“I wanted to smash his face into this desk and watch him try to scream through a mouthful of broken teeth.”
“Baby… he’s not worth it,” I manage, even as his thumb circles my nipple, rubbing back and forth.
“No, he’s not. But you are, and he’s getting bolder in how he moves around you.”
“I shut him down tonight… when he asked?—”
“What did he ask?”
“Drinks.”
“He’s trying to take you, and I won’t let him.” He bites down on my ear, and his whole hand possessively grips my breast. “You’re mine. Not his. Never his.”
“Phoenix—”
“Let’s go.”
The whiplash is fucking brutal.
He steps back abruptly, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. I understand he’s spiraling right now, and I know this isn’t about me. It’s about whatever darkness is working its way through him.
Phoenix holds onto me almost too tight as we make our way to his bike, but when we get there, he won’t meet my eyes. He just thrusts the helmet toward me, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, like I’m not even here, before sliding on his own and swinging his leg over the bike.
I climb on behind him, settle in, and wrap my arms around his waist. But I don’t press in as close as I usually do. I don’t curl around him the way I want to because this version of him puts meon edge. It’s not fear, just confusion mixed with a tiny bit of arousal and a strong urge to slap some sense into him.
I don’t know what’s happening in his head right now. I just know James got too close, stepped into space that wasn’t his to take, and Phoenix felt every moment of it.
I want to fix it.
Fix him.
No.
Phoenix isn’t broken.
He doesn’t need fixing.
He’s exactly what he was built to be—fire, obsession, and the most beautiful chaos—and I’d never change a single piece of him.But what I do want is to make sure he knows he’s never alone in it.
Phoenix starts the engine, and the bike lurches forward before I can brace myself. I slam into his back, and he immediately grabs my arms, wrapping them around his body like he’s daring me to keep my distance again.
He takes off, and I’m clinging on tight, feeling his body through his hoodie. My hands start to drift, slow at first, then lower, my fingers grazing the tops of his thighs. I feel him tense beneath my touch, and that’s all it takes for my mind to flip from zero to full-blown whore in under four seconds, because now all I want is for him to get us home so he can take every bit of that pent-up anger and unleash it on my body.
The vibrations aren’t helping, or maybe they are. Either way, they’re not doing a damn thing to calm the heat simmering low in my stomach.
I palm him over his sweats, and he’s rock fucking hard.
That’s mine.
He’s mine.
I don’t care if I’m distracting him.
I don’t care if it’s reckless.
I want him.
I want him to want me the way I’m burning for him right now.
