Chapter 33 Jade
JADE
For the first time in days, there's sunlight.
It's weak, watery, filtering through the frost-covered windows like it's not quite sure it belongs here. But it's there. The storm has finally broken, leaving behind a world buried in white and a silence so profound it feels holy.
Phoenix went out this morning to check the road. He came back shaking his head, stomping snow off his boots, but his expression wasn't as grim as before.
"Another day or two," he said. "Maybe less if the temperature rises."
Another day or two. That's all we have left.
Today was supposed to be day seven. The day I was supposed to leave, go back to my life, pretend none of this ever happened.
Neither of us mentions it.
We move around the cabin like two magnets trying not to touch. Every time I pass him, I feel the pull. Every accidental brush of fingers sends electricity crackling up my arm. The air between us is thick, charged, suffocating in the best and worst possible way.
I'm avoiding him. After last night, after everything I said and felt and let him see, I need distance and space to figure out what the hell I'm doing.
But the cabin is too small for distance. And Phoenix has never been good at giving me space.
By evening, I can't take it anymore. I need something to do with my hands, something to focus on besides the way he's watching me from across the room. I dig through the pantry and find pasta, a jar of sauce, some dried herbs.
I'm standing at the stove, stirring the sauce, when I feel him behind me.
He doesn't touch me. Doesn't say anything. Just stands there, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His breath stirs the hair at the back of my neck.
I freeze, spatula suspended over the pot.
"Phoenix..."
"Turn around."
His voice is low, commanding, brooking no argument. My heart slams against my ribs. I should ignore him. Should keep stirring, keep pretending I'm not affected.
Instead, I turn around.
He's right there. Inches away. So close I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the slight part of his lips, the tension coiled in every line of his body. He's looking at me like I'm something he wants to devour.
I kiss him first.
I just grab the front of his shirt and drag his mouth down to mine, kissing him like I'm angry, like I'm desperate, like I'm trying to consume him before he consumes me.
He lets me. For a moment. Then his hands come up to grip my face, taking control, slowing me down.
"I don’t think we should do this today,” I gasp against his mouth.
“Okay.”
He pulls back. His eyes search my face, dark and intense.
"But I can't stop wanting you." The admission tears out of me, raw and honest. "God help me, I can't stop."
"Then ask for it."
I blink. “What?"
"You heard me." Something shifts in his expression, something predatory creeping in around the edges. "That first night, you begged me. Remember? You swore you wouldn't, and then you did.”
My cheeks flush. I remember thinking I'd never give him that satisfaction, and then falling apart completely under his hands.
"If you want this, you need to ask,” he demands.
I should tell him to go to hell. I should walk away with my dignity intact. But my body is aching for him, has been aching all day, and the truth is I'm tired of fighting.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please what?"
My jaw tightens. He's really going to make me say it.
"Please fuck me."
Something flares in his eyes. Satisfaction. Triumph. Want.
"Good girl." His voice drops an octave, rough and dark. "Hands behind your back."
I hesitate. This is new territory, something we haven't done before.
Phoenix waits, patiently.
I put my hands behind my back.
His fingers work at his belt, and I hear the leather sliding free from the loops.
My pulse kicks into overdrive. He moves behind me, and I feel the soft brush of leather against my wrists before he wraps the belt around them.
Not too tight. Just enough that I can feel the restraint, feel my own vulnerability.
"You tell me to stop, I stop." His breath is hot against my ear. "Understand?"
I nod, my mouth is too dry for words.
"Words, Jade."
"I understand."
"Good."
He spins me around and lifts me onto the kitchen counter in one smooth motion. The cold surface bites into my thighs, but I barely notice because his hands are everywhere, tugging at my clothes, pulling my shirt over my head, yanking my leggings down my legs.
Within seconds, I'm naked except for my underwear, my hands bound behind my back, completely at his mercy.
And I like it.
The realization crashes through me like a wave. I like the way he's looking at me, like I'm something precious and profane all at once. Like being helpless, being vulnerable, being entirely under his control.
"Look at you." His voice is reverent, almost awed. His fingers trace down my throat, between my breasts, over the curve of my stomach. "So fucking beautiful."
"Phoenix—"
"Not yet." He hooks his fingers in my underwear and drags them down my legs. "I'm not done looking."
He spreads my thighs wider, stepping between them, his eyes raking over every inch of exposed skin. I've never felt so naked, so completely exposed and yet so seen.
