Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Now, they’d play?
Phoenix was either a glutton for punishment or as crazy as his buddies thought because he was consciously making the decision to stay.
To love Olivia, again. And not in a “you’re a convenient one-night-stand” way.
Like the quickie bent over the desk. The one he might have chalked up to a byproduct of ancient history.
No, this time was going to be all lips and tongues and hands.
He’d either have her writhing beneath him or swaying above.
Both dangerously intimate. The kind of sex that would broadcast his intentions—that he didn’t want to let her go.
That he was just as crazy about her—Olivia Blake—as he had been about Anna.
That maybe she hadn’t been faking everything.
Which was insane, wasn’t it? The girl was a whirlwind.
Ridiculously unpredictable. But, despite the fact she’d scared a dozen years off of his life tonight, a bigger part of him had puffed up his chest with a damn smile on his face because he was proud of her.
For holding her own. Showing extreme grace under pressure like she did when she flew.
Which made staying for a second round risky.
The lady was smart. Would see through his cracking facade.
A few more minutes, and she’d have him figured out.
That any talk about him not caring was just for show.
Complete rubbish, as she’d put it. In that sexy voice of hers.
And when had a British accent turned him on this much?
He’d traveled to over a dozen different countries while with the Teams. Had taken part in a few furlough flings.
But there was something about the way her voice curled around him, that got his blood pumping.
Made him wish they could spend the next few hours talking.
Listening to the subtle differences in how she pronounced certain words.
Learn all the slang she tossed his way. Get her to say his name over and over until it was burned into his brain.
Not happening. Hell, staying, at all, was suicide. But, it seemed apropos after making a career of near misses. Finding ways, consciously or not, to put his life at risk. Hoping to find atonement.
Maybe this was his penance for letting Shawn die. Not getting to him soon enough. Maybe having Olivia shatter his heart over and over was the price he had to pay.
Her hands threading through his hair, tugging him down to her, pushed those thoughts aside.
Obliterated them because, damn, she was hot.
Hot and sweet, and better than any memory.
Writhing beneath him just like he’d imagined.
All that soft, smooth skin brushing over his.
Making him wish he could spend hours touching her.
Licking her from one orgasm to another. Watching her react to his every kiss.
But this wasn’t that kind of loving. Simply making eye contact had already altered the nature of their tryst. Made it intimate. If he drew it out for the rest of the night...
He’d never be able to leave. Would have to get her to literally toss him out on his ass. And the last thing they needed was having everyone on the team aware they’d jumped back into bed. Questioning if his priorities might have shifted.
They hadn’t—as long as Parker didn’t challenge her. Try to kill her. If that happened… The man wouldn’t live long enough to give up anyone.
More thoughts for later. After he’d eased just a hint of the need burning beneath his skin. Gotten remotely close to soothing the ache he’d felt since that fateful day in Afghanistan.
Olivia hummed as he took her lips with his.
Tasting every inch. Waiting until they might pass out before finally lifting up.
Repositioning. Dipping down for another pass.
She met his challenge head on, all but wrapping herself around him when he placed one hand under her back—managed to shift her to the middle of the bed.
It wasn’t overly large. Barely enough room for both of them, but he’d make it work. Would ensure she was comfortable. That nothing diminished her pleasure, because his depended on the quality of hers. If she wasn’t close to passing out by the time they were done, he hadn’t done it right.
Which meant giving her a smile. Watching her light up from that small gesture before kissing a path down her torso. Teasing her breasts long enough to have her arching into him. Tugging on his hair in an effort to make him acquiesce to her desires.
He would. Eventually. After he’d taken her to the brink a few more times. Had her riding that razor’s edge, desperate to fall over but not wanting it to end.
She squirmed beneath him, rubbing her groin against his torso. “Ethan. Please.”
That’s what he’d been waiting for.
He made a few more passes, then kissed his way down her ribs, dipping into her bellybutton before shifting between her legs. He looked up at her, smiling at her lust-blown eyes. How flushed her skin was. And when he touched her right there…
Her head pushed into the bed, as her body quivered with anticipation. Now, she was ready. Was the right level of desperate to have him tip her over.
