Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ATTICUS
The words land like a thrown gauntlet.
So do something with this. Or I’ll do it myself.
Phoenix’s fingers squeeze around my cock through my jeans, and for one crystalline moment, every rational thought in my head evaporates.
My hips buck up of their own accord, chasing the pressure, the friction, the maddening promise of her touch.
Her scent floods my nostrils—vanilla and citrus and the richer, deeper signature of an omega in full heat.
My instincts howl at me to flip her onto her back. To pin her wrists above her head and take what she’s so desperately offering. To sink my teeth into the soft curve of her neck and make her mine.
It would fucking serve her right.
The thought surfaces unbidden, dark and tempting.
This gloriously manipulative little brat, throwing herself at me because she’s sad about Mason.
Using me as a convenient distraction from whatever complicated feelings she can’t deal with.
Demanding a claiming bite like it’s a fucking party favor she can request from any alpha who happens to be nearby.
If I bonded her right now, she’d be stuck with me forever. No take-backs. No morning-after regrets. Just the permanent, irreversible reality of being tied to Atticus Sloan for the rest of her life.
The fantasy plays out in vivid detail. Her face when she realizes what she’s done. The horror bleeding into acceptance bleeding into—eventually, inevitably—something else entirely. Because bonds work both ways. She’d feel what I feel. She’d know.
But that’s not what I want.
I don’t want Phoenix Riviera heat-drunk and desperate, clinging to me because she doesn’t have any better options. I don’t want to be the convenient alpha who happened to be in the right place when her hormones overrode her judgment.
I want her to choose me.
I want her to look me in the eye, stone-cold sober, fully in possession of her faculties, and demand a claiming bite because she actually, genuinely wants to spend the rest of her life tangled up with mine.
I want the real thing.
The fact that she would tempt me with anything less is exasperating.
“Phoenix.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I need to think. Take your hand off my cock so we can talk about this.”
Her grip tightens. “Make me.”
The challenge sparks something in my chest—not just arousal, though there’s plenty of that, but something sharper. Something that recognizes exactly what she’s doing and refuses to play along.
Fine.
I move before she can react.
One moment she’s straddling my hips, triumphant and demanding. The next, I’ve got her flipped over my lap, face-down, her perfect ass in the air and her startled yelp muffled against the mattress.
“What the—”
I press a hand flat against the small of her back, holding her in place while she squirms. With my other hand, I tug her shirt up—exposing inch after inch of smooth, flushed skin until the curve of her spine gives way to the swell of her ass.
Christ.
Even in the dim lamplight, she’s a vision. All soft honey-brown curves and the subtle dip of her waist and—
Focus, Sloan.
“Let me go!” She’s trying to twist around, but I’ve got the leverage advantage and about eighty pounds on her. Her struggles accomplish nothing but making her ass wiggle in an extremely distracting way. “Atticus, I swear to God—”
“You know what I think?” I keep my tone conversational, almost friendly, like we’re discussing weekend plans over coffee.
“I think you’re trying to manipulate me into bonding you because you’re upset and you don’t know what to do with those feelings.
I have a feeling Mason is involved, judging by the way he ran out of here. ”
She goes very still.
I trace a finger down her spine, feeling the shiver that rolls through her. “And instead of dealing with those feelings like an adult, you’re throwing yourself at me and hoping the distraction will make everything else go away.”
“I’m not—“
“Oh, yes you are. Beautiful messy girl.” My hand settles on the curve of her hip, thumb stroking idle circles against her skin. “You’ve been acting like a spoiled child for days, Phoenix. Throwing tantrums. Making reckless decisions. So demanding of attention that you act like you don’t even want.”
“I have not—”
“You took a whole bottle of heat inducers because you didn’t want to get on a plane.
You invited yourself to a stranger’s house to ride out a heat you deliberately triggered.
And now you’re trying to force me into a permanent biological bond because—what?
Because you’re sad? Because you’re scared?
Because it’s easier than actually dealing with your shit? ”
Her breath hitches. I can feel the tremor running through her body, the way her muscles have gone taut beneath my palm.
