Chapter 22
Ivy
The walk back to the cell is uncomfortably quiet. Phoenix stays a few steps ahead, as if getting away from me is a priority.
I don’t want to be the one to break the silence.
Because I know what he did.
He thinks I was too lost in the luxury of running water. But I caught his movement in the showerhead reflection.
He looked at me.
Naked. Exposed. Rinsing the past month out of my hair like I could wash the memories away.
For a moment, I expected shame to follow.
But it didn’t.
What I felt instead was… power.
The idea that someone like him—all discipline and sharp edges—could lose control, even for a second… lit something inside me.
I can still feel the ghost of yesterday's tension between us, how close we got. How intensely he watched me. So hungry.
Phoenix is huge, similar to Myles. Built like he was made for war, broad and tall enough to block the whole damn hallway.
I glance at his strong hands. Another similarity to Myles, black ink licking from his fingertips, all the way up his muscular arms to his jaw like it’s trying to taste every inch of him.
But he’s so different to Myles. His neatly slicked back hair makes him look cruel and composed. As if he didn’t walk through the end of the world—he commanded it.
And that devil-sharp jaw? He looks like the kind of man who could ruin your life, and you’d still thank him. A heartbreak wrapped in temptation.
If the tattoos didn’t already mark him as dangerous, the way he carries himself would.
Maybe I’m in way over my head but… aren’t two protective men better than one? If I can pull this off, doesn’t that make me safer from Bennett and his men?
Sure, I might be playing with fire but weighing up risk vs reward… I’m ready to burn.
I want to know how it feels to be taken apart by a beast like him. Even if I don’t survive.
When we reach the holding room, he goes to open the cell again, already slipping back into that authoritative role.
But I’m not ready to go in yet.
“I still have a few minutes,” I say, lifting my arms in a stretch. “You said ten.”
He turns to glare at me. “You’ve had your shower.”
“And now I’m stretching,” I say, tilting my head slightly. “Unless you’re revoking that offer?” I give him a pouty look. Feigned, but I know it works.
That muscle in his jaw tics and his eyes narrow. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says through gritted teeth.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach.
He watches my every move like he's cataloguing it. Every sway of my hips, stretch of my arms as if I'm simply loosening my body. As if I don't know how the thin shirt rides up.
I want to make him squirm. See how far I can push him. To make him come undone. I want to see those careful hands lose their tightly held discipline.
He shifts, jaw clenching, arms crossed as he leans against the far wall like he's keeping himself anchored. Like if he moves an inch, even a little, he might come to me.
That thought makes me ache.
“You always honour your trades this quickly?” I ask, slowing my walk so I can pass him at a closer distance. My voice is light, teasing, but there's a bite beneath it.
“Only when the return is worth it,” he mutters.
I stop right in front of him. “Did you get your return today?” I tease.
His eyes trail over me slowly, until I feel it all over my skin.
When he finally answers, his voice is tense and low enough that it rumbles. “I'm still deciding.”
There's something dangerous in him. As if he's holding himself back by a thread. I can hear the war in his voice while his eyes linger on the curve of my neck, the hem of the shirt brushing my thighs.
He's trying not to fixate… but he's failing.
And I’m enjoying making him crumble.
Shifting my weight, I let my shoulder brush his arm as I pass him again. “Well… I do hope I tip the scale soon,” I murmur sardonically.
His hand snaps out and catches my arm. I gasp, snapping my head back to meet his now fiery eyes.
“You keep moving like that, and I'm going to tip the fucking scale myself,” he growls.
My pulse is wild. But I don't move away. I look up at him again, eyes wide and lips parted. Enough to let him see the invitation.
Disappointingly, he doesn't take it. He lets go abruptly, pushing away from the wall as if distance is the only thing keeping him from doing something he can't take back.
“You've got five minutes left,” he mutters, changing the subject.
Five minutes? He’s cutting my time.
Well, I'm going to make every second count.
I take a few slow steps toward the old wooden desk in the corner. Using the edge of the desk to stretch again, leaning forward just enough to lift the hem of the shirt that smells faintly like him.
My thighs shift, skin brushing fabric, completely bare beneath it. I can feel my own wetness in the cool of the air.
Then I hear the shallow pull of his breath.
Glancing at him over my shoulder, I give him the barest smile and lean further over the desk, letting the back of the shirt lift up higher.
It's a provocation and he knows it.
The air shifts behind me and I hear his quickened footsteps before his hard body slams against my back, pressing my hips to the edge of the desk.
He buries his face in my hair and breathes me in as if he’s been holding his breath this whole time. His hand snaps around my throat, inked fingers trembling like he's barely holding back.
“You don't get it, do you,” he snarls. “You don't know who the fuck you're playing with.”
