Chapter 11
Ellie
She hadn’t just disobeyed an order to stay in bed. She’d dragged herself down step by step until she was sprawled out for anyone to see, flushed, sweating, her nightgown rucked halfway up her thighs. If she thought I was going to ignore that, she was wrong. The lesson she needed was control.
I shook two ibuprofen into my palm and set them on the counter before filling a glass from the tap.
The light from the kitchen fell away, the hallway glow pulling my focus to where she sat.
One knee bent, her posture caught between defiance and fatigue.
The fabric shifted as she adjusted her weight, a small movement that still drew my eye.
At the bottom of the stairs, I held out the glass with the tablets resting in my other hand. She took them without a word, swallowing the pills in one motion and passing the glass back.
“Let me take a look at that ankle,” I said. She hesitated for a second, then nodded.
I set my right foot on the first step for balance and reached for her. My hand closed lightly around her calf, steadying her as I lifted her injured ankle onto my knee. The weight of it settled there, warm through the fabric of my pants.
Her nightgown had shifted when she moved, the hem sliding higher to bare the smooth line of her shin and the curve of muscle above it.
From this angle I could see the length of her legs up to mid-thigh, skin pale against the red runner on the stairs.
My focus settled there for a moment, the view making me want more than to deal with the task at hand.
I shifted her foot in my hands, careful not to pull against the wrap. The gauze was damp, a small patch of red seeping through near the edge. That cut was still giving her trouble. I lowered her foot back to the step, steadying it with one hand until she was balanced.
“I’ll be right back,” I told her, already turning toward the living room.
I crossed the foyer into the living room, the sound of her voice still clear in my head.
She’d looked at me on that stair like I was the answer to every problem she couldn’t solve.
She didn’t realize blind trust only gave me more leverage.
That look stayed with me as I reached for the medical bag beside the couch.
The image shifted, uninvited, to the way she had been sitting there, hem high enough to bare most of her legs. She was beautiful. Not just in the obvious way, but in the quiet way that made me want to keep looking.
I stopped that line of thought before it went further. Discipline mattered. If I crossed it now, I wouldn’t stop. Bag in hand, I turned back toward the hall, my mind already on taking care of her ankle before she could make it worse.
I crouched on the first step, the leather creaking under my grip as I set it beside me.
She was watching me with her crystal green eyes.
Her expression wasn’t curiosity. It was compliance.
She wanted to know how far I’d push, and I was ready to show her.
I reached for her ankle and guided it onto my upper thigh.
I found the end of the bandage and began to unwind it, the faint tug of the adhesive giving way with each turn.
The wound came into view, the skin around it flushed and damp with fresh seepage.
“Hold still.” My tone left no room for argument.
She winced when the alcohol touched her skin, but I didn’t ease up.
“That sting? You earned it, Sabine. Remember this when you think about trying the stairs again. You think you’re proving something, dragging yourself down step by step?
All you proved is that you need someone to put you back in your place. ”
My movements stayed measured, the way they always did when I worked on an injury. Her sharp intake of breath when the disinfectant hit made me glance up to make sure she knew I wasn’t easing up. Pain was part of the lesson.
I bent, almost without thinking, to blow a cool stream of air across the sting, easing the moment for her.
My focus had narrowed entirely to that small circle of skin, until the change in angle caught my peripheral vision.
The hem of her nightgown had fallen back, opening a view that left no doubt.
She was bare beneath it. Pale skin, smooth, unbroken lines curving upward.
The sight hit like a punch low in my gut.
My pulse spiked, heat pooling hard and fast. My nipples hardened against my bra, the reaction swift and undeniable.
I pulled in a slow breath, locking my eyes back on the injury, telling myself to stay with the task, to keep my hands steady.
This was still work. I tried to make myself believe it.
I forced my focus back to the task. The ointment spread in a thin, even layer under my fingertip, cool against her skin.
I reached for a fresh roll of gauze, smoothing it into place and winding it with careful, even tension.
The rhythm was a comfort, something I could control when the rest of me was coiled tight.
“There’s no bruising,” I said, tucking the end of the wrap and pressing my thumb along the edge to secure it. “That’s a good sign. But you shouldn’t be putting weight on it yet.” My tone was firm, because she needed to hear it. If she tried those stairs again, I’d make damn sure she regretted it.
