Chapter 14
HELENA
Morning light filters through the curtains in Finn's guest cabin.
Eli's arm is draped across my waist, his breathing steady against my shoulder. After everything yesterday—Traci's testimony, Graves's arrest, the federal press conference—we finally found a few hours of sleep.
My body still remembers what we did when we got back here.
The way Eli made good on that promise from the federal building hallway.
Backed me against the door the moment it closed, one hand fisting in my hair while the other pinned my wrists above my head.
That dark intensity in his eyes when he'd said, "You've been teasing me all day.
Now you're going to take everything I give you. "
And I did. Every deliberate touch. Every calculated thrust. The way he took his time building the pressure until I was begging, then denied me twice before finally letting me shatter. Control and dominance wrapped in focused attention that left me wrung out and wanting more.
He stirs behind me now. He tightens his grip. Awareness floods back even before his eyes open.
"What time is it?" His voice is rough from sleep.
"Early. FBI debriefing isn't until later this morning."
Eli shifts, pressing closer. Heat blooms where his body aligns with mine. His cock hardens against my lower back, thick and insistent despite exhaustion.
"We have time," he murmurs against my neck. Then his teeth scrape the tender skin there, not quite biting but promising he could.
My pulse kicks. "Eli—"
"You're going to be quiet this time." His hand slides down my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. "I don't want to wake anyone."
"That didn't concern you last night."
His laugh is dark against my ear. "Last night I wanted them to hear you. Wanted everyone to know exactly what I was doing to you." His hand moves between my thighs, fingers finding me already wet. "This morning? This is just for me."
He pulls my leg over his, opening me up while keeping me pinned on my side. I'm vulnerable and exposed. His fingers slide through my folds with deliberate pressure, circling my clit but not giving me what I need.
"Still sore?" His voice carries satisfaction.
"Yes." I am. The ache between my thighs is a reminder of how thoroughly he used me last night. How many times he made me come before taking his own release.
"Good." He pushes two fingers inside me. The stretch makes me gasp. "It means you'll remember this every time you move today. Remember who did this to you."
His fingers work me with ruthless efficiency. Not gentle, not slow. He finds the spot that makes my back arch and exploits it until I'm biting the pillow to keep from crying out. The wet sounds of his hand between my legs fill the quiet room.
"That's it." His voice drops lower, darker. "Take it. You can be quiet or I'll stop."
I press my face into the pillow, muffling the sounds as pleasure builds. His thumb finds my clit while his fingers curl inside me, and the dual pressure threatens to break me apart.
"Eli—I'm—"
"Not yet." He slows down. He brings me right to the edge and holds me there. "You come when I say you can come."
The control is maddening and perfect. Exactly what I need from him. This focus, this dominance, the certainty that he knows exactly what my body needs even when I don't.
His cock presses against my entrance, thick and hard. He pulls his fingers out, uses my own wetness to coat himself. Then he's pushing inside in one slow, relentless thrust.
The fullness steals my breath. He's thick enough that the stretch borders on pain, especially after last night. But the ache is good. Right. My body yields to him inch by inch until he's buried completely.
"Fuck." His voice is strained. "You feel incredible."
He doesn't move. Just stays there, letting me adjust to the invasion. His hand slides up my body, cups my breast, thumb brushing my nipple with the same deliberate pressure he brings to everything.
"Touch yourself." A command, not a request.
My hand slides between my legs, fingers finding my clit. The angle is awkward but the added sensation makes me clench around him.
"That's it." He pulls almost all the way out, then thrusts back in. Slow and deep. He sets a rhythm that's designed to unravel me. "Make yourself come on my cock."
His hips roll in steady, controlled thrusts. Not the violent taking from last night, but calculated and precise. Every angle chosen to drag against the spots that make me shake. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.
My fingers work faster, chasing the release he's building. The combination of his cock filling me and my own touch pushes me higher. Pressure coils low in my belly, spreading through my thighs.
"Close." I barely manage the word.
"Then come." His teeth find my shoulder, biting down hard enough to hurt. The sharp pain pushes me over the edge.
