Page 4 of No Words

Six months ago, I would have arrested someone like Cole.

Now I’m trusting him with my life, craving his touch.

The ethical boundaries I’ve lived by are crumbling, and the terrifying part is how right it feels.

What I would have called kidnapping yesterday, I’m calling rescue today.

The prosecutor who trusted the system to protect witnesses, is learning how na?ve she was.

Something softens in his expression. “You learn. You adapt.” His thumb traces a small circle on the inside of my wrist, where my pulse hammers traitorously. “And you trust your instincts.”

My instincts are screaming at me right now, but they’re not saying run. They’re saying something very different.

“And if my instincts tell me this is a mistake?” I challenge, not pulling away from his touch.

“Then they’re wrong.” Cole’s eyes darken. “Because right now, I’m the only thing standing between you and a shallow grave in the woods. The Borsellini’s have reach you can’t imagine. Money you can’t comprehend. And Alessio has a personal vendetta against anyone threatening his family’s empire.”

His words should terrify me. Instead, they ignite something involuntary in my core, a heat that spreads outward, making it hard to focus on anything but the man before me. The danger he represents. The protection he offers.

“Why should I believe you?” I whisper, though I already do.

“Because keeping you alive matters more than anything at the moment.” His voice dips to a rough murmur. “The FBI has protocols, but they won’t stop Alessio. Sometimes you have to adapt to survive.”

This isn’t just about protecting a witness. There’s something more personal driving him.

“Why?” I ask again. “I don’t understand.”

His eyes search mine for a long moment. “Because I’ve watched good people die when they trusted the wrong systems.” His voice roughens. “Because I refuse to add your name to that list. Not on my watch. Not when I can do something about it.”

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do. But his mouth is on mine, and there’s nothing gentle about it. It’s hunger and desperation and the raw need to feel alive when death hovers so close.

His body presses mine against the cabin wall, solid and unyielding. One hand cradles the back of my head while the other grips my hip with savage intensity. I should stop this. I should remember who I am, who he is, what’s at stake.

Instead, I find myself responding with equal fervor, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my body arching against his. His kiss is pure possession. It’s wrong. Dangerous.

And I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

Cole breaks the kiss only long enough to murmur against my lips, “You’re mine to protect now.” His voice is a growl that sends heat south. “Say it.”

Something in me rebels at the command, at the possession implicit in his words. But in this moment, we’re just two people clinging to each other in the dark, with death snapping at our heels.

“I’m yours to protect,” I whisper, and he rewards me with another searing kiss.

His hands are everywhere, tangling in my hair, skimming down my sides, lifting me with shocking ease so that my legs wrap around his waist. The position brings his hardness directly against my core, and I gasp against his mouth at the contact.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down my throat. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

But I can’t lie. Not here, not now, not with his body pressed so perfectly against mine. “Don’t stop.”

A darkness flickers in his eyes. In one smooth motion, he turns and carries me across the room, laying me on the vast leather couch. As he looms over me, his expression transforms into something primal and hungry.

His hands pin my wrists above my head, the pressure firm but not painful. The gesture is instinctive, controlling, a glimpse of something deeper in his nature.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a rough growl, heat flooding between my thighs. “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. And I won’t be gentle.”

“What does ‘not gentle’ mean to you?” I ask, surprised by my boldness. “I need to know what I’m agreeing to.”

His eyes soften slightly. “I won’t hurt you. But I will control you completely. Every touch, every breath, every sensation. You won’t make decisions. I will.”

The warning should scare me. Instead, it ignites a craving to be claimed, controlled, consumed.

In answer, I arch against his restraining grip, my body offering what my voice cannot articulate. “I’m okay with that.”

A sound rumbles from within him, half groan, half growl. Keeping my wrists pinned in his grip, his other hand roughly pushes my blouse up to expose my skin to the cool cabin air. The contrast between his burning touch and the chill makes me gasp.

“You want this? Use your words.” He demands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hip hard enough to leave marks.

“I want this,” I breathe, surprised by the raw honesty in my voice.

Our bodies collide with desperate intensity, all restraint abandoned. His teeth and lips graze my neck, shoulder, breasts, not quite biting, but a promise of what might come later. I rake my nails down his back in response, drawing a hiss from his lips.

His mouth finds mine again, harder this time, more demanding. His hand slides down my body, fingers expertly undoing my pants before slipping beneath the fabric. He groans against my mouth when he feels how shamefully ready I am for him.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, approval warming his voice. “Good girl.”

His fingers explore me, circling, teasing, then dipping inside just enough to make me arch against his hand. I gasp as his thumb finds my clit, applying just the right pressure to make my hips buck involuntarily.

“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.

His eyes are on me as he slides one finger inside me, then another, stretching me slowly.

His eyes darken as I respond to his touch, as if memorizing every reaction, learning exactly how to play with my body.

When his fingers curl forward, they stroke a spot that makes me cry out. His smile turns feral.

“There it is,” he says softly, continuing the motion until I’m trembling beneath him. “I want you desperate before I take you.”

With one swift move, he pulls my pants and underwear down my legs, not bothering to remove them completely, but leaving them tangled around one ankle.

The partial restraint feels deliberate, another way of controlling my movement.

He stands long enough to unbuckle his belt and free himself from his pants, pushing them down just enough for what’s needed.

The way his shirt pulls across his torso reveals the outline of serious muscle definition, abs and chest carved by military workouts.

The sight of him, fully clothed but for his cock, sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

My breath catches at his size, intimidating and thrilling at once.

I’ve never been with anyone so physically imposing, the difference between our bodies stark and arousing.

