Chapter 29
JADE
Iwake up gasping.
My skin is flushed, my heart pounding, and there's an ache between my thighs that makes me want to scream. The dream is still clinging to me—his hands, his mouth, his voice in my ear telling me I belong to him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to will it away. Try to remember that I'm supposed to hate him. That he lied to me, manipulated me, brought me here against my will.
But my body doesn't care about any of that. My body just wants.
"You were saying my name."
His voice comes from the darkness beside me, low and rough, and my eyes fly open.
Phoenix is awake. Of course he's awake. He's lying on his side, watching me with those dark eyes that see too much, and there's something in his expression that makes my stomach flip.
"I wasn't," I lie.
"You were." He shifts closer, and I feel the heat of him even through the space between us. "Moaning it, actually. Sounded like you were enjoying yourself."
My face burns. "You're imagining things."
"I don't think I am."
"Go back to sleep, Phoenix."
"I wasn't asleep." His voice drops even lower. "I've been watching you for the last hour. Watching you toss and turn and make those little sounds in your throat."
Oh god.
I turn my back to him, curling toward the edge of the mattress, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. But the bed is too small and he's too close and I can still feel him behind me like a furnace.
"Jade."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't do whatever you're about to do."
"I'm not doing anything." But I feel the mattress dip as he moves closer. Feel the warmth of his body pressing against my back. "I'm just lying here. In my bed. Next to the woman who was just dreaming about me."
"I wasn't—"
"Stop lying." His breath is hot against my ear. "Tell me what you were dreaming about."
"No."
"Tell me."
"I said no."
His hand settles on my hip, and I suck in a breath. He doesn't move it, doesn't push, just rests it there like a brand burning through the thin fabric of my clothes.
"Then show me."
The words hang in the darkness between us. My pulse is racing so fast I can hear it in my ears. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to move away, to shut this down, to remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
But I don't move.
His fingers flex against my hip. "Jade."
"This doesn't mean anything," I whisper.
"Okay."
"I still hate you."
"I know."
"And I'm not forgiving you just because—"
"I'm not asking for forgiveness." His hand slides from my hip to my stomach, pressing flat against my skin beneath the hem of my shirt. "I'm asking for this. Just this. One night where we stop pretending we don't want each other."
I should say no. I should push him away, rebuild the pillow wall between us, go back to the cold war we've been waging since we got here.
Instead, I roll over to face him.
He's so close. Close enough that I can see the firelight reflected in his dark eyes, the stubble along his jaw, the way his lips part slightly when my hand comes up to rest against his chest.
"One night," I say.
"One night."
"And then we go back to—"
He kisses me before I can finish the sentence.
It's not gentle. It's not tentative. His mouth devours mine. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my back, sliding beneath my shirt to find bare skin. I'm gasping against him, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt, pulling him closer even though there's nowhere left to go.
The pillow wall between us gets shoved aside, knocked to the floor along with any pretense that we can keep fighting this.
He rolls me onto my back and settles his weight between my thighs, and the pressure of him against me makes me moan into his mouth.
I can feel how hard he is through the thin layers of fabric separating us, and some desperate part of me wants to tear everything away and feel him inside me right now, right this second.
But he pulls back.
I make a sound of protest, reaching for him, but he catches my wrists and pins them above my head.
"Not yet," he says, and his voice is so rough it barely sounds like him.
"Phoenix—"
His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry.
He's been thinking about this for years. Reading my blog, looking at my photo, imagining this moment while I had no idea he even existed.
It should disgust me. It does disgust me. But it also makes feel something else.
"Tell me you want this," he says.
"You know I do."
"Say it anyway."
I glare up at him, my wrists still pinned, my body aching. "I want this."
"Want what?"
"You're really going to make me spell it out?"
"Yes." He lowers his head, drags his lips along my jaw, my neck, the sensitive spot below my ear. "I want to hear you say it. I want to know you're choosing this. Choosing me."
I close my eyes. My pride is screaming at me to stay silent, to make him work for it, to maintain some shred of dignity in this situation I've completely lost control of.
But my body doesn't care about pride.
"I want you," I whisper. "I want you to touch me. I want you inside me. I want—" My voice breaks. "I want you to make me forget why I'm supposed to hate you."
Something shifts in his expression. It’s raw and almost vulnerable that disappears as quickly as it came.
"I can do that," he says.
And then his mouth is on my throat and his hands are pulling at my clothes and I stop thinking about anything at all.
He undresses me slowly, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting for. Every piece of clothing that falls away earns a kiss, a touch, a murmured word I can barely hear over the pounding of my own heart. By the time I'm naked beneath him, I'm trembling.
"Look at you." His voice is reverent, almost awed. “You are so beautiful..."
"Phoenix, please—"
"Please what?"
I don't answer. I can’t. Can barely breathe with the way he's looking at me.
He strips off his own shirt and I reach for the bandage on his arm, suddenly worried. "Your arm—"
"Is fine." He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. "I don't care about that. I care about this. About you. About finally having you underneath me after all this time."
