He crosses the room in three strides. Hands frame my face, mouth claims mine with bruising force that tastes like violence barely leashed.
I meet him there. No hesitation. No gentle exploration. Just raw need and the darkness we're both carrying.
His hands work with brutal efficiency. Our clothes disappear like tactical gear he's clearing. I map scars across his chest, feel coiled muscle beneath skin that's seen too much combat.
We hit the bed hard. Eli pins me, weight pressing me into the mattress, hands catching my wrists and slamming them above my head.
"Rough." Not asking permission. Stating fact.
"Good."
Something breaks loose behind his eyes. Control fracturing, darkness spilling through the cracks.
He releases my wrists. Slides down my body with violent intent, mouth tracing throat to breasts. Takes each nipple between teeth, just this side of pain, makes me arch and gasp.
Lower. Hands grip my thighs, spread them wider, hold me open. Then his mouth finds me and it's not gentle. Tongue and teeth working with the same tactical precision he brings to killing. Finding weaknesses, exploiting them, driving me higher until I'm shaking apart beneath him.
I bury fingers in his hair, hold him there, ride the wave building. When I come it tears through me and he doesn't stop.Keeps working until I'm oversensitive and trembling, pulling him up by the shoulders.
"My turn."
I shove him onto his back. Settle between his thighs and take him in hand first. Learn the weight, the shape. Then mouth, taking him deep enough to feel him hit the back of my throat.
His control shatters. Hands fist in my hair, hips drive up despite the effort to stay still. Rough sounds tear from his chest, animal and raw.
When I pull back his eyes are black, all pupil.
"Inside." Command, not request.
"Yes."
He positions himself. Drives home in one brutal thrust that punches air from my lungs. Then he's moving, hips pounding with force that'll leave marks, hands gripping hard enough to bruise.
I wrap legs around him, pull him deeper, meet each violent thrust. This isn't soft or romantic. It's combat by other means, two people who lived in violence finding something real in the wreckage.
When the second climax hits I bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. Eli follows seconds later, face buried against my neck, body going rigid before everything breaks.
We collapse tangled together. Breathing hard, sweat cooling, the violence finally draining out.
Silence stretches. His arm tightens around me.
"Long time," he says finally. Words rough, abbreviated. "Since I had anything like this."
I lift my head. See honesty cutting through the darkness in his expression.
"Not going back," he says. "To isolation."
Before I can respond, footsteps sound in the hallway. Quick. Urgent. Someone moving with purpose.
Eli's instantly alert, reaching for the weapon he positioned within arm's reach of the bed. I grab clothes, start dressing with the efficiency of someone who's done this before.
A knock on the door. Cara's voice.
"Helena. Eli. You need to see this."
We finish dressing and emerge to find Cara in the hallway, laptop in hand, expression caught between triumph and concern.
"Federal prosecutors just arrived," she says. "Three of them, accompanied by FBI agents. They've been reviewing the evidence I uploaded to secure servers, and they're ready to move."