“I think I do,” I murmur, lifting my chin, feeling the heat of his breath on the back of my neck.
“You think I’m like Myles?” he questions, voice gravel. “That I'll just take whatever you hand over like a starving dog?”
At least Myles took what he wanted. Loved every second of it and never lied about it.
Phoenix is all denial. He makes me work for it and still won’t admit I’m affecting him.
“No,” I say evenly, “I think you're worse… because you want to pretend that you're not starving at all.”
That's when he snaps.
His free hand grips my hip before yanking my shirt up and dragging his palm over the curve of my bare ass. Slow and heavy like he wants to feel every inch of skin. Then his fingers splay, and he spanks me hard enough to make me gasp.
“Fucking brat,” he rumbles as the sting blooms.
Flipping me around to face him, my head spins. Before I can catch my breath, he leans in, mouth crashing into mine.
Everything implodes around me. Any retort I had fizzling.
It's not a gentle kiss like Myles’s. It's punishing. Desperate. As if he's been waiting days to do this and hates every second he didn’t.
Phoenix’s hands dwarf me. He touches me like he means to own every inch. Squeezing my ass, fisting my hair, gripping my jaw as his mouth takes and takes—until I forget who I was before this.
And I let him. Let him own me. Ruin me.
Moaning into him, I press closer. Sliding my arms around his neck, I arch into his body like I'm ready to let him take me right here, right now, on this dust-covered desk.
His hand slips higher under the shirt, sliding up over my ribs, until he grabs a greedy handful of my breast.
My knees nearly give out when he pinches my nipple, so I clutch at his shoulders as a whimper falls from my lips. Hungry for more, aching in every inch of my skin.
“I need to stop,” he growls against my mouth. But he’s still touching me, still kissing me.
“Please don’t,” I whisper.
Lifting my thigh to his hip, he pushes me up until I'm sitting on the edge of the desk. As his mouth trails down my jaw, to my throat, I tilt my head back to give him more.
“You don't know what you're asking for.”
“Yes, I do,” I breathe.
For a moment, it feels like he might lose himself completely. His body pressed between my legs, shirt rucked up high around my waist, his hand on my thigh creeping higher and higher…
But just as quickly, he jerks away from me.
He takes another step back as if I slapped him, chest heaving like he just woke up from a dream he wasn't supposed to have.
Frozen in place, I clutch the edge of the desk, still dazed by his bruising kiss. And just when I think he's going to walk away, his eyes find mine. And something in them shifts.
“You think this is a game?” he snaps.
“No—”
“You've been testing me since the second I let you out of that cell,” he growls, closing the distance between us in two strides. Tension radiates off him in waves as his hand catches my throat, squeezing until it’s hard to breathe.
“Parading around in that shirt like you don't know what it does to me.
Looking at me like that… like you're helpless. Like you want to be.”
My heart is slamming against my ribs, but I don't fight. His other hand grips my thigh fast. My body jolts as I suck in a breath.
“You're not helpless, Ivy,” he grinds out, lips inches from mine. “You're fucking dangerous.”
Phoenix’s hand dips under my shirt and cups my bare pussy possessively. Like he means to own it. I can feel how wet I am, how sensitive.
His eyes flash when he realises it too.
“I barely touched you,” he breathes, gliding his fingers through my wetness, “and you're already soaked. Is this what you wanted? Me to lose control?”
All I can do is let out a ragged breath, whimpering.
“You've been begging for this,” he whispers, pushing two digits into me. Slow and deep. “Without saying a word.”
A moan slips from my lips. He keeps me perched right on the edge of the desk as he curls his fingers, making me tremble.
“You happy now?” he murmurs at my throat. “You like making me break?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like a devilish smirk.
“Then break me,” he orders, biting down on my throat as he fucks me hard with his fingers.
Rough, claiming strokes that have me clawing at the desk, gasping his name without meaning to. My thighs clamp around his wrist, body shuddering.
“Look at you,” he growls, voice ragged. “Dripping for me. You don't even realise what you've done, do you?”
His lips ghost the shell of my ear, breath hot. “We should’ve left you on the streets that night. Would’ve been less trouble.”
Phoenix’s taunting words make my stomach knot. But then he curls his fingers again and I nearly break apart.
“But now,” he pants, “you’re mine to deal with. You made sure of that.”
My eyes flutter shut, heat rising, building into something unbearable. I want to let go. I need to.
His voice, dark and possessive, pushes me closer with every word. His thumb circles my clit, sending shimmers of electricity through me. I cry out, nearing that pinnacle.
“You wanted to see how far I'd go?” he whispers. “You wanted to ruin me? Well, you fucking succeeded.”