Chapter 16 Elio
ELIO
Iwake to the feeling of Annie's body pressed against mine, her back curved into my chest, my arm wrapped around her waist like I have every right to hold her this way.
For a moment, in the hazy space between sleep and consciousness, I let myself pretend that this is normal—that waking up with Annie in my arms is something I do every morning instead of a dangerous line I've crossed.
Then reality crashes back. The safe house.
Desmond's assault. The lies I'm telling Ronan.
And beneath it all, the memory of last night—the feeling of her skin, the sound she made when she came apart in my hands, the trust in her eyes as she asked me to remind her of the difference between wanted and unwanted touch.
Christ, what have I done?
The memory takes my half-hard cock to fully erect in seconds, my morning wood painful as I suck in a soft breath through my teeth.
Annie stirs against me, making a soft sound of contentment that shoots straight to my groin.
I should move away, put distance between us before she wakes up and we have to acknowledge what happened.
But her body fits against mine like it was made for this, and the part of me that's wanted her for eleven years refuses to let go.
She rolls over suddenly, curving the front of her against me, her breasts against my side, her breath on my neck, her leg hooking over my calf.
My cock throbs painfully, and I close my eyes, fighting every instinct that screams for me to roll her onto her back and wake her in all the ways I dreamed of for years.
Her hand is on my chest. It slides down, and before I can catch her wrist, before I can think clearly enough to realize what she’s doing in her sleep.
Her hand grazes my cock through my sleep pants, just that sensation enough to make me pulse, pre-cum dripping from my tip as my cock jerks against her palm.
I reach down and grab her wrist gently, and her eyes fly open, meeting mine as I fight to find the will to pull her hand away from my cock.
"Annie," I start, but she silences me by pressing her finger to my lips.
"Let me touch you," she whispers. "Like you touched me. I want to make you feel good too."
Her fingers brush the length of my cock again, her wrist still caught in my hand.
She turns her wrist in my hand, her brilliant blue eyes hazy with desire, and my breath catches.
Every rational thought in my head is screaming at me to stop this, to remind her of all the reasons why this is a terrible idea.
But with her hand so close to where I desperately want her to touch me, it feels impossible to think clearly.
"You don't have to do this," I manage, though my hips betray me by pressing into her touch. "Last night wasn't about reciprocation—"
"I know." She bites her lip, and god, I want to kiss her again. "I want to do this. I want to touch you. I want to feel you again. I want to feel you come for me, too.”
Fuck. I let out a shuddering breath. Just those few words, and I’m already far too close.
I close my eyes, swallowing hard as I let go of her wrist, my body throbbing with the awareness of what I’m about to let happen.
I’m going to let Annie touch me. She’s going to make me come.
Christ, I don’t care that it’s only her hand, I’m on the verge of losing control just at the thought.
"We can't have sex," I choke out. "Annie, you have to understand—Ronan would kill me for even going this far with you. If he found out—" I suck in a breath as her fingers graze the edge of my waistband, fingertips tracing my skin. “We have to stop at this. No further than we went before—”
"He won't find out," she interrupts, her fingers dipping below my waistband. "This is between us. Just us."
I want to tell her it's not that simple, that secrets this big have a way of coming out, that if Ronan ever learns I touched his sister while lying to his face about her safety, there won't be enough left of me to scrape off the walls.
But her hand slips inside my boxer briefs then, wrapping around me skin to skin, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
"Fuck," I breathe, my head falling back against the pillow as she grazes her fingertips against the bare, hot, throbbing skin of my cock.
Annie reaches down, tugging at my pants and boxers to free me, and I lift my hips, letting her move my clothing around however it suits her.
Every spare thought I have is focused on her fingers sliding along the velvet skin of my cock, my erection straining into her palm as she frees me, pushing the sheets back so that she can see every inch of my throbbing arousal.
"Is this okay?" she whispers as she slowly starts to stroke me in the open air, though the way my body is responding makes the answer obvious.
"More than okay," I growl, fighting the urge to flip her onto her back and bury myself inside her. "But Annie, we can't—we can't let this go any further than this."
