This is hell. –Elias
Liana
Elias was technically on leave.
A “doctor-mandated rest period,” as Alex kept calling it while dramatically fluffing his pillows and making fun of the way he poured cereal one-handed.
But he didn’t really rest. Not in the way other people did.
He still read case files.
Still practiced one-handed pull-ups on the bar outside.
Still tried to open jars with his teeth when he thought I wasn’t looking.
Right now, though, he was doing something rare.
He was still.
Laid out on the couch, shirt half-buttoned, cast resting on a pillow, holding me with his good arm.
And I was curled into him, my head rested in the hollow where his shoulder met his chest, breathing in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
We were watching a movie. Or pretending to.
My eyes were only half on the screen.
The other half was focused on the way his fingers moved. slow, lazy circles against the top of my thigh.
I was wearing one of his old T-shirts again.
Soft cotton, oversized, worn thin in all the best ways.
And apparently… it had slipped off one shoulder.
Elias shifted. His hand stopped.
Then resumed, a little lower. A little firmer.
I tilted my head back to look at him.
And the way he was looking at me—
I knew.
Elias
She didn’t realize what she looked like.
Or maybe she did.
Maybe that was the whole point.
The shirt was old—faded black, stretched at the collar—but it hung off her like it was made for sin. One side sliding down her shoulder, baring soft skin, a teasing line of collarbone, the gentle slope toward her chest.
I was a man. Not a saint.
And the image from my angle—her curled into my side, my hand already on her thigh, the shirt barely covering anything—was enough to make my body forget entirely about being injured.
I shifted again.
She gasped.
I hovered over her, my cast braced behind her head against the couch.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” she whispered, voice shaky.
I leaned down, lips brushing her cheek.
“I already am.”
Liana
He kissed me like we hadn’t already done this.
Like this was the first time all over again.
My hands tangled in the front of his shirt, clutching the fabric as he deepened the kiss.
His tongue slid against mine, slow and certain, and I felt heat flood straight between my legs.
Then he sat up, carefully, and pulled me with him. Onto his lap.
I straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, my arms wrapping instinctively around his neck.
His good hand slid down my back. The cast stayed high.
“Careful,” he said, voice rough. “I can’t hold you like before.”
Elias
I didn’t plan to do much. Couldn’t, technically.
But she was soft and warm and squirming on my lap, her breath catching every time I touched her just right.
I could do a lot with one hand.
I slipped it beneath the shirt. No bra. I’d suspected.
She gasped when my fingers found her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple.
I kissed her again. Let my hand trail lower.
She was already wet. Already aching.
I slid two fingers between her thighs, and she jolted.
“Elias—”
“I’ve got you,” I murmured. And I did.
I guided her closer, kissed her slow and deep, and pressed inside.
Just my fingers.
She cried out against my mouth.
Then again, when I curled them.
She clung to me, trembling, her body moving on its own, chasing the rhythm I set.
I whispered to her through every movement: “You’re so perfect—so sweet—so tight around me—don’t stop, baby, just like that—”
Her forehead dropped to my shoulder.
She was crying. Not in pain. In something messier. Needier.
“You’re so bad…” she sobbed.
I kept stroking in slow, teasing circles. Then faster.
Her body clenched.
She shattered on top of me, legs trembling, lips pressed against my neck to muffle the sound.
Liana
I went limp against him, my entire body buzzing.
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
And when I finally did lift my head, I saw it.
Him.
Still hard.
Still straining against his jeans.
My cheeks flamed.
“But… you didn’t…” I trailed off, embarrassed.
Elias blinked.
Then smiled, slow and dangerous.
I stared at the bulge between us.
“How do you… what do you do when you’re like that?”
Elias
My breath caught.
She didn’t know what she was asking. Not really.
Or maybe she did… and that was the worst part.
She was sitting on my lap, soft and flushed and still trembling from what I’d just done to her. She looked up at me with those wide, curious eyes like she was genuinely wondering how I lived with this kind of ache.
And I—
I saw it.
I saw it play out in my head so fast it stole the air from my lungs.
Her, on her knees in front of me.
Her, hair pushed back, mouth parted, lips wet.
So damn pretty.
So damn eager.
Sucking me in, slow and careful at first, then deeper, until I had to grip the couch and pray not to lose it right then and there. Her tongue dragging over me. Her eyes never breaking contact. Her hand wrapped around the base, learning my rhythm like she was born to—
I clenched my jaw.
Hard.
My fingers twitched on her hips.
I almost said something.
Almost begged.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I swallowed everything, reached for her, and pulled her against my chest.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, my voice a fucking wreck.
And I held her.
Because if I didn’t, I was going to lose whatever was left of my self-control.
