Chapter 67
Phoenix
There’s a part of me, deep behind my trauma, behind the years of working for a snatch and grab empire, that knows this is wrong.
I never knew it was him. Clark. His mask.
All I knew was it was white. Polished. That could have been any one of half the attendees at any auction.
At least that’s what I have to tell myself.
Because I feel like a fool for not putting it together sooner.
She dreams of this face, this man, this white mask, hunting her down and raping her. She wakes up screaming at the ceiling. Crying for relief.
But she doesn't scream when she looks at me and sees him. She doesn't scurry back across the back of the SUV. She doesn’t call for Vic to help her. Not that he would do anything. This was the plan. She just stares at my eyes. Silently. Blinking. A sheet of fear across her face.
She’s so fucking hot like this. When she’s lost all control and mine for the taking?
I stretch my hand out and give her a command. “Simon says get out of the car.”
She hesitates at first. My voice sounds nothing like Clark’s. The man in the forest. Who chased her down and fucked her. Who tried to auction her off while I watched. That’s who she hears when she’s running in the night.
“Not… Y-you,” she mumbles, recoiling when I nearly touch her.
I say nothing, letting my posture explain she’s going to do as I say.
“Simon?” she questions. The only version of him she’s heard was modulated.
And I’m not him. “Phoenix?” It’s good she notices I sound like her husband.
The man she's been married to for two years. The man she’s been in love with for even longer.
But I don't say anything more. I just keep my hand out. Determined to see this through.
A chill of excitement runs over my body as she chokes back what must be tears and takes hold, slowly stepping out of the car. I meet her wavering gaze, acknowledging her terror, offering my assistance to help her gain her balance.
“Excellent,” I offer approvingly, though I don’t want to oversell it.
“You’re—it’s you? Phoenix?” The hitch in her voice is adorable. “All of it. The auctions.” She takes a breath and swallows whatever she’s trying to keep from coming out. “You’re the one. By the mossy creek bed.”
“I’m not,” I correct her. “But I told you, Little Temptress. I've been watching you. Now—”
“What does that mean?”
“Simon says right this way.” I wave her by me, ignoring her question. We have time. For now, I need her to walk.
We begin toward the jetty, the beach stretching out before us. As we traverse the sand, I try to explain myself, my words tumbling out in a confessional stream.
“I've wanted to tell you the truth for so long, Little Temptress. But the thrill I got. From toying with you. Seeing just how far you would go. Simultaneously knowing I can do what I want with you, when I want with you, and that you would let me.”
“What did you mean you’re not him?” There’s the woman I married. Clutching at the control. “The one who—”
The weather is perfect tonight. It’s not hot. Thank the gods. It would suck to be dripping sweat before we even get started. And it’s not too cold, either. It’s perfect for what I have planned.
“Simon says be patient.” I’m not ready to let her truly relax. Not yet. I want her wound tight a little longer.
“But online. That was you?”
“One of the perks to being a computer whiz,” I reply. “I can look and sound like anyone. I wanted to tell you that first time. With the beer bottle.”
“You had me seal my cum in a beer bottle and mail it.” She’s not wrong. Simon did do that. And I’m him now.
Leaning in as we reach the steps leading down to the sand, I whisper, “It was delicious.”
“Where did—”
“It was one of my client's offices, where I get business mail sometimes.” I’m full of shit, but I’ll talk to Trent to make sure he’ll back me if she ever goes looking for the truth.
“If you wanted to role play you could have said something.” Her eyes are soft and curious and what the fuck is happening right now?
“I want to roleplay,” I call her out. “I don't want to look at you through a screen anymore. I want the real thing. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. It's crazy to think I'm obsessing over the woman I share a bed with. But here I am.”
“Has something been bothering you?” she presses as we continue to make our way down the beach.
“Everything, Little Temptress. Everything's bothering me.
I don't trust my clients.” Then again, how could I?
“I've been spying on you for weeks, and that's just not like me.
I can't tell you how many times I wanted to just walk into your studio and fuck that pretty face while your followers watched. And then there's the overwhelming jealousy, seeing how all those men throw hordes of money at you, just so they can fantasize about what belongs to me. That’s fucking over.”
I see it then. The way everything shifts within her. When she accepts the newest lie.
I am Simon.
“Babe,” she snips, grasping for my attention. “I'm yours. You know I'm yours. You know I would never—”
“I know,” I cut her off. I do that a lot. “I've never doubted you for a second. I trust you. I always have. The first moment I saw you, I fell in love with you. And I've trusted you. I don't know how. I don't trust easy, but for some reason, my heart was yours when you made my first coffee.”
She rolls her eyes and I fight the urge to laugh.
“What? I'm good with computers, not with words. It sounded good in my head.” And it’s her who chuckles.
“I knew when I touched you while you slept, when I gave in to my primal urge, that this facade would come crashing down any day. You told me your fantasy, and I felt compelled to act.”
“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“Look at where we are, Little Temptress. Play one last game with me. Let me mark you. Let me possess you—completely. Let me give you your fantasy.”