“Phoenix.” My name in his mouth sounds like a prayer. Like a warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking.”
I pull him back toward the bed. He follows—reluctantly, every step clearly costing him something—until we’re sitting on the edge of the mattress again. Closer this time. My knee touching his thigh. My hand still wrapped around his wrist.
“I’ve known for months,” I continue, the words spilling out now that I’ve started. “Maybe years. I just didn’t let myself think about it. About you. About how you make me feel.”
“How do I make you feel?”
It’s barely a whisper. His eyes search my face, looking for the lie, the manipulation, the heat-induced delusion that will let him dismiss everything I’m saying.
He won’t find it.
“Safe.” The word isn’t big enough, but it’s the truest thing I have. “You make me feel safe. Like I don’t have to perform. Like I can just… be. Be messy and difficult and scared, and you’ll still be there.”
His breath catches.
“I take you for granted,” I continue, words tumbling faster now. “I know I do. I lean on you too much and I don’t say thank you enough and I expect you to handle everything because you always do. But it’s not because I don’t notice. It’s because?—“
My voice breaks. I press my free hand against my chest, trying to hold myself together.
“It’s because you’re the only real thing in my life. And if I acknowledged that, if I really let myself feel it, I’d have to admit how terrified I am of losing you.”
Mason makes a sound—half laugh, half sob—and reaches up to cup my face with his free hand. His palm is warm against my flushed cheek. His thumb traces the path of a tear I didn’t realize I’d shed.
“You’re not going to lose me,” he says. “That’s never been a possibility.”
“But what if?—”
“Never. Do you understand? Not for any reason. Not for any job or any amount of money or any?—”
I kiss him.
The connection is electric. Every nerve ending in my body ignites at once, and I’m not sure if it’s the heat or him or some impossible combination of both. His lips are softer than I imagined—and God, I’ve imagined this more times than I’ll ever admit—and when he kisses me back, it’s with a desperation that mirrors my own.
Like he’s been starving for this.
Like he’s been waiting years for permission.
His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. I climb into his lap without breaking the kiss, my thighs bracketing his hips as I press my body against his. The thin cotton of my shirt does nothing to mask the heat radiating off my skin, and when he groans into my mouth, I feel the vibration all the way down to my toes.
“Phoenix—” He tears his mouth away, breathing hard. “We should—this isn’t?—“
I roll my hips against him, deliberate and slow, and his protest dissolves into a gasp.
“Does that feel like I don’t mean it?”
His grip on my waist tightens. “It feels like you’re in heat and I’m the convenient body closest to you.”
“You’re not convenient.” I capture his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. “You’re not convenient, you’re not easy, and you’re definitely not a replacement for someone else. You’reMason. You’re the person I want. The only one I’ve always wanted.”
Something breaks behind his eyes. I watch it happen—watch him let go of whatever restraint he’s been clinging to for three years.
He surges up to kiss me again, and this time there’s nothing tentative about it. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, demanding. His hands slide up my back, fingers spreading wide like he’s trying to touch as much of me as possible.
I moan against his lips. The heat is building faster now, fed by his touch, his scent, the friction of our bodies moving together. I’ve never felt anything like this—this perfect alignment of physical need and emotional connection. Every past heat has been something to survive, to endure, to get through as quickly and quietly as possible.
This feels like something I could drown in. Something I never want to end.
