14
HELENA
Morning light filters through the curtains in Finn's guest cabin.
Eli's arm is draped across my waist, his breathing steady against my shoulder. After everything yesterday—Traci's testimony, Graves's arrest, the federal press conference—we finally found a few hours of sleep.
My body still remembers what we did when we got back here. The way Eli made good on that promise from the federal building hallway. Backed me against the door the moment it closed, one hand fisting in my hair while the other pinned my wrists above my head. That dark intensity in his eyes when he'd said, "You've been teasing me all day. Now you're going to take everything I give you."
And I did. Every deliberate touch. Every calculated thrust. The way he took his time building the pressure until I was begging, then denied me twice before finally letting me shatter. Control and dominance wrapped in focused attention that left me wrung out and wanting more.
He stirs behind me now. He tightens his grip. Awareness floods back even before his eyes open.
"What time is it?" His voice is rough from sleep.
"Early. FBI debriefing isn't until later this morning."
Eli shifts, pressing closer. Heat blooms where his body aligns with mine. His cock hardens against my lower back, thick and insistent despite exhaustion.
"We have time," he murmurs against my neck. Then his teeth scrape the tender skin there, not quite biting but promising he could.
My pulse kicks. "Eli?—"
"You're going to be quiet this time." His hand slides down my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. "I don't want to wake anyone."
"That didn't concern you last night."
His laugh is dark against my ear. "Last night I wanted them to hear you. Wanted everyone to know exactly what I was doing to you." His hand moves between my thighs, fingers finding me already wet. "This morning? This is just for me."
He pulls my leg over his, opening me up while keeping me pinned on my side. I'm vulnerable and exposed. His fingers slide through my folds with deliberate pressure, circling my clit but not giving me what I need.
"Still sore?" His voice carries satisfaction.
"Yes." I am. The ache between my thighs is a reminder of how thoroughly he used me last night. How many times he made me come before taking his own release.
"Good." He pushes two fingers inside me. The stretch makes me gasp. "It means you'll remember this every time you move today. Remember who did this to you."
His fingers work me with ruthless efficiency. Not gentle, not slow. He finds the spot that makes my back arch and exploits it until I'm biting the pillow to keep from crying out. The wet sounds of his hand between my legs fill the quiet room.
"That's it." His voice drops lower, darker. "Take it. You can be quiet or I'll stop."
I press my face into the pillow, muffling the sounds as pleasure builds. His thumb finds my clit while his fingers curl inside me, and the dual pressure threatens to break me apart.
"Eli—I'm?—"
"Not yet." He slows down. He brings me right to the edge and holds me there. "You come when I say you can come."
The control is maddening and perfect. Exactly what I need from him. This focus, this dominance, the certainty that he knows exactly what my body needs even when I don't.
His cock presses against my entrance, thick and hard. He pulls his fingers out, uses my own wetness to coat himself. Then he's pushing inside in one slow, relentless thrust.
The fullness steals my breath. He's thick enough that the stretch borders on pain, especially after last night. But the ache is good. Right. My body yields to him inch by inch until he's buried completely.
"Fuck." His voice is strained. "You feel incredible."
He doesn't move. Just stays there, letting me adjust to the invasion. His hand slides up my body, cups my breast, thumb brushing my nipple with the same deliberate pressure he brings to everything.
"Touch yourself." A command, not a request.