Her fingers brushed my arm. I allowed it, for the moment, because it reminded her whose permission she was testing. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I wasn’t interested in her gratitude. What mattered was that she had her leg bare on my knee, trusting me with more than she realized. That trust cut sharper than the antiseptic in the air, sharper than the sting I’d just given her.
I didn’t move back. I held her there, making her sit in it, making her feel how close I was and how little control she actually had over what came next. Her eyes locked on mine, unblinking, waiting for a mercy I wasn’t offering.
Maybe she thought Kara was the tough one and I could be manipulated. She was wrong. This wasn’t about tending a wound anymore. This was about reminding her who she belonged to while she was under my care.
The decision broke, clean and sudden. She gasped when I bent to take her mouth, her hands hovering like she was waiting for a signal.
I didn’t give one. She didn’t get to decide when she touched me.
I made the decision for her, pressing her back with my weight until she understood exactly who was in control.
I deepened the kiss, my palm finding the back of her calf. Her skin was smooth beneath my hand, warm in a way that sent a pulse straight through me. I traced upward, savoring the way her muscles shifted under my touch.
She shifted forward on the step, the movement parting her knees just enough for my eyes to flicker down. The hem of her nightgown framed her, nothing between us but air. The sight jolted through me like a current, tightening every muscle.
I forced my eyes back to her face. A blush colored her cheeks, her breathing shallow and quick. She held my gaze like she was daring me to keep going.
“Ellie,” she whispered, my name low and rough, the sound curling around my restraint.
I kissed her again, harder this time, letting the moment swallow every rational thought.
My hand shifted higher, deliberate. I parted her knees just enough with the pressure of my thumb, then slid two fingers across her slit, slow enough she felt every inch of it. Wet. Too wet for someone who claimed she was in control. I held my fingers up, slick with proof.
“This is the mess you made sneaking around. Humiliating yourself on the stairs wasn’t enough? Your body gave you away too.”
Her moan vibrated against my mouth, proof she was already giving me more than she wanted to admit. Proof that control was mine. She kissed me harder, her fingers curling at the back of my neck, urging me on.
I wanted to give in, but the thought of where that would lead tightened my grip on reality. I pulled my hand away. I wrapped an arm tight around her, not to soothe but to hold her still until she stopped squirming. Then I let her go, because I was finished, not because she was.
“We should get you back to bed,” I whispered, my voice lower than I intended.
She didn’t argue. She knew better. The brush of her cheek wasn’t affection, it was surrender.
I shifted, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
Her nightgown brushed against my forearms, and I caught the faint scent of her hair as I started up the stairs.
Each step felt longer than it was, every muscle aware of her in my arms. I kept my focus on the hallway ahead, refusing to look down at her face, afraid I’d see something that would tempt me to stop before we reached her door.
In her bedroom, I lowered her onto the bed, careful not to jar her ankle. She was beautiful there, nightgown shifting around her thighs as she settled back against the pillows.
Her fingers closed lightly around mine before I could step away. The touch was soft, almost questioning, and heat rolled through me again before I could stop it. For a moment, the image of leaning back down and taking her mouth again flashed bright in my mind.
I shook my head once, forcing the air from my lungs.
“You need to rest,” I told her, pulling the blanket up and tucking it in, a reminder that it wasn’t her decision to go to bed.
“And you need to remember whose rules you follow here. I decide when you get up, when you walk, when you come. Don’t confuse my restraint for mercy. It’s control. Mine.”
Her hand loosened, though her eyes stayed on me. I stepped back, breaking the pull between us, and reached for the light switch by the door. Shadows moved in as the bulb clicked off, the shape of her barely visible in the dim spill from the hallway.
“Sweet dreams, Sabine,” I told her.
I closed the door softly and started down the hall, my thoughts a mix of warning and frustration.
This could not happen again. Not with her.
Not with anyone under my protection. I told myself to get my head straight, told my body to calm the hell down, but the lingering throb in my pussy made the command feel useless.
As I passed the top of the stairs, movement caught my eye.
Alex stood in the open doorway of the command center, one shoulder leaning against the frame.
Her expression was unreadable in the low light, but she dipped her chin in a slow nod.
I gave her the same in return, then kept walking, my jaw tight and my stride steady, even if nothing inside me was.