He kisses his way down my body—my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the dip of my stomach. By the time he reaches in between my legs, the place where I need him most, I'm shaking so hard the whole bed is trembling with me.
"Phoenix—"
"I've got you." His breath is hot against my inner thigh. "Just let go."
And then his mouth is on me.
My back arches off the bed and a sound tears from my throat that I don't recognize. His tongue drags through my folds, slow and deliberate, like he's savoring every taste. When he finds my clit and sucks it between his lips, my hands fly to his hair, gripping hard.
He groans against me like my pain is his pleasure.
"Oh god." I'm panting, my hips rolling against his face without my permission. "Oh god, Phoenix—"
He doesn't answer. Just slides two fingers inside me while his tongue keeps working that sensitive bundle of nerves, and the dual sensation makes my vision go white at the edges.
The orgasm builds fast, too fast. I try to hold it off, try to make this last, but he knows exactly what he's doing. Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers, every scrape of stubble against my inner thighs pushes me closer to the edge.
"Let go," he murmurs against my flesh, and the vibration of his voice is what finally breaks me.
I shatter.
The climax rips through me like a wave, my whole body convulsing as I cry out his name. My thighs clamp around his head, my fingers yank at his hair, and still he doesn't stop. He works me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I'm gasping for air and pushing weakly at his shoulders.
"Too much," I whimper. "It's too much—"
"No it's not." He pins my hips to the mattress with one strong arm and looks up at me, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark with intent. "You can give me another one."
"I can't—"
"You can."
He lowers his head again, and I sob as his tongue finds me once more. I'm so sensitive it almost hurts, every nerve ending raw and exposed, but he doesn't care. He eats me like a man starved, groaning against my pussy like the taste of me is the only thing keeping him alive.
The second orgasm hits harder than the first. I scream this time, actually scream, my body bowing off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and I don't even know why I'm crying, just that it's too much and not enough and I never want it to stop.
He pulls back just long enough to catch his breath, his chin wet, his lips swollen. "One more."
"I can't." I'm shaking, my voice wrecked. "Phoenix, please, I can't—"
"One more." He kisses my inner thigh, soft and almost tender. "Give me one more and then I'll fuck you so hard you forget your own name."
I whimper, but I don't say no. Can't say no. Not when his fingers are sliding back inside me and his thumb is circling my clit and his mouth is trailing kisses up my stomach.
The third orgasm takes longer to build. My body is wrung out, oversensitive, trembling with each touch. But he's patient. So fucking patient. He plays me like an instrument, knowing exactly when to press and when to pull back, reading every gasp and moan.
When I finally come again, it's different. Deeper. A slow roll of heat that starts in my core and spreads outward until my whole body is shaking with it. I clutch at his shoulders, pulling him up to me, needing to feel his weight, his warmth, his skin against mine.
"Please," I hear myself beg. "Please, Phoenix, I need you inside me. I can't—I need—please—"
He crawls back up my body, his lips wet, his eyes blazing.
"You begged," he says, and there's wonder in his voice. "You actually begged me.”
"Never." He kisses me, and I taste myself on his tongue. "I'm going to remember that sound for the rest of my life."
"Phoenix—"
"I know." He reaches between us, positioning himself. "I know what you need."
He pushes inside me in one long, slow stroke, and we both groan.
He's bigger than I remember, and it takes a moment for my body to adjust to the stretch of him. He holds himself still, muscles trembling with the effort, giving me time.
"Okay?" he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He starts to move.
It's slow at first. Deliberate. Each thrust hitting something deep inside me that makes my toes curl and my back arch. His eyes never leave my face, watching every reaction.
"You feel incredible," he murmurs against my ear. "Better than I imagined. And I imagined this a lot."
"Stop talking."
"No." He punctuates the word with a harder thrust that makes me cry out. "I've been silent for years. Watching you from a distance, wanting you, never saying a word. Now I get to tell you exactly what you do to me."
He speeds up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. The angle changes and suddenly every stroke is hitting that perfect spot, the one that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
"That's it," he breathes. "Just like that. Let me feel you."
I'm climbing again, that familiar pressure building at the base of my spine. He can feel it too, I know he can, because his rhythm gets faster, more urgent, his grip on my hips tightening.
"Come for me, Jade." His voice is ragged. "Come for me and I'll give you everything."
I break apart with his name on my lips.
He follows me over the edge a moment later, burying himself deep and groaning against my throat as he pulses inside me. We stay like that for a long time, tangled together, hearts pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Finally, he rolls to the side, pulling me with him so my head rests on his chest. His heartbeat is fast beneath my ear. His hand strokes lazy patterns on my back.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you," I say into the darkness.
"I know."
"I'm still angry."
"I know that too."
"And tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow is tomorrow." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Tonight is tonight. Just let me have this."
I should argue. Should remind him that one night was the deal, that nothing has actually changed between us, that sex doesn't fix the fundamental problems of trust and manipulation and the fact that I'm still technically his prisoner.
But I'm too tired and too comfortable in his arms despite every reason I shouldn't be.
So I close my eyes and let myself drift. How many days do I have left? I’ve lost count. I'm starting to wonder if I want to leave at all.