“What else?” He pushes, stepping closer.
“You let them touch me.”
“Keep going.”
“You watched,” I choke out, tears burning down my cheeks. “You watched, and you didn’t come for me. You thought you were punishing yourself, but you punished me too, Phoenix. I know you read those letters feeling like you weren’t worthy of me because allI ever did was release my pain on paper. But how can I ever be worthy of you now? How can I—god, Phoenix, I can’t—not after what you’ve seen. Jesus Christ, you smiled at her, and I wanted to rip her head off, and you saw?—”
I’m spiraling, and he knows.
He reaches for me, and I shove at his chest—hard enough to mean it, not hard enough to make him move.
I want him close.
I want him out of my space.
Mostly, I just want what we lost.
I’m grieving the time we’ll never get back, the moments that should’ve been ours but weren’t. Years stolen by fear and pride and his self-destruction.
He pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me as if he could physically hold me together, and I feel his mouth at my ear, his breath shaking.
“I see nothing but us, Shannen. No one’s ever touched you in my mind. No one but me. Do you understand me? No one else exists. Not to me. Not when it comes to you.”
His hands move to my face, trembling as they cup my jaw, tilting my head up so I can’t hide from the truth in his eyes.
“Maybe I didn’t realize it at the time—maybe I was too fucking broken to see what I was doing to you—but you’re right. You’re right, okay? I should’ve come for you. I should’ve kicked down doors and dragged you back, screaming, if that’s what it took. I should’ve fought harder against the voice in my head telling me I wasn’t good enough for you.” His forehead drops to mine, and I can feel his chest rising and falling against me as his grip tightens on my face. “But I swear to you, I only think about us. What we are and what we’re always going to be.”
“But it’s in here.” I tap my temple hard enough to hurt. “It’ll always be here.”
His eyes narrow. One second. Two. Then his mouth crashes into mine like he’s trying to erase every word I just said.
I don’t get the chance to catch my breath before he’s backing me up until the cold wall hits my spine. His hands are at my hips, sliding under my dress and finding the lace between my legs before ripping it off. He spins me around so fast my palms smack against the glass, and suddenly I’m pressed up against it, staring down at the blur of people on the other side. They have no idea what’s happening up here. They’re laughing, drinking, dancing, and living their oblivious little lives while Phoenix has my body pinned and completely under his control.
He kicks my legs apart, his hand sliding between my thighs.
“This pussy is mine,” he growls in my ear, his other hand wrapping around my throat as his tongue drags down my neck, sucking hard at my pulse. “It’s only ever been mine.”
Except it hasn’t, and I fucking hate it.
I hate that he’s wrong, and I hate that I can’t make it true.
Two fingers suddenly push inside me, and I gasp, my breath fogging the glass in front of me until the world below blurs into nothing but hazy lights and shadows.
Phoenix reaches across with his free hand and draws a heart in the condensation, the squeak of his finger against the wet glass somehow intimate in the chaos of the moment.
His lips press against my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine.
“That heart of yours? Also mine. And I know you’ve never given it to anyone else. Not once.” His fingers curl deeper, pressing into that spot inside me that sets off tiny explosions. “So no, baby, I don’t give a fuck about anyone who came before me. I don’t wantwhat they got—I want everything you never gave them. The one thing you never took away from me.”
He pulls his fingers out of me, and I feel the loss instantly, my body clenching around fuck all as I stand there aching for him.
I hear the rustle of his clothes behind me, and then he’s right there—gripping my hips as he pushes inside me in one slow, brutal stroke.
“Fuck—” My forehead drops against the cold glass as that one word tears out of me, part gasp, mostly needy little sob.
His fingers lace with mine, pinning my hands in place, and I moan, needing him to thrust, to move, to fuck me, anything—but he doesn’t. He just holds himself inside me, perfectly still, and with me bent over, breathless and begging, he takes his time to feel the way my body gives for him in ways it never has for anyone else.
“When I’m inside you, what do you see? What do you feel? Is it them out there? Or do you feel me?” His lips brush the shell of my ear, and his fingers tighten around mine. “Do you see my fingers wrapped around yours, or do you see men who will never mean a fucking thing to you?”