It didn’t take much. A few passes of his tongue, his fingers pumping deep, and she was fighting not to come. Yanking on his hair as her hips strained against his arm—the one holding her down. Keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
Another sixty seconds, and she was chanting his name. Begging him to let her come. And all in that fucking hot accent he was quickly becoming addicted to. That would haunt his dreams for the next fifty years.
He thought about backing off. Letting her cool down, maybe focus on her chest, again. Tease those tight little nipples some more. Until her muscles started shaking, her back arching off the bed.
He sighed, knowing she’d go over with or without him. And he wasn’t going to chance her release would get cut short. That he’d ruin the perfect build up.
No fucking way.
Instead, he latched onto her clit as he thrust his fingers inside.
Humming at her rough inhalation, how her body froze for three frantic heartbeats.
She clenched her thighs around his shoulders, her fingers fisting in his hair, then she was coming.
Creaming his tongue. Squeezing his hand. Her voice nothing but a harsh rasp.
He kept licking, pumping, until her grip eased, one hand falling to the bed as the other gently scratched his scalp. He looked up at her, grinning at the satisfied curve of her mouth. The warm glow of her skin.
She must have felt him staring because she blinked a few times, finally gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. A tilt of her head, then she was crooking a finger at him. Drawing him up to her.
He had the sense to grab the other condom.
Sheath himself before he was crawling over her.
Gathering her close. That voice inside his head was yelling, again.
Warning him that he was crossing a line.
Changing this from a hot bout of anger-induced sex to something dangerously close to making love.
To how it had been before she’d disappeared. Before he’d learned the truth.
Olivia lifted her head. Took his lips with hers, and any thoughts of shifting their positions disappeared. Completely gone because it meant losing all that skin-on-skin contact. Releasing the mass of hair fisted in one hand. Asking her to uncurl her legs from his waist.
He couldn’t do it. All that training—ten years in the service—and he’d been bested by a wildcat half his size with killer green eyes. Hearing her whisper his name only sealed his fate. Had him tilting his hips—inching inside her. Only this time, he wasn’t rushing.
Olivia tried to urge him forward—have him thrust like he had earlier.
But she wasn’t going to sway him. Phoenix needed to savor her.
Catalogue every moment. Note every hue of her skin.
Every twitch of her lips. How her eyes rolled slightly when he bottomed out.
He wanted to be able to relive each second.
Like a movie playing one frame at a time.
Having her scratch at his back unhinged him a bit. Had him upping his pace. Until she begged him to go harder. Faster. That undid him. Completely. Had him bowing his head in defeat. Levering onto his hands. Releasing whatever hold he had on his control.
Olivia pushed onto her elbows, eating at his mouth, chanting her affirmation as fire burned a line down his spine. He had enough neurons still firing to slide one hand down her back. Cup her ass. Change the angle just enough that she was gasping. Tensing every muscle before shattering around him.
That did him in. Had him straining above her. Closing his eyes as he emptied inside her. Every muscle flexing until he collapsed onto his elbows. Barely able to bridge some of his weight.
He felt light. Free. Dangerously happy.
Time faded, nothing but their heavy breathing sounding in the stillness. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that—poised above her, bodies entwined—before he was finally able to shift to the side. Give her some space to breathe as he disposed of the condom.
Olivia grumbled at the loss of contact, snuggling against him once he’d rolled onto this back.
One hand resting on his chest. Her leg wrapped around his.
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, holding her close as she drifted back to sleep.
No talking, just her body pressed against his. Her easy weight grounding him.
Phoenix stared at the ceiling, wanting to sleep but unable to quiet his mind. It wasn’t that he regretted making love to her. He just wasn’t sure what move to make next. How he’d face her in the morning if she decided it had been a mistake.
He couldn’t do that. See the light dim in her eyes. Know that she was already gone. That they’d have to fake it for the remaining few days before going their separate ways. As if that year together had been a dream.