This isn’t a romantic encounter. It’s primal.

By the time he positions himself between my thighs, I’m panting, clutching at his shoulders. No pride or hesitation. He pauses only briefly to look into my eyes, silently asking one final question. I answer by wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

When he slowly pushes inside me, the invasion is overwhelming. I cry out, from pleasure, from the rightness of it, from the sheer intensity of being filled so fully, stretching me more than I thought possible. Cole buries his face in my neck, a wild groan tearing from his throat.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers, the words so quiet I almost miss them beneath the sound of our ragged breathing.

He sets a brutal rhythm, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. My body responds with a hunger that matches his, meeting him motion for motion.

One of his hands finds my throat, fingers applying pressure on either side.

The gentle constriction narrows my world to pinpoints of sensation, his body inside mine, the deliberate pressure cutting off just enough blood flow to make my head swim with pleasure.

The trust required in this moment is staggering, and the realization that I’m giving it to him without hesitation is even more so.

Our bodies move together with desperate synchronicity, as if we’ve done this a thousand times before, as if we were made for this exact moment.

Each thrust drives me higher, closer to an edge I’ve never approached so quickly.

Cole’s eyes never leave mine, holding me captive in his gaze as surely as his body pins mine to the couch.

“Say it again,” he commands, his voice tight with restraint. “Tell me who you belong to now.”

“You,” I gasp, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside.

His fingers press more deliberately into the sides of my neck, applying firm, calculated pressure that makes the edges of my vision blur. He carefully controls the restriction, enough to send me floating into a heightened state where every sensation multiplies tenfold.

“Tap my arm twice if it’s too much,” he instructs, his voice thick with desire but eyes sharp with attention.

Instead of tapping, I arch deeper into his grip, surrendering completely to the intoxicating combination of pleasure and controlled danger. The way he watches my face while controlling both my breath and my pleasure speaks to something wild in me, a need I never knew existed until this moment.

“Mine to protect,” he growls against my ear, his breath hot and damp. “Mine to keep safe. Mine to pleasure.”

Something about the possessive claim, the absolute certainty in his voice, sends me spiraling over the edge. I come beneath him, waves of pleasure crashing through me with shocking intensity, my body clenching around his in pulsing waves.

Cole follows seconds later, his powerful body tensing above mine, his control finally breaking with a rumble deep in his chest. His fingers release from my throat but dig into my sides, marking me, claiming me as the last of his restraint vanishes.

Stars prickle my eyes as blood flow returns to my head.

In the aftermath, Cole doesn’t immediately withdraw. He shifts his weight to avoid crushing me, but maintains physical contact. One hand gently tracing along my jaw before pressing his forehead to mine, his ragged breathing gradually steading.

I sit up, suddenly aware of my disheveled state, the lingering lightheadedness from the breath play making my movements unsteady. His hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Stay still for a minute,” he instructs, his tone gentle but unmistakably a command. “Let your body calm down first.” His fingers move to my neck, gently massaging the spots where he’d applied pressure. “Deep breaths. Nice and slow. That’s it.”

The care in his attention is as intimate as what came before it, his eyes scanning my face with careful assessment. “How do you feel? Any dizziness?”

The softness of his voice contrasts with the intensity of moments before, but somehow it feels like a continuation of the same control rather than a contradiction.

“Is this how you treat all your witnesses?” The question comes out as a weak attempt at humor, my voice still unsteady.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Only the ones who survive.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face with surprising tenderness. “Drink this.” He reaches for a water bottle on the side table, uncapping it before handing it to me.

I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until the cool water touches my lips. He watches with satisfaction as I drain half the bottle, his hand still stroking my hair in a rhythmic, soothing motion.

Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the cabin windows. The sound reminds me of how isolated we are, how cut off from the world I know. How dependent I am on this man whose body was just joined with mine.

“So what now?” I ask, my voice steadier after the water.

Cole moves to the window, tucking himself back into his pants as he peers out into the darkness. “Now we survive. We wait. We plan our next move.” He glances back at me, his expression more composed but his eyes still dark with residual heat. “And we establish some ground rules for... this.”

“This,” I repeat, gesturing between us. “Whatever this is.”

“A complication.” His expression softens. “But maybe a necessary one.”

Before I can respond, a crackling noise emanates from the duffel bag on the table. Cole crosses the room in three strides, extracting a small radio.

“Bennett.” His voice shifts, becoming harder, more professional.

A burst of static from the radio interrupts us, a catch a snippet of the message before he turns the volume down. “Update. Fourth witness found. Borsellini’s work confirmed.”

“Understood. Radio silence unless critical. Out.”

He places the radio down and meets my eyes. “Alessio just eliminated another witness in your RICO case. Johnathon Anderson.”

“The accountant? I interviewed him three weeks ago.” I sink back onto the couch. “He asked whether I could guarantee his safety.”

“And you told him the system would protect him.” Cole’s voice holds no accusation, just grim certainty.

“But it didn’t.” My heart sinks with guilt.

Cole sits beside me, close enough that I feel his warmth. “That’s why we’re here. Off the grid.”

Darkness wraps the cabin so completely, it feels like we’ve fallen off the edge of the world.

“Get some rest,” he says, standing. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Watch?” I echo. “You think they could find us here?”

His silence is answer enough.

As he moves to check the windows and doors, I watch him, his graceful movements, the vigilant sweep of his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. This man has upended his life to protect mine. Has sacrificed his safety, perhaps his future.

The most terrifying part isn’t that I trust him. It’s that I want him to ruin me just as much as I want him to save me.