Chapter 6- JADE
He kisses me before I can finish my thought.
It starts soft, tentative, his lips barely brushing against mine. A question more than a statement. We're in his parents' house, surrounded by priceless first editions, with a hundred wealthy guests mingling just down the hall. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see.
But then his hands slide into my hair and he tilts my head back and the kiss deepens into something that makes my knees weak. I forget about the party and his parents. I forget about everything except the taste of him, champagne and mint and something darker underneath that's purely Phoenix.
My back hits the bookshelf and I hear something shift on the shelf above me, a book sliding out of place, but I don't care.
His body presses against mine, solid and warm, and I can feel how much he wants me through the thin fabric of my dress.
My hands find his shoulders, his neck, the soft hair at the nape of his head. I pull him closer, needing more.
"We shouldn't," I gasp between kisses, but even as I say it, I'm arching into him.
"Definitely not." His voice is rough against my ear as he trails his lips down my neck, the sensitive spot where my shoulder meets my throat. His fingers find the strap of my dress and slide it off my shoulder, exposing bare skin to the cool air of the library.
"Someone could come in."
"Then we'll have to be quiet."
I know I should stop this. We really should.
But his mouth is on my collarbone now, hot and demanding, and his hands are sliding up my thighs under the hem of my dress, and I can't think straight. I can't think at all.
He lifts me suddenly, his hands gripping my hips, and sets me on the antique reading table in the center of the room.
The wood is cool against my bare thighs as he steps between my legs, spreading them to make room for himself.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down for another kiss, deeper this time, more desperate.
"Phoenix," I breathe against his lips, though I'm not sure if it's a warning or a plea.
"Shh." He cups my face in his hands, his eyes burning into mine.
His hands slide back down my body, finding the hem of my dress and pushing it up around my waist. The cool air hits my bare skin and I shiver, but not from cold.
I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, my fingers clumsy with need.
He helps me, shoving his pants down just far enough, and then he's pressing against me and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud.
"Look at me," he commands softly, and I do. His eyes are wild, hungry, barely controlled. "I need you to be quiet. Can you do that?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He enters me with a single thrust that steals my breath. I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip so hard I taste blood, swallowing the cry that tries to escape. He buries his face against my shoulder, muffling his own groan in the fabric of my dress.
For a moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe together, adjusting to the feeling of being joined so completely.
The fire crackles in the hearth. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the faint sounds of the party, laughter and clinking glasses and music from a string quartet. It feels impossibly far away.
Then Phoenix starts to move.
He sets a rhythm that's urgent and desperate, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
The table creaks beneath us with each thrust, and I send up a silent prayer that the antique wood can handle what we're putting it through.
My hands fist in the back of his jacket, pulling him closer, deeper, needing him in a way that borders on painful.
I have to stay quiet. But every movement sends sparks shooting through my body, building toward something that's going to be impossible to contain.
"Phoenix," I whisper against his ear, my voice barely audible. "I'm close."
He responds by reaching between us, finding the spot where I need him most. His fingers work in circles while he continues to thrust, and I feel myself climbing higher with every passing second. The tension coils tighter in my core, winding toward an inevitable release.
I bury my face against his neck to muffle the sounds I can no longer control. Small whimpers escape my lips, and I feel his breath hot against my ear as he fights to maintain his own silence. We're both trembling now, both racing toward the edge.
"Come for me," he breathes, so quiet I almost don't hear it. "Let go."
The command undoes me. I shatter in his arms, waves of pleasure crashing through me while I bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. He follows moments later, his whole body going rigid as he spills himself inside me with a groan that vibrates against my skin.
We stay tangled together for a breathless moment, foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in unison. His hands are still gripping my hips.
That's when I hear the footsteps.
They're already close. Too close. Moving down the hallway with the confident click of expensive heels on marble.
Phoenix hears them too. His head snaps up, his eyes going wide.
We don't have time. There's no time to separate, no time to fix our clothes, no time to do anything except stare at each other in frozen horror as the footsteps stop right outside the door.
The doorknob turns.
The door swings open.
His mother stands in the doorway, her hand still on the handle, her mouth open slightly.
I see what she sees: her son, between my thighs. Still inside me.
For one eternal, horrifying second, nobody moves or breathes.
Then Olive's expression shifts from shock to something far worse.