"Please," I breathe.
"Please what? Tell me exactly what you want."
"I want you inside me." The words come out desperate, needy. "I want you to fuck me until I can't think anymore."
Something snaps in his expression. The restraint he's been holding onto shatters, and suddenly he's kissing me, hard and demanding, his hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise.
I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a zipper, and then he's there, pressing against my entrance, hot and thick and exactly what I need.
"Don't push me away," he says against my mouth, his voice ragged.
"I wasn't going to—"
"Liar." He thrusts into me in one hard stroke, and I cry out, my back arching off the counter. "You've been pushing me away all day. Avoiding me."
"I wasn't—oh god—"
He pulls out and slams back in, and whatever protest I was forming dissolves into a moan.
"You were." Another thrust, hitting something deep inside me. "But you're not running now."
I can't run. Can't move, can't think. I can barely breathe. My hands strain against the belt, wanting to touch him, but the restraint only heightens everything. Every sensation is amplified, every nerve ending on fire.
He sets a punishing pace, fucking me hard and deep, his grip on my hips is the only thing keeping me grounded. The sounds filling the kitchen are obscene—skin against skin, my moans, his grunts, the wet slide of our bodies joining.
"You feel so good," he growls against my neck. "So tight. So fucking perfect."
"Harder," I gasp. "Please, harder—"
He gives me what I ask for. His thrusts become brutal, relentless, each one driving the air from my lungs.
The counter digs into me, my shoulders strain against the belt, and I don't care about any of it.
All I care about is him, about this, about the pleasure building inside me like a wave about to crest.
"Come for me," he demands. "Right now. Come on my cock."
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me. I scream his name, my whole body convulsing, my inner walls clenching around him so hard it's almost painful. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, just fucks me through it until I'm sobbing and shaking and begging him to let me breathe.
"One more," he says, and it's not a request. "Give me one more."
"I can't—"
"You can." His hand slides between us, finding my clit, rubbing in tight circles. "You will."
The second orgasm builds impossibly fast, layered on top of the aftershocks of the first. My body doesn't feel like my own anymore. I'm just sensation, just pleasure, just a trembling mess in his hands.
When I come again, it's with a silent scream, my mouth open but no sound emerging. He follows me over the edge a moment later, burying himself deep and groaning my name as he spills inside me.
We stay like that for a long time. Him still inside me. My head on his shoulder. Both of us panting, wrecked.
Finally, he pulls out and reaches behind me, carefully unwinding the belt from my wrists. He brings my hands around to the front and examines the faint red marks on my skin.
"Did I hurt you?" His voice is soft now, all the dominance gone, replaced by something tender.
"No." I flex my fingers experimentally. “I'm fine."
He lifts my wrists to his mouth and presses a kiss to each one. The gesture is so gentle, so at odds with what we just did, that tears prick at my eyes.
"I've never..." I start, then stop.
"Never what?"
“My ex never..." I shake my head. "He never wanted anything like that. It was always so... vanilla. So careful."
Phoenix pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. "I'm not him. I'm never going to be him."
"I know." I press my face into his neck. "That's what scares me."
He holds me for a long moment, his hand stroking up and down my back. Then he pulls away just enough to look at my face.
"Shower," he says. "Come on."
He carries me to the bathroom, and I don't even protest. My legs wouldn't hold me anyway. He turns on the water and waits until it's warm, then guides me under the spray.
The shower is small, barely big enough for both of us, but he makes it work.
He washes my hair with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, his fingers massaging my scalp, working through the tangles.
I lean into him, letting the water sluice over both of us, letting myself be taken care of for the first time in longer than I can remember.
"I was supposed to leave today," I murmur against his chest.
"I know."
"I don't want to leave."
His arms tighten around me. "I know that too."
We don't talk about what it means. Don't make plans or promises or declarations. We just stand there under the warm water, holding each other, until the heat runs out and we're forced to emerge.
He dries me off with a towel, gentle and thorough, then leads me to bed. We climb in together, tangled up before we even hit the mattress. His hand settles on my hip, possessive even in rest.
I close my eyes and listen to the quiet. No howling wind. No rattling windows. Just his heartbeat beneath my ear and the soft sound of his breathing.
Today was supposed to be the last day, but I don’t want there to be a last day.
And that scares me a lot.