He doesn’t speak. He just floors it, like getting us home faster is the only thing stopping him from pulling over to fuck me right here on his bike, with traffic still flying by.
By the time we make it back, I’m wrecked, starving for him in a way that feels like it might actually kill me if I don’t get my hands on him soon.
The elevator doors close, and the space between us is suffocating. He backs against the wall immediately, one hand gripping the metal rail so hard his knuckles turn bone-white, the other hanging at his side in a fist. His jaw is clenched, that muscle ticking again, and his chest rises and falls too fast.
I stay on the opposite side, leaving what feels like miles between us, even though it’s only a few feet.
I watch him.
He watches me, his eyes so dark they’re almost black.
There are no words, just eye contact and rage and lust, all twisted together into this fucked-up need neither of us knows what to do with.
I take slow, cautious steps forward until I’m in front of him. Phoenix’s chin tips down, his eyes hooded, but he’s watching me closely.
“What can I do?” The words barely leave my lips before I’m kissing up his neck, my mouth brushing just beneath his jaw. My hands slip under his T-shirt, dragging upward, fingertips skating across the ridges of his stomach and every hard line of muscle in his chest, as the elevator hums around us.
I push his shirt higher, lifting it inch by inch, letting my lipstrace his warm skin and my tongue drag across his ink. His head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, his breathing turning ragged with every press of my mouth. When I glance up, I see his eyes roll back before closing, as if he’s holding on by a thread that’s about to snap. Then he loses it. His hands fist my hair, red strands weaving through his fingers, pulling my head back just enough to crash his mouth to mine.
He devours me, consumes every part of me he can reach, and takes and takes like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe. Whatever he’s battling in his head, he needs to feel his way back to himself through the way he touches me.
The elevator stops, and the doors open. We stumble out, kissing all the way down the hallway, his hands everywhere—my waist, my hips, tangling in my hair again. I’m walking backward, pulling him with me, barely managing the keys and locks, and my fingers shake as metal scrapes against metal. The door finally gives, and when I push him back against it, the slam echoes through the apartment.
“Tell me what you need.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
His eyes drift upward, storm-dark and glassy as the silence stretches between us.
“Control,” he finally whispers, vulnerable as hell. “Take it.”
I slide my hands up to his face, forcing him to look at me. “I’ve got you.”
I shimmy out of my skirt while he tears my shirt over my head, leaving me in nothing but red lingerie. I take a step back, holding his gaze before turning and walking down the hall to my bedroom, dropping pieces of lace along the way like breadcrumbs, knowing he’s following.
Chapter 22
Phoenix
I’m too farin my head.
I’m trapped in a place I can’t claw my way out of on my own, where everything’s twisted and dark, but somehow she burns the noise down until there’s nothing left but her.
I follow the trail of lace she left for me, and by the time I step into her room, I’m already gone. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me from under her lashes, bare and breathtaking—fucking divine.Her flame-red hair drapes over her shoulders, spilling down her chest in waves that make my fingers itch to fist in it. Her legs are parted just enough so I can see how wet she is, glistening in the low light, and fuck, I want to drop to my knees and worship her.
“Clothes off, Phoenix,” she demands, and I obey.
I pull my shirt off, then shove my sweats and boxer briefs down until they’re nothing but a pile on the floor. She watches me, caressing her own body—hands trailing down her neck, between her breasts, and lower until she’s stroking her pussy.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
“Fuck…” I growl, watching the way her fingers circle and tease her swollen clit.
She must realize I’m losing my fucking mind.
Every drop of blood in my veins rushes straight to my cock until it’s aching and demanding attention. I wrap my hand around myself, tight, dragging my thumb over the head and smearing the wetness already there. It should take the edge off, but it doesn’t. It only makes it worse.
