slip out of bed carefully and dress quietly, leave him resting.
The compound is stirring. Finn's at the coffee maker, his shoulder bandaged. Cara's in the communications room. Traci's door is closed.
Cara emerges when she hears me. Her expression is grim.
"We need to talk. About Traci."
"What happened?"
"Nothing yet. But Rhys got updated intel overnight. The assault last night was a test run. They're planning the real attack within the next day or two." She holds my gaze. "We need what Traci knows. Now. Before they come back with everything they have."
My stomach drops. "She's traumatized from last night."
"I know. But if we don't get ahead of this, she becomes a target they'll never stop hunting." Cara's voice is sympathetic but determined. "We need to force their hand or lose the advantage."
"She'll have to be ready," I say. "We're out of options."
Because ready or not, Traci's running out of time.