And God help me, I know I can’t ever let myself hurt her again.
"You okay?" Ronan asks, noticing my expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Just tired," I lie. "Haven't been sleeping well since Annie disappeared."
It's not entirely false—I haven't been sleeping well, though it has more to do with the woman in my bed than worry about her safety.
"None of us have." Ronan's voice is rough with exhaustion of his own. "But we're going to find her, Elio. And when we do, God help anyone who's hurt her."
I nod and make appropriate sounds of agreement, all while thinking about Annie safe in the cabin, probably cleaning again or reading one of the books on the shelves there. The contrast between Ronan's anguish and the reality of the situation makes me feel like the worst kind of traitor.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of false leads and fake reports. I coordinate with teams searching neighborhoods where I know Annie isn't, follow up on tips about sightings that I know are impossible, and generally waste everyone's time and resources while feeling like a traitor.
By the time I make my excuses and head back to the safe house, I'm exhausted by the weight of my deception. The drive feels endless, made worse by the knowledge that I'm speeding toward a situation that is no less complicated than the one I’m facing with Ronan—just for very different reasons.
Annie is on the couch when I walk in, curled up with a book in her lap. One of my men must have brought the items she requested—she’s wearing a pair of yoga pants and a long T-shirt, and I realize I miss seeing her in my clothes. The thought hits me in the chest like a punch at the same moment that my cock thickens at the sight of her slender legs in the tight pants, leaving me tangled in a dizzying mess of conflicting emotions.
When she looks up and sees me, her blue eyes light up, and I feel like I've been punched in the gut.
I want her so badly it hurts. And I can’t let this go any further.
I have to sleep on the fucking couch tonight if it kills me. If we keep sleeping in the bed together, we’re going to keep pushing boundaries. Keep nudging those lines further and further until I’m inside of her, and we can’t go back.
"How was your day?" she asks, setting aside her book, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. My entire body throbs with the desire to go to her, pull her into my arms, and lick away the sting from her full mouth.
"Terrible," I admit, shedding my jacket and hanging it up on a hook. "I spent eight hours lying to your brother about where you are and what happened to you. It's eating me alive."
Annie presses her lips together. “I know,” she whispers. All the light in her face drains away. “As soon as we find him…”
“The sooner the better.” I pause, glancing toward the kitchen. “Have you had dinner?”
Annie shakes her head. “I ate some apples and some deli meat with cheese earlier. But nothing… substantial.”
“I’ll make something.” Before she can protest, or say anything at all, I stride past her into the kitchen just to put some space between us. To cool my head before I do something stupid like go to her and kiss her until we’re both breathless.
We haven’t really kissed again. Not other than that brush of her lips on mine in her bedroom. I didn’t kiss her last night, andshe didn’t kiss me this morning. It’s as if we both know that, even though we’ve done that before, it might completely shatter what control we both have.
If I kiss her, I’m going to lose myself in it. And then we’ll both be lost.
17
ANNIE
Elio refuses to sleep in the bed with me tonight.
After dinner—a mixture of an incredibly well-cooked steak served alongside a wild rice mix from a box and green beans from a can; it’s hard to get steady groceries up here—Elio cleans up, once again not letting me do anything, and then wordlessly goes to the linen closet to get out pillows and blankets. I trail after him, panic tightening my chest at the thought of sleeping alone… and something else, too.
I was hoping for him to touch me again. To maybe let me touch him again, too. I’ve been thinking all day about how he felt in my hand—the straining hardness, the velvet flesh, the slick feeling of his pre-cum under my thumb. The way he twitched and groaned, the look on his face as he came, howhardhe came for me. As if eleven years of pent-up desire exploded from him in that moment.
Just like it did for me, last night.
I got off in the shower earlier, remembering how it felt to touch him. Imagining him doing more to me, me doing more to him. I came so hard my knees almost buckled, and I’ve been thinking all day of what might happen tonight.
Which, clearly, appears to be nothing.
“Elio—” I stop behind him, and he turns to face me, his arms full of bedding.
“We can’t do that again,” he says flatly. “We’re going to keep pushing that line, Annie, you know we will. You know how close we came… before. There’s no one to catch us here, no one to stop us. You know what’s going to happen. So I’m sleeping on the couch.” There’s a ring of finality in his voice. “I’m right out here, if you need me. You can wake me up, if you have night terrors, if…” He trails off. “I’m here, Annie. But I need to sleep on the couch.”