I come hard, clenching around him, biting the pillow to muffle my cry. Pleasure crashes through me in waves while he keeps thrusting, prolonging it until I'm trembling and oversensitive.
"Good girl." He picks up his pace now, using me for his own pleasure. His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back. "One more. Give me one more."
"I can't—"
"You can." His hand replaces mine between my legs, fingers ruthless on my clit. "You're going to come again and then I'm going to fill you. Understand?"
The overstimulation is almost too much. Almost. But his fingers know exactly how to touch me, exactly how much pressure to use. The second orgasm builds faster than the first, sharper, more intense.
When it hits, I bite down on my own hand to keep from screaming. My body clamps around him and he groans, his rhythm finally breaking. Three more hard thrusts and then he's coming, cock pulsing inside me as he empties himself with a low curse against my neck.
We stay like that for long moments. His cock still inside me. His arm tight around my waist. Both of us breathing hard.
When he finally pulls out, I feel the loss immediately. He rolls me onto my back, settling between my thighs. His cum is leaking out of me but he doesn't seem to care. Just looks at me with dark, satisfied eyes.
"You're mine." Not a question. A statement of fact.
"Yes." The truth of it settles into my bones.
He kisses me then. Slower than before but no less intense. Thorough. Possessive. Claiming my mouth the way he claimed my body.
When he pulls back, his thumb traces my swollen lips. "Get dressed. We have a debriefing to get to."
The shift from dominant lover to tactical operative is jarring. But that's Eli. That kind of compartmentalization would be cold if I didn't see the heat still burning in his eyes when he looks at me.
I sit up slowly, feeling the ache in muscles I forgot I had. He watches me dress with obvious appreciation, not bothering to hide his interest.
"What?" I ask when I catch him staring.
"Just thinking about doing that again later."
Heat floods through me despite exhaustion. "Later?"
"Later." His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile but close. "After we deal with the FBI."
He dresses in silence broken only by the sounds of fabric and breathing. Eventually the outside world intrudes again. Tactical gear. Weapons. The reality of federal debriefings and trafficking investigations.
But underneath it all, I can still feel where he touched me. Where he marked me. The reminder that I'm his.
"You okay?" Simple question that carries weight.
"Better than okay." I turn to face him. See the controlled intensity I've come to recognize as Eli trying to navigate something outside tactical parameters. "You?"
"Don't know yet. Graves is in custody. Network's exposed. But until federal prosecutors finish rolling everyone up, Traci's still a target." He pauses. "And I don't know what happens after."
"After what?"
"After the threat's eliminated. When Traci doesn't need constant protection. When there's no tactical mission to focus on." His jaw tightens. "When I have to figure out how to exist without an objective."
The vulnerability beneath that admission makes my chest ache. Years of isolation because he didn't know how to live with what he became. Now forced into proximity with people who need him to function as both protector and human.
"You figure it out by trying," I tell him. "By not running back to your cabin the minute the dust settles."
"That your professional opinion?"
"That's my personal opinion." I meet his eyes.
Dark and direct and searching for certainty I'm not sure I can give.
"I'm not asking for promises you can't keep, Eli.
But I'm also not interested in being the woman you sleep with between tactical operations before you disappear into the wilderness again. "
Silence stretches between us. Eli processing, calculating, running scenarios the way he does with everything.
"I'm not going back," he says finally. "To isolation. To pretending I can outrun what I am by hiding from it." His hand finds my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Traci needs family. Needs someone who stays. And you—" He stops. Starts again. "You make me want to stay."
Heat floods through me. Not lust this time. Something deeper that terrifies and steadies me simultaneously.
"Okay," I whisper. "Then stay."
We wait, connected in ways that complicate everything and simplify it simultaneously, and prepare for what's coming next.
By the time we leave Finn's compound, the sun has climbed higher over the mountains.
Eli drives the lead vehicle in the convoy, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh.
Possessive weight that makes me hyperaware of every shift, every deliberate squeeze.
Traci sits in the back, quiet but alert, watching the landscape roll past. The federal marshals maintain position behind us, a reminder that even with Graves in custody, protocols remain in place.