The sound rings through the room—sharp, definitive, impossible to mistake for anything other than exactly what it is. Phoenix gasps, her whole body jerking forward from the impact.
I don’t give her time to process. My hand comes down again, finding the other cheek, balancing the sting. Then again. And again.
I’m not trying to hurt her—not really. Just enough to make my point. Just enough to turn that perfect honey-brown skin to a pretty, flushed shade of reddened amber. Each strike lands precisely where I want it, controlled and deliberate, the crack of palm against flesh punctuating the silence between her ragged breaths.
“You’re going to stop sabotaging yourself,” I tell her, punctuating each word with another hard smack. “You’re going to stop running from things that scare you. You’re going to stop using other people to avoid dealing with your own feelings. And if you do, then you know what response you’re going to get from me. I have a feeling you’ll get tired of this long before I do.”
She’s crying now—I can hear the hitch in her breath, feel the way her body shakes with suppressed sobs. But she’s not fighting. Not begging me to stop. If anything, she’s arching into each strike, lifting her hips to meet my palm.
Like she’s been waiting for this.
Like sheneedsit.
“And you’re going to stop acting like you don’t deserve to be loved and protected.” My voice cracks on the last word, raw emotion bleeding through despite my best efforts to stay in control. “Because you do, Phoenix. You deserve everything.Everything.And anyone who made you believe otherwise was wrong.”
My hand stills on her heated skin.
The room is quiet except for her ragged breathing and the thunder of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Slowly, carefully, I ease her upright. She’s shaking—trembling all over like a leaf in a storm—and when I turn her to face me, her amber eyes are wet with tears, her cheeks streaked with mascara.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Hey.” I cup her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away the tracks of moisture. “You’re okay. You did so well. You took that perfectly.”
A sob escapes her, broken and desperate, and then she’s collapsing against my chest, burrowing into me like I’m the only solid thing in a world that’s spinning off its axis. I wrap my armsaround her and hold on, rocking slightly, letting her cry against my shirt while I murmur nonsense into her hair.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The heat rolling off her skin is almost unbearable now—not just arousal, but the full biological reality of what’s happening to her body. Her scent has deepened, grown more complex, wrapping around me like silk and demanding a response I’ve been fighting since I walked through that door.
But first things first.
I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “How do you feel?”
She blinks at me, dazed. “I don’t… I feel…”
“Words, Phoenix.”
“Empty.” The confession comes out small, barely audible. “I feel so empty, Atticus. Like there’s this hollow space inside me that keeps getting bigger and I don’t know how to fill it?—“
I kiss her forehead, soft and lingering. “I can help with that. If you still want me to.”
Her answer is immediate and fervent—she surges up to capture my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressing against mine with desperate urgency. The kiss is sloppy, uncoordinated, all need and no finesse. I let her take what she wants for a moment before gently taking control, slowing the pace, turning the frantic clash of lips into something deeper.
Something that feels almost like a promise.
When I finally ease her back onto the nest of blankets, her eyes are glazed but focused. Present.Here.
“You’ve definitely earned a reward, baby,” I murmur against her throat. “How do you want it?”
She looks up at me, lip trembling and crystal tears still clinging to her lashes. “Nice. I want it nice.”
I undress her slowly, ignoring the urge to go caveman and tear every inch of offensive fabric separating us. When her bra strap slips from one shoulder, I trace its progress down her chest with my tongue, draw patterns across her ribcage with my fingertips, press open-mouthed kisses to the soft swell of her belly.
She writhes beneath me, making sounds that barely qualify as human.
“Atticus, please?—”
