And for the first time since I walked out of that meeting—since I told Evan and, by extension, my father to go to hell—the fire inside me didn’t feel wild or dangerous.
It felt steady. Alive. Mine. Mine.
I wanted to show him what that meant. But not with words.
He was alreadylooking at me like he needed a reason to breathe. And for once, I let myself believe it. Just let that knowledge soak in, wild and terrifying: He wanted this. He wanted me. The real me, not the one I wore for interviews or the locker room, not the perfect son or the good soldier.
Just. Me.
I crowded him back against the hallway wall and felt him go soft and loose, that subtle yielding I loved more than anything. My hands fit to the angles of his face, and I kissed him like it mattered, like I could unmake the rest of the world for five minutes and build one just for us. He made a raw, low sound, and that was all it took. The dam broke.
“Bedroom,” I said, as rough as I felt. He nodded instantly, obedient and beautiful, and I felt like a goddamn dragon, fire in my veins, my need for him burning so hot it was almost clean.
He walked ahead, careful of his ribs, and I trailed after, crowding his space. I wanted him to feel it. To know. I was done letting the world get to him. Or to me. I was done letting my father’s voice run my life, done letting guilt keep me small.
He turned, and I was on him. He backed up until his legs hit the bed, and I pushed him down, slow so I wouldn’t hurt him, but definite. This was happening; this was us. Phoenix sprawled back among the pillows, brown eyes so dark and rich I wanted to drown in them.
I crawled over him, one knee on either side, caging him in. He shivered but didn’t look away. Didn’t try to run, or fight, or make a joke, or deflect. Just waited, breathing hard. For me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I said, voice gone rough. It wasn’t a question.
He nodded. “Yeah. I will.”
“Good.” I kissed him, deep and hard, hands in his hair, on his jaw, drinking in every sound. He let me. He let me take.
I stripped his shirt off, slow, careful of the bruises but not pretending they weren’t there. They were part of him, and God, I wanted all of him. I wanted to cover them with my hands, my mouth, make them something else. Make them reminders that he was here, alive, wanted.
He let me undress him. Every piece I took off, he shifted and arched, and I could see he was shaking, but he didn’t hide it. He just held my gaze, almost defiant, like he needed me to see it. I did. I saw everything.
His body was thin, pale. Bruised. But he was sunlight to me, all those scars and sharp angles turned to gold in the lamplight. I kissed my way down his throat, slow enough to make his breath catch, then along his collarbone, tracing every mark.
He reached for my shirt, but I caught his wrists and pinned them gently above his head.
“No moving. Not until I say.”
His breath came out shaky, but he didn’t try to tug free. If anything, he arched up off the sheets, ribs and all, like he liked it—a lot. His hair fanned wild against the pillow, and for a second, all I wanted to do was smooth it back, gentle, but I wanted this more: Phoenix spread open and waiting, every inch of him trusting me not to break him.
“Hands stay there,” I said, rough, and he nodded straight away, eyes huge in the low light. I could see the pulse in his throat hammering. It made something ugly and needy twist in my gut.
I stripped off my own clothes fast, not bothering to make it pretty. I wanted him to see me. Just me. He watched, breathless, the bruises on his chest gone purple-black in the lamplight, but beautiful anyway.
When I crawled back over him, he didn’t shy away. Not even a little. That did something uncontrollable to the fire under my skin. I pressed his hands tight to the pillow and eased down, my weight caging him in. My hips fit into his so perfectly I wanted to grind right through him. He made a noise—a little desperate—and I swallowed it straight from his mouth.
I kissed him hard, tongue rough. No pretending. No holding back. He let me in, let me take everything, and when I bit softly at his lip, he arched and whimpered, so fucking sweet I nearly laughed with it.
“Fuck,” I said, and didn’t care if it sounded desperate. He deserved to know. He deserved everything.
His legs partedon instinct, already ready for me like it was what he’d been waiting for all along. I wanted to make him wait, just a little bit more, but I was barely hanging on myself.
“You need a safeword if you need me to stop?” I asked quietly, my lips right on his jaw. I didn’t trust myself not to lose it, and he needed to know he wasn’t trapped here, not ever.
“Yeah,” he managed. “justNo.”
I kissed the corner of his mouth, slow for a second, just so he could feel it. “Good.”
I let go of his wrists but only to drag my mouth down his throat, licking the sweat and salt from his skin. He shivered, but his hands didn’t move. He kept them right there, obedient and gorgeous and mine. I sucked a mark onto his pulse point, and he gasped loud enough I thought he’d forgotten we weren’t alone in the world. Good. I wanted him to forget everything except this.
His chest heaved with each breath, ribs moving under my palm. I wanted to bite him everywhere. I gave in, working my way down, kissing bruises and old scars, leaving new marks just above his heart. He made the tiniest sounds every time I did it. Like he wanted to hide but couldn’t.
