"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 wenever 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.”
“You’re right, we fucking will.” He sounds like he’s grinding his teeth on the other end of the line. “It’s already been over twenty-four hours?—”
"I'll find out what happened," I promise, and at least that part isn't a lie. "But I need you to let me handle this my way. No rushing in, no making moves that could compromise the situation. I’ll go in and see what I can find out on this gang. Seeif there’s anything that points to them being in the area Annie was in the night she disappeared." If I can get Ronan to let me take the lead on this, I can control the situation better, I reason. “Look, Leila needs you too. All the people who depend on you need you. We’ll find her. Just let me handle this part, and you check up on some of the other leads we discussed.”
"How long?" The question comes out strangled. "How long is it going to take tolook into themwhile my sister could be—" He can't finish the sentence, can't voice the horrors his imagination is conjuring. “We should fucking grab all of them. Question them, then?—”
The violence in his voice forms a ball of ice in my stomach. This isn’t how Ronan normally behaves. Losing Annie has snapped something, and the last fucking thing I want is that anger directed at me. Christ help me if he has any reason to think I’m hiding something from him while he’s tearing himself and this city apart. "Give me forty-eight hours," I tell him. "If I don't have answers by then, we'll reassess."
It's a dangerous promise, one that commits me to a timeline I'm not sure we can meet. But I need time to track down Desmond, and Ronan needs to believe that progress is being made.
"Forty-eight hours," he agrees reluctantly. "But Elio—if she's hurt, if anything happens to her because we waited..."
"I know." I close my eyes, feeling the weight of his trust and my betrayal in equal measure. "I know."