"I know." She rests her head on my shoulder. "I understand the rules."
Rules. As if there are rules for this impossible situation we've found ourselves in. As if there's a handbook for being in love with a woman you’re forbidden to be with, the sister of a man who you grew up with like a brother, while helping her cover up an attempted rape and plan a murder.
But I don't correct her, because having rules—even arbitrary ones—feels safer than admitting that I'm completely out of my depth here.
She lays there like that as she strokes me, watching the movement of her hand up and down.
She takes her time, almost teasing me, her fingers stroking gently and exploring at first. I’m almost grateful, no matter how maddening the light touches are, because if she’d started out jerking me off in earnest, I wouldn’t have lasted seconds.
Instead, I let myself sink into the pleasure as she maps the veins of my cock with her fingers, teases the soft flesh beneath the tip, rolls her thumb over the swollen head.
She swipes it back and forth, collecting the pre-cum on her fingers and then using it to slick the length of my cock as she slides her fist back down the straining length, and the sounds I make are something primal as she works her hand down to the base and squeezes me.
I’m reduced to nothing but need, my hips arching into her hand as she starts to stroke me more firmly, first in slow, quick movements and then in long, slow strokes that have my eyes rolling back in my head as I feel my abdomen clenching and heat winding its way up my spine.
"Annie," I warn, feeling the familiar tightening that signals I'm close. "You need to—"
But she doesn't pull away. If anything, she doubles her efforts, stroking me faster, her breath quick and eager as she watches me strain in her hand. My cock throbs, pleasure racing up my spine in a burning wave, and I come with a strangled groan, her name falling from my lips on a choked moan as cum splatters over my stomach, soaking my shirt up to my chest. It’s a mess, but I don’t fucking care.
All I can do is pant and buck under her touch, thrusting into her hand with every spurt and throb of my cock as Annie works me through my orgasm, the pleasure more intense than anything I can remember.
It’s better than any sex I’ve had, anything I’ve done that wasn’t with her.
Everything has always been better with her. It doesn’t matter what it is.
“I wanted to do that to you last night,” she whispers, finally letting go of my cock and wiping her hand against my shirt.
I sit up partway, stripping it off with one hand, and I hear her quick intake of breath as she sees me shirtless, the muscles of my abdomen bunching as I toss the shirt aside and lay back against the pillows.
“God,” she breathes, taking in the sight of my chest—muscled and smooth, inked with tattoos across my ribs and shoulders. “You’re like a fucking sculpture.”
“Thanks,” I chuckle, trying to take some of the heat out of the moment.
My cock is already twitching from the way she’s looking at me, and I shove it back into my boxer briefs, pulling up my underwear and sleep pants before my cock can get any other ideas.
The intimacy between us feels dangerous and inevitable all at once, like we're standing on the edge of a cliff with no choice but to jump.
Annie was here one day, and we already went from a brief kiss to making each other come. This is where we stopped, before. We budged up against all of those other lines, but we never crossed them. How quickly are we going to start making excuses for more, the longer she’s here?
One night. I made it exactly one night. I’m almost ashamed at how weak I am. Last night I could write off as doing something for her, but what we just did…
That was for me. That was my selfish need. And I’m going to make everything worse if I can’t get my desire for her under control.
The harsh intrusion of my phone buzzing on the nightstand jolts me out of my thoughts. The caller ID shows Ronan's name, and guilt crashes over me like a cold wave.
"I have to take this," I tell Annie, carefully extracting myself from her embrace.
"Elio." Ronan's voice is tight with frustration and barely contained panic. "Please tell me you have something. Anything."
I walk into the living room, putting distance between myself and the woman I just allowed to give me an orgasm while her brother searches desperately for her.
"I'm working on it," I tell him, hating myself for every word. "Following up on that lead we discussed yesterday."
“That fucking gang.” Ronan spits out the words. “I should have done something about them years ago. They were a problem even before they started working for Rocco—”
“You can’t micromanage all the trash in the city,” I interrupt him abruptly. “This isn’t on you, Ronan. It might not even be them. We’ll look into it.”