“I think I know exactly why you act like this,” I continue, keeping my voice soft and even. “It’s because no one ever bothers to punish you when you misbehave.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and charged.
“What are you doing?” Her voice has gone small. Apprehensive. But there’s an undercurrent there that makes my cock twitch—something that sounds almost like anticipation.
“I’m offering you a choice.” I shift my grip, positioning her more securely across my thighs.
Her ass is perfectly presented, the thin cotton of her underwear doing absolutely nothing to hide the shape of her.
I pull the waist down and tuck the bunched fabric under the fleshiest part, just above her thighs.
”Option one: you hold still while I give you the spanking you so clearly need.
And once I think you’ve learned your lesson…
I’ll fill this pretty little pussy until you come screaming on my knot. ”
Her whole body shudders.
“Option two,” I continue, “is that I walk out that door right now, lock it behind me, and you can use the time-out to think about what you’ve done and the effect it has on other people.”
Phoenix is breathing so hard now that she’s practically hyperventilating, her ribs expanding against my leg with each inhale. I wait, patient, letting the weight of the decision settle over her.
She starts to struggle again—halfhearted movements that feel more like obligation than genuine resistance, like her pride won’t let her capitulate too easily.
Her hips twist, her legs kick, her hands push against the mattress.
I hold her easily, one arm banded across the small of her back, and wait for her to tire herself out.
It doesn’t take long.
Eventually, she goes limp across my lap, panting from exertion. Her hair has fallen across her face in a copper curtain, hiding her expression.
A mumble rises from somewhere beneath the curtain. Too quiet to make out.
I lean down, bringing my mouth close to her ear. “I’m sorry, firebird. You’ll have to speak up. I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Option one!” The words burst out of her, loud enough to echo off the old plaster walls. “I said option one, you insufferable—”
“Good choice.”
My palm connects with her ass before she can say anything else.
The sound rings through the room—sharp, definitive, impossible to mistake for anything other than exactly what it is. Phoenix gasps, her whole body jerking forward from the impact.
I don’t give her time to process. My hand comes down again, finding the other cheek, balancing the sting. Then again. And again.
I’m not trying to hurt her—not really. Just enough to make my point.
Just enough to turn that perfect honey-brown skin to a pretty, flushed shade of reddened amber.
Each strike lands precisely where I want it, controlled and deliberate, the crack of palm against flesh punctuating the silence between her ragged breaths.
“You’re going to stop sabotaging yourself,” I tell her, punctuating each word with another hard smack.
“You’re going to stop running from things that scare you.
You’re going to stop using other people to avoid dealing with your own feelings.
And if you do, then you know what response you’re going to get from me.
I have a feeling you’ll get tired of this long before I do. ”
She’s crying now—I can hear the hitch in her breath, feel the way her body shakes with suppressed sobs. But she’s not fighting. Not begging me to stop. If anything, she’s arching into each strike, lifting her hips to meet my palm.
Like she’s been waiting for this.
Like she needs it.
“And you’re going to stop acting like you don’t deserve to be loved and protected.
” My voice cracks on the last word, raw emotion bleeding through despite my best efforts to stay in control.
“Because you do, Phoenix. You deserve everything. Everything. And anyone who made you believe otherwise was wrong.”
My hand stills on her heated skin.
The room is quiet except for her ragged breathing and the thunder of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Slowly, carefully, I ease her upright. She’s shaking—trembling all over like a leaf in a storm—and when I turn her to face me, her amber eyes are wet with tears, her cheeks streaked with mascara.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Hey.” I cup her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away the tracks of moisture. “You’re okay. You did so well. You took that perfectly.”
A sob escapes her, broken and desperate, and then she’s collapsing against my chest, burrowing into me like I’m the only solid thing in a world that’s spinning off its axis.
I wrap my arms around her and hold on, rocking slightly, letting her cry against my shirt while I murmur nonsense into her hair.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The heat rolling off her skin is almost unbearable now—not just arousal, but the full biological reality of what’s happening to her body. Her scent has deepened, grown more complex, wrapping around me like silk and demanding a response I’ve been fighting since I walked through that door.