Chapter 15 Atticus
Atticus
I stand in the doorway to Mav’s room, embracing the shadows around me, and wait for any sign of deceit from the woman who has my friends under her spell.
Watching her breathe is steady and calming, and I spend a few minutes rubbing the knuckle of my right index finger in the same rhythm.
Phoenix is technically mine just as much as she belongs to the others. But it’s hard to remind myself of that when she spends her days helping Con and Mav, and most of her nights end with her wrapped in Storm’s arms.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Except I don’t like to be touched by anyone… and I’m growing increasingly agitated that she doesn’t touch me as much as she touches them.
I constantly have to remind myself that it’s normal. That she doesn’t know I’m ready to tear Storm’s arms from his body when he pulls her into a hug before I can.
Or the rage that falls over me when I see Con wrap her hair around his finger, expecting me not to notice.
They all know I watch through the security system. I see the connections between them. I see the way she melts when they touch her. When I touch her.
She’s yours, too.
She thinks she wants to be ours. She acts as if she wants to be kept by us, but I see the doubt in her eyes. She hasn’t given herself completely over yet. If she thinks she can handle me, I’m happy to test the theory.
Showing her the truth of who we are—what we are—will either make her stay or make her run faster. Either way, I’d rather know now than later.
I will not make the mistake Con made when he fell for her before. She either falls first or gives herself over completely. I’m not going to risk being destroyed by empty promises and pretty lies. Or even uncertainty, for that matter.
She needs to be sure.
Once I’m satisfied with her truth, I’ll let myself develop permanent feelings. But for now, I leave her to rest and head down the hall to the last room on the right.
I remodeled it specifically for her. It was an unused storage area before. Now it’s a playroom for my kitten. A place to break her open and see what makes her tick. I made it soundproof—not for secrecy, although that is a nice perk.
No, I made it soundproof because the thought of Phoenix screaming in ecstasy for my ears alone is almost as arousing as the fact that I get to share her with my best friends.
In here, I don’t hear anything that reminds me of all of those spinning plates waiting to topple our empire before we finish building it.
I don’t want the resort or its problems to interrupt my time with Phoenix.
I don’t want our parents’ threats to interfere with us.
I don’t want to let the hackers beating me, or the men threatening my girl bother me.
In here, in this room I’ve built for her, none of that exists.
Waiting for her to wake up and see my text is almost torture. But it’s part of the game, and I love the games I’m going to play with her.
Phoenix leaves Mav’s room and walks down the hallway in the white shirt that I left on his bed. My white shirt.
She’s spent so much time swimming in Storm’s clothes that I’m not even ashamed in the slightest to admit a bit of jealousy.
I wanted to see her in my clothes, and I am not disappointed.
She’s sexy as fuck, especially since I know she’s not wearing anything underneath.
Even her dark-pink lipstick makes me hard.
That color will look perfect smeared across her face and my cock.
She’s the embodiment of every wet dream I’ve ever had. A beautiful woman, wearing my clothes, at my mercy for pleasure.
I wait until she’s about to pass the door, then lunge, catch her by her delicate throat, drag her in, and press her back against the door.
She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t make a sound. She knows better. Her eyes widen, and a small gasp escapes her lips—not fear, but that quiet, electric recognition that tells me I have her complete attention.
Good.
“You want to play a little game?” My voice drops, deliberate—the tone that makes people lean in without realizing it.
Her lips part. “Always.”
I let go and take several steps back, give her a moment to take in the room and all the toys on display: whips, crops, multiple sets of shackles with chains in different lengths, a spanking horse, modified stocks.
“Let’s discuss the rules of our game, Kitten.”
Giving her this space is important. Both for her sanity and my understanding. I won’t pressure her into accepting the dominant side of me. She has to step into it with her eyes wide open.
“Yes, Atticus.” She looks up at me with a fire in her eyes. “What are the rules?”
“Green means you’re good. Yellow means you need to stop and reassess, and we either stop or keep going. And you’re going to have a word that ends it all. You say it, even as a whisper, and I’ll stop. No matter what we’re doing. Pain or pleasure…it all ends if you say it.”
I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her arousal already making her pupils dilate.
“Pick a safe word.” We both know she’ll need it.
Her answer comes almost instantly, making me impossibly harder than I already am. “Titans.”
This woman doesn’t even know how perfect she is. But I’ll show her, if I don’t break her first.
