Page 23 of No Words
Slowly, she raises the hem of the t-shirt, revealing herself inch by inch. She’s wearing nothing underneath, as I suspected.
“Higher,” I instruct. “Hold it up. Don’t let go.”
When the shirt is bunched around her waist, exposing her completely, I run my hands lightly over her body from behind, hardly touching, just enough to raise goosebumps on her skin. I move my mouth to her ear.
“Earlier, you started something without permission.” My hand slides around to her front, fingers tracing her hip bone. “Now I’m going to finish it. But you don’t get to come until I allow it. That’s your punishment.”
Her head falls back against my shoulder, a wordless surrender. I let my fingers drift lower, finding her already wet. The discovery sends a surge of satisfaction through me, a profound sense of possession at how easily she responds to my touch.
“So responsive,” I murmur, circling her entrance without penetrating. “So ready. But not yet.”
I spend long minutes teasing her clit with the lightest touches, bringing her to the edge, then pulling back. Her breathing becomes ragged, her hips pushing back against me, seeking more contact. I maintain perfect control, despite my rigid cock pressing hard against her.
“Please,” she whispers, the word a broken plea.
“Please what?” I prompt, fingers stilling.
“Please let me come.”
“Not until you promise to obey the rules.” My free hand comes up to circle her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of my control. “Promise you’ll come to me next time, not take matters into your own hands.”
“I promise,” she gasps as my fingers resume their skilled torture.
“Who do you belong to right now?” I demand, increasing the pressure where she needs it most.
“You,” she moans. “Just you.”
“That’s right.” I position myself more firmly behind her, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me. “Now you can come. Show me.”
Her release is spectacular, body arching, hands pressing against the glass, a cry she tries to muffle escaping her throat. I hold her through it, my hand working her through each wave until she’s trembling with oversensitivity.
When she finally stills, I turn her to face me, lifting her chin to meet my eyes.
“That’s what happens when you let me take control,” I warn. “Next time will be even better.”
Her eyes are glazed, but there’s something else there too, a hunger that matches my own. “What about you?” she asks, gaze dropping to the obvious bulge in my pants.
I shake my head. “This wasn’t about me. This was about establishing boundaries.” I step back, putting distance between us again. “And those boundaries can change anytime you need them to. This only works if we both want it, and you can withdraw consent whenever you need to. Now, get some sleep. I’ll wake you for your watch in three hours.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but exhaustion and the aftermath of intense pleasure are catching up with her. She nods, adjusting her shirt back into place.
“Cole,” she says at the bedroom door, voice soft but steady. “What happens when this is over? When Borsellini is no longer a threat?”
I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we focus on keeping you alive.”
She accepts this non-answer with a slight nod and disappears into the bedroom. I return to my place near the window, scanning the darkness beyond.
I check the feeds one last time, my body still humming with unresolved tension. Outside, the darkness hides our enemies. Inside, I’ve started something that could destroy us both.
7
MOLLY
The sound of shuffling papers drags me from sleep. For a beat I’m back in the office at 6 a.m., case files and burnt coffee in hand. Funny how routine masquerades as safety when you don’t have the real thing. A floorboard creaks in the kitchen. My hand reaches instinctively for the Glock that isn’t there, muscle memory drilled into me long before I understood what carrying a weapon really meant. Back then, I thought it was about power. Now, it’s about surviving another day.
Day five in this isolated cabin, and I’m still alive. Although the Borsellini family wants to change that.
Cole sits at the kitchen table, surrounded by documents. He catalogues risk like other people make grocery lists. It should put distance between us; instead it makes me feel safe. His focus is absolute, fingers sorting through papers. He doesn’t look up when I enter, but I know he’s aware of my presence.
