Chapter 36 Rose
ROSE
My stomach churned, that sick, weightless nausea that comes from watching someone you care about spill blood for you, get hurt for you.
Get into a fight for you. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
I clung to Phoenix, my fingers fisting his damp T-shirt, holding him close—not just to keep him safe, but to keep myself from crumbling.
I focused on his heartbeat pounding against my ear, steady, strong, grounding me.
The sharp crunch of tires over gravel broke through the silence like the closing of a door. Josh was leaving. Defeated. Finished. And I knew, deep in my bones, I’d never see him again.
I lifted my cheek off Phoenix’s chest. He’d wiped most of the blood from his face, but spatters still covered his neck and shirt. I didn’t know if it was his, or Josh’s.
It was so much blood. Watching the two massive, jacked-up men fight had been horrifying. I’d never forget it, including—
“She’s mine now.”
Phoenix told Josh I was his.
His.
It was too much. My head spun faster than my thoughts could keep up with.
I couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. My stomach churned, my chest ached, my skin felt too tight for my body.
The past forty-eight hours had finally broken through the dam, crashing over me in waves of grief, rage, fear, and exhaustion.
Dead bodies. A stalker. My past dragged from its grave.
And now this—this brutal, unhinged fight on my front porch like something out of a war zone.
I couldn’t take one more thing. Not one.
I pushed away from Phoenix’s chest, every part of me shaking, my hands trembling with adrenaline and disbelief. Tears blurred my vision, but I saw him—saw the sweat, the dirt, the blood—his blood—and it lit a fire inside me that I didn’t know was there.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?” I shouted, my voice cracking under the weight of it all. “Do you think this is some game?”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, pained. He reached for me again, but I resisted. “I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You could’ve been hurt.” My voice dropped, sharp and trembling. “You could’ve been killed, Phoenix.”
That truth rattled through me like a bullet.
It was too much.
I was unraveling.
Tears welled in my eyes again and I stormed past him, into the house.
A million incoherent thoughts raced through my head as I crossed the living room.
I wasn’t only pissed; it was everything.
Phoenix, the kiss—that kiss—the feelings, the fact that he is my client.
Then, Josh showing up at my door. Then, the fight, like two vicious dogs.
All capped off with Phoenix’s words—she’s mine.
Biting back the tears, I yanked the first aid kit from below the kitchen sink, an ice-pack from the freezer, then stalked back into the living room.
Phoenix was standing in the doorway.
“Come in.” I snapped.
The front door shut quietly. I avoided eye contact as I jerked my chin to the couch, where he obediently sat. I ripped open an antiseptic wipe, dropped to my knees and focused on his face—everything but his piercing gaze that would surely send me into another sobbing mess.
“Here.” I shoved the ice pack at him. “Put this on your stupid jaw.”
I wiped the cut on his cheek and the blood around it. My chin began to quiver as the image of Josh slamming his fist into Phoenix’s head flashed through my mind.
“Hey,” Phoenix whispered.
“No,” I snapped. “No.”
Hands trembling, I tore open a butterfly stitch and applied it to his cheek, a skill I’d picked up thanks to the dozen times I’d done it to myself growing up.
“Hey,” he whispered again.
I clenched my jaw, keeping my focus on his wounds. One look and I’d break. I knew it.
His hands slowly, gently, pulled mine down and away from his face. He kissed a knuckle, then another, then another.
“Rose. Please look at me.”
A tear slid down my cheek as I finally looked into his eyes.
“I love you.”
My heart froze. Breath, words, escaped me.
“I love you, Rose.”
He squeezed my hands, pulled me to him, and kissed me.
I love you, Rose.
Phoenix Steele loved me.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I kissed him back. I grabbed at him, at anything, kissing desperately with a voracity that had my pulse skyrocketing.
I love you, I thought, I love you, too.
And I did. I was absolutely, totally, one-hundred percent, head-over-heels for Phoenix Steele.
He dropped to the floor with me, two arms enveloping me in a warm blanket that pulled me away from the swirling chaos and into a safe zone that melted away every fear, question, irrational thought. The man could simply dissolve me. Strip me naked where there was nowhere else to hide.
Like no one had ever done before.
Wrapped in his arms, I pulled away from the kiss.
“I love you, Phoenix,” I whispered. “I love you, too.”
His lips crashed into mine with such force, such need, that my entire body went weak beneath the weight of it.
The kiss was more than hunger—it was a vow, a claim.
I knew in that moment—knew with bone-deep certainty—that nothing would ever be the same.
This was the point of no return. The moment I stopped belonging to myself, and started belonging to him.
Phoenix Steele didn’t ask for a heart—he took it. Fiercely. Entirely. And I gave it willingly.
I was his. Or no one’s.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head, baring my throat like prey to a predator, and he kissed me again—harder, deeper—owning me with his mouth. His kiss wasn’t sweet. It was desperate. Wild. A consuming fire that promised everything. That dared me to feel it all.
I fisted his shirt and twisted, pulling him closer, begging without words for more—more of him.
He got the message.
In a blur of motion, he tore my sweatshirt over my head, his rough hands searing a path down my ribs, then cupping my breasts with a reverence that made me gasp.
He groaned—a deep, guttural sound that shot straight to my core—his thumbs brushing over my nipples until they were tight and aching.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel the slightest insecurity.
Not under that gaze. Not with the way he touched me—like I was a gift. A reward. His.
The golden flicker of firelight danced across his face as he lowered me to the rug. My breath caught as I watched him, every muscle flexing with control he was barely holding onto. I was naked—fully, utterly bare—and I had never felt more wanted in my life.
He knelt between my legs like he was worshiping me.
