Chapter 9 Phoenix
PHOENIX
The drive back feels wrong.
I should feel good after a day like this. Calm, steady, settled. That’s what it was—Leander curled up on my couch, my lips against his neck, his knee propped on a pillow because I said so. No fights, no chaos, no girls clinging to me just so I could make him jealous. Just him. Us.
It should’ve been enough.
But now that he’s sitting in the passenger seat, hoodie zipped to his chin, eyes fixed on the window, that calm is already slipping away.
My grip on the wheel tightens every time his knee shifts, every time his chest rises with a too-deep breath.
The urge to look at him—to keep checking he’s still here—is so strong it feels like a goddamn itch under my skin.
I can’t stop thinking: what if I let him go home and I don’t see him again tomorrow? What if Silas gets in his head? What if someone else does? The thought of him anywhere but by my side makes my blood run hot, like my veins can’t handle the idea.
I clear my throat. “You got plans tomorrow?”
Leander doesn’t turn his head. “Why? Got something in mind?”
I snort. “Maybe, if you’re good.”
Leander shakes his head with a small smile. “Silas is coming over.”
The name hits like a blade scraping across glass. The brother. The one who already doesn’t trust me, doesn’t want me around.
I force my voice to stay level. “Then I’ll come by. No reason I can’t be there.”
That gets his attention. He twists toward me, brows drawn. “No. You can’t.”
I laugh, humorless. “Why not?”
“Because he’s already suspicious,” Leander says sharply. “If you show up, it’ll make it worse.”
Suspicious. The word tastes sour in my mouth. Suspicious of what? That I want Leander? That I already can’t fucking breathe when he’s not near me?
My hands clench tighter on the wheel. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him.”
Leander stares at me, stunned. “You say that like he’s a threat.”
“It feels like he is.”
“No, he’s not. He’s not my dad.”
The word dad comes out like a slip, low and ragged, and the second it’s in the air, silence floods the car.
I blink, thrown. “What the hell does that mean?”
His jaw goes hard. “Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that,” I snap, turning toward him even though I should be watching the road.
“You can’t just say something like that and shut down.”
Leander shakes his head quickly, staring out the window again. “Drop it.”
“Leander.” His name scrapes out of my throat.
“I said drop it, Phoenix.” His voice is flat, final.
The tightness in his shoulders and the way his hand curls into a fist in his lap tells me everything and nothing all at once. There’s history there. Something ugly. Something that makes him spit out a word like that, like it burns his tongue.
I want to push. Christ, I want to grab his chin, make him look at me, force the truth out. But he’s already retreating, already shutting me out, and if I push too hard, he’ll vanish. And the thought of him pulling away from me is worse than not knowing.
So I swallow it for now.
The car goes quiet except for the hum of the engine. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. I can’t take him home like this—brittle, walled off, hiding pieces of himself from me. I need to break through. I need to make him talk.
At the next intersection, I don’t turn toward his place. Instead, I veer left, down a darker road lined with trees. Leander glances at me, confusion flickering across his face.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Somewhere quiet,” I say.
A few minutes later, I pull into a cracked, empty parking lot on the edge of the woods. Streetlights buzz faintly, casting sickly halos against the dark. There’s no one else around—no cars, no houses, just silence and the sharp scent of pine drifting through the cracked window.
I kill the engine. The silence is heavier now, pressing in from every direction.
Leander finally looks at me, wary. “Why are we here?”
I turn in my seat, pinning him with a look. My voice comes out low, rough, shaking with the restraint I’m barely holding onto.
“Because you’re hiding something, rookie. And I can’t fucking stand it.”
“I’m not hiding anything, Phoenix.”
I get out of the car, stalking to the passenger side and flinging open his door. “Get out.”
Leander gapes at me. “Seriously?”
“Now, Lee.”
He gets up out of the car, a piercing glare aimed at me. I open the back seat door and shove him back inside.
“Hey—!”
His mouth tastes like whiskey and coffee, a mix of last night’s recklessness and this morning’s quiet. I can’t get enough.
I shut the door behind us before pushing him on his back. The second his lips part for me, I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue against his until he gasps into me.
That sound—fuck, that sound—it’s better than any answer he could’ve given me.
My hand slides from the back of his neck down to his chest, feeling his heartbeat slam against my palm. He’s alive, vibrating under me, caught between wanting to shove me away and pull me closer. I can read him too well now—every hesitation, every flicker of want.