When the tension between us is almost at a boiling point, I motion to the rug at my feet. “I want you to crawl for me.”
She doesn’t move to her knees. Her lips curl into a smirk, and she crosses her arms over her chest.
We’re using the light system, yes, but this is where the lines start to blur into something we both understand without speaking. She pushes me, and I push back harder.
It’s why we need the light system. Because I’m going to push her until she’s ready to break.
“Don’t make me say it again,” I warn.
Her chin lifts, defiance lighting her eyes. “Maybe I’m not in the mood to crawl.”
My jaw tightens. Little brat. She knows exactly what that does to me. She wants this as much as I do.
“Good,” I murmur, circling her like a predator sighting prey. “Then this will be interesting.”
This game isn’t pain for pain’s sake—it’s so much more than that. It’s about the peace that we’re all searching for.
Phoenix is going to fight me, and she’s going to lose her control. She will be mine. To use…and maybe hurt a little…to that point that exists on the line between pleasure and pain.
My little kitten may have teeth and claws, but she doesn’t truly want to be in charge. She wants me to strip all of that from her and give her true power.
She wants the peace that comes from being controlled by a man she can trust.
And while she sure as shit can’t trust me with her heart, she can trust me with her physical body.
I need the control. I’m going to use it to strip away the noise in her head until there’s nothing left but the sound of my voice. And in return, I get to burn off this restless rage that’s been knotting tighter inside me every day since she moved into the penthouse.
“The rules are simple, Kitten. You know that. I give a command and you obey. If you don’t… if you misbehave, then I get the pleasure of correcting you however I see fit. If I ask you what color you are, what do you say?”
If I do my job right, she learns that obedience feels better than defiance. Brat-taming isn’t about breaking her—it’s about reminding both of us I can restore order to something while the rest of the world burns.
“Green is good. Yellow means stop and check. Titans means we stop for good.” Her voice is sure, and the pleasure in her eyes is building.
“Do you want to stop?”
She shakes her head.
“Then crawl to me, Kitten.”
The subtle shake of her head is answer enough. My kitten is refusing to do what I tell her.
“Last chance.” I let steel bleed into my tone. “Get on your knees and crawl to me, or I’ll have to punish you. Don’t think I won’t remind you exactly who and what you are.”
I lean in a bit closer. “Who you belong to.”
Her dark-pink lips curve into a wicked smile. “Make me.”
I move before the smile fades, catch her wrist, and spin her so fast her back taps the wall. My palm plants beside her head, caging her in.
“Do you know what happens to bad girls?” I ask.
She reaches between us, palms my cock through my pants, and runs her tongue along her upper lip. “I have some ideas.”
We hold in that stretched moment—me pinning her, her gaze locked on mine. It’s the pause before the strike, the inhale before lightning. I want her to feel the inevitability, to know she invited it.
I lean to her ear. “You’d be wrong. Now get on your motherfucking knees before you force me to break you.”
A low whimper comes from the back of her throat, but she lowers herself slowly. I don’t step away to give her room. I want it to be difficult. I want her to struggle. I want her to touch me without meaning to.
Kneeling, back to the wall, trapped between me and the plaster, she waits. I give her a beat to decide who she is.
A good girl would stay still, eyes down, waiting for instruction.
But that isn’t today’s game.
Her hands slide to my thighs, and she looks up at me and bites her plush bottom lip. Holding my eyes, she undoes my belt.
“Did I give you permission to touch me?”
“No.” Her hands hover, then drop to her lap.
When I’m sure she won’t move, I step away and cross to the other side of the room. “Crawl to me, Kitten.”
Instead, she spreads her thighs. The shirt rides high—nothing underneath, just like I told her. I let out a restrained hiss, unwilling to let her hear it.
This girl is going to be the death of me, but my demise’ll be worth every second.
“What do I get if I crawl to you?” she asks, one eyebrow lifting.
“You should be more concerned with what happens if you don’t.”
She huffs and crosses her arms.
I eat the distance in two strides, grab the back of her neck, and force her forward onto her hands. I flip her shirt and land one loud, firm smack on her perfect ass. My fingers press along the sides of her slick little cunt, giving just enough friction to make her needy.
“I want to play a game with you, Kitten, but only good girls get to play. Do you want to be a good girl and win a prize, or should I turn this ass bright red before I fuck your throat?”