Outside, the rain tapped gently against the windows, a rhythm in sync with the pulse thrumming between my thighs.
His lips dragged along my jaw, down my throat, each kiss lower, slower, until his mouth closed over my breast and I cried out, clutching his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin.
He gripped my thighs, yanked down my pajama bottoms in one rough motion, and threw them across the room.
I was completely exposed. To him. To the fire. To the moment.
And I loved it.
A giddy, breathless laugh escaped me as I looked up at him, this massive, brooding man who had every piece of me in his hands. There was no more hiding. No more fear.
There was only him.
Only us.
And as he kissed lower, spreading my thighs beneath him like a man starved, I knew my life would never, ever be the same.
He lifted his head from my chest and I watched him scan me from head to toe. He met my gaze, a small, cocky smile tugging at his own lips.
“You’re beautiful, Rose.”
I smiled, my heart skipping a beat.
Then a blaze across those blue irises. “And you’re mine.”
“Take me, then,” I whispered. “Show me. Show me what it’s like to be yours.”
His eyes twinkled—dark, hungry—before his face disappeared into my skin, trailing lower… and lower… and lower.
My pulse kicked like a drum beneath my ribs.
He grabbed the backs of my knees and pushed them up, folding me open for him, for this. Lips pressed to the inside of my thigh, then my hipbone, then the soft, sensitive space between. I was trembling. Throbbing. Aching with anticipation. And he hadn’t even touched the most intimate part of me.
And then—God—he did.
Warm, wet lips sealed over me. His tongue parted me, slow and deliberate, sliding through my folds like silk over fire. My breath punched out of my lungs as my hands flew to his head, fingers diving into his hair and clutching—holding on for dear life.
My body melted into the floor.
He devoured me. Like I was his favorite thing in the world. Like he’d waited a lifetime for this moment and didn’t intend to waste a second of it.
And then his tongue found my clit.
A jolt of pleasure shot through me, fierce and electric.
He circled, stroked, teased, each motion precise, controlled, and impossibly erotic.
His fingers slid inside me, moving in rhythm with his mouth.
Pleasure coiled, tight and hot, rising like a tidal wave.
His name fell from my lips in broken moans.
“Phoenix… oh my God…”
The pressure built. My muscles tensed. My hips bucked. And then I shattered.
The orgasm tore through me in violent, glorious waves—so powerful, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, could only cry out as my body gave way beneath it.
When I opened my eyes, chest heaving, he was kneeling at my feet—his mouth wet with me, his chest rising with restraint, his eyes locked on mine like he was starving for more.
And in that look, I saw everything.
Possession. Devotion.
Love.
He hadn’t just touched my body. He’d claimed it.
I was his.
And there was no going back.
“Now, are you ready for me to show you what it’s like to be mine?” His voice was low, husky.
My brows lifted. “I thought you just did.”
“That’s nothing.”
“Then… yes.” Because it was the only appropriate response.
I was picked up from the floor as if I weighed ten pounds and carried to the bedroom.
Not as a new bride so much, but as a caveman would carry his woman.
I was tossed onto the bed in such a way that had me fighting to grab for him.
I watched him take off his clothes, my naked body writhing over the covers.
My fingers drifted between my thighs in a subconscious desperation for him, skimming through slick folds still drenched from the orgasm he’d given me on the floor.
My breath hitched as I touched myself, as I drank in the sight of him undressing just for me.
Phoenix Steele wasn’t some gym-sculpted poster boy. He was a man—thick, broad, powerful. A body built from war and work and pain. A body that didn’t just take up space in a room but owned it. He was carved from heat and danger, and God help me, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Then he shoved down his boxers.
And I forgot how to breathe.
His cock sprang free—long, thick, veined and already hard.
My jaw slid open.
“It’s yours,” He said.
“Come here,” I breathed out.
He crawled on top of me, those massive arms pinning both sides of me.
His eyes locked on mine as he lowered onto me, his tip finding my opening.
“I love you, Rose. I love you.” The words were spoken in a way as if he were relieved to say it out loud. As if he needed to say it again, and again.
“I love—” I squeaked as he pushed inside me, stealing my words and knocking the breath from my lungs.
My head reared back, chin tilting up as a whine escaped my lips.
“That’s it.” He whispered into my ear. “Take it. It’s yours.”
My nails dug into his skin. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a sentence. He slid out, then back in, my body stretching around the man that was Phoenix Steele. I shifted my hips and held on for the ride, each thrust reaching deeper depths of me.
He cupped my face and kissed me, harder, faster, deeper.
Just as I was on the brink of another orgasm, he pulled out.
I protested.
This was met with me being flipped onto my stomach.
Oh my God, was all I could think. I fisted the comforter as I was pulled by my waist to the edge of the bed, bent at the hips, my toes barely reaching the hardwood floor. His hands caressed my back, my ass, tracing my curves, until settling onto my hips.
“God, you’re beautiful. Every inch of you.”
His cock teased my opening, I bit my lip, then he pushed into me.
This time, I squealed.
In, out, he rode me, pinning me in place, reminding me I was his. I desperately grasped at the comforter, a feeble attempt to release the sensations coursing through me.
He slid one hand under my stomach, his finger rubbing my clit as he thrust in and out.
My entire body began to vibrate. It was no longer mine. I had no control of what this man was doing to me.
“Phoenix. Oh, Phoenix.”
His finger rubbed harder, faster against my clit.
“You’re mine, Rose. Mine,” he growled, panting. “Tell me.”
“I’m yours,” I whined, my vision beginning to waver. “I’m yours.”
With those final words his warmth filled me as I screamed his name one more time.