“See?” I whisper against his lips, dragging the words into the kiss. “You don’t need to talk. Your body already tells me everything.”
Leander makes a strangled sound and fists a hand in my shirt, yanking me closer instead of pushing me off. His mouth crashes back onto mine, rough this time, like he’s punishing me for being right.
I groan into it, grabbing his hip, anchoring him against me. The seatbelt digs into my side, but I don’t care. I’d break the whole damn car if it meant keeping him here.
His breath is ragged when I trail my lips down his jaw, to the line of his throat. His pulse thrums hard against my mouth, and I can’t resist—I bite, sharp enough to make him hiss, then soothe it with my tongue. He shivers, and his grip on my shirt tightens.
“Phoenix—” His voice is raw, pleading, but not with the word I want. Not with the truth.
“Say it,” I murmur, sucking at the spot until his head tips back against the seat. “Tell me what he did to you.”
“I can’t.” It’s breathless, almost broken, but his hips shift under mine like he doesn’t even realize he’s moving closer.
Frustration coils tight in my chest, but I bury it against his skin. If he won’t give me his words, I’ll take what he does give me. I’ll take every gasp, every tremble, every desperate kiss.
My hand skims down his thigh, avoiding his injured knee, squeezing firm at the muscle just above it.
He jerks under my touch, a choked moan breaking out of him before he can stop it.
I pull down his joggers, releasing his giant cock.
I lick the seam, blowing air lightly on the head to make him shudder.
“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re—this is—”
“Too much?” I lift my head, lips brushing his hip bone. “Or not enough?”
His answer is to drag me back up, mouth crashing against mine so hard our teeth click. It’s messy, wet, reckless, and I thrive on it. His walls are still up, but his body is betraying him beautifully.
I press him harder into the seat, swallowing his moans, tasting his fight and his surrender all at once. My hand roams, greedy, gripping his shaft, rolling the full length of him in my hand. He’s burning up, shivering, alive beneath me.
Every move, every touch, every sound he gives me feels like proof. Proof that he needs me. Proof that whatever hell his past left in him, I can rewrite it with my hands, my mouth, my obsession.
But still, I want more.
I break from his lips just enough to murmur against them, “You think you can hide from me, Lee? You think if you don’t say it, I won’t know? I’ll find out one way or another, but I’d prefer it if it came from your sweet mouth.” I squeeze his dick harshly in my hand.
His eyes snap open, hazy and dark, but there’s still defiance there. “Some things aren’t yours to have.”
I’ve got him trembling under me, his breath hot and uneven, his body begging for release even though he won’t say it. My hand hovers just shy of where he needs me, brushing his skin but never giving him enough pressure.
“God, fuck me. Please.” He growls in frustration, jerks against me, but I pin him tighter, lips dragging over his throat.
Begging on him is fucking delightful.
“Not until you tell me,” I murmur, voice low, hungry. “Not until you stop hiding from me.”
“Phoenix, please—” His voice cracks, desperate, but I stay steady, cruel with patience.
“You think I don’t see it?” I rasp against his ear. “Every time you flinch when I push too hard. Every time you lock up when I get close. You think I can’t feel the ghosts crawling under your skin? Tell me, Leander. Give me the truth.”
He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t—”
I squeeze his thigh hard, my thumb brushing maddeningly close to where he’s already straining, but not giving him the relief he’s begging for. His back arches, a strangled moan ripping out of him.
“Tell me,” I demand again, harsher now. “Say it, or I’ll keep you like this all fucking night. On the edge. Needing me.”
His breath hitches. His nails bite into my arm. And finally—finally—the words break out of him, raw and broken.
“My dad,” he chokes. “He—he was a fucking addict, okay? Drugs, booze, everything. And when I—when he found out about me, about who I was, he—” His voice falters, catches like glass cutting his throat.
“He hated me for it. Beat it into me every time. Said I was disgusting. Said I’d never be worth anything.
Silas got me out. That’s why he acts like that. ”
The words hang between us, sharp and ugly, and something inside me snaps.
Rage tears through me so fast I almost can’t breathe.
My vision tunnels, red at the edges, because the image of someone laying their filthy hands on him—hurting him for something so fucking pure—makes me want to tear the world apart.
But then I see him.