“Lie back,” he commands, his voice dropping into that soothing, Alpha register that makes my body obey before my mind can catch up.
I sink back into the pillows. He pushes my legs apart again and ducks his head between my thighs.
I expect it to hurt. I expect the frantic, desperate lashing of the heat.
But Eli doesn’t attack. He worships.
He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to my swollen folds. I gasp, my hips bucking slightly, but he holds me down, his hands splaying on my stomach.
“Easy,” he murmurs against my skin.
He licks me, long, slow stripes that gather the mess and soothe the burn. It feels incredible. The ache begins to dull, replaced by a slow, curling pleasure.
“Oh,” I breathe out, my head falling back. “Eli...”
He pulls back just enough to spit a glob of saliva onto my cunt, making me wetter, making the glide of his tongue easier. Then he seals his mouth over my clit and sucks.
My body reacts instantly, the memory of the last three days surging up to meet him. But this isn’t the frantic need of the heat. This is a slow tide.
“God,” I whimper, my hands tangling in his hair.
He works me with his mouth, his tongue flicking, his lips sucking, until I’m panting, my thighs trembling. The crest hits me, soft and rolling.
I moan, my back arching, but he doesn’t stop. He gentles me through the first one and sends me straight into a second orgasm.
By the time he lifts his head, his chin is shiny. I’m a boneless heap.
“Better?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Better,” I whisper. “Where are the others?”
“Fallon is making breakfast,” Eli says, crawling up the bed to gather me in his arms. “And Knox is doing a perimeter check. He’s been up since dawn. He’s... restless.”
I burrow into Eli’s chest. “He’s always restless.”
“He’s protective,” Eli corrects, kissing the top of my head. “How about we get you cleaned up properly? And then we’ll go eat. I’m starving.”
“I think I need help walking,” I admit, my cheeks heating.
Eli smiles against my hair. “I’d say that’s an understatement.”
He helps me to the bathroom, supporting my weight while my legs wobble like a newborn foal’s. He washes me with a warm cloth, cleaning away the last of the evidence, leaving me feeling human again.
We go downstairs slowly.
The warehouse is quiet. The smell of bacon and coffee wafts from the kitchen. Fallon is at the stove, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, flipping eggs.
He looks up when we shuffle in. His face lights up, a boyish grin that erases the exhaustion lines around his eyes.
“Hey! Sleeping Beauty lives,” he says, abandoning the eggs to come over. He pulls me into a hug, lifting me off my feet. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” I say into his shoulder. “But I’m okay.”
“You’re more than okay,” he says, setting me down gently at the island. “You’re amazing.”
A moment later, the steel door rattles. Knox walks in. He’s fully dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater, his hair damp from the snow outside. He looks wild, his eyes scanning the room before they land on me.
The tension leaves his shoulders in a rush. He crosses the room in three strides, cupping my face in his cold, rough hands.
