His hands slide back down my body, finding the hem of my dress and pushing it up around my waist. The cool air hits my bare skin and I shiver, but not from cold. I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, my fingers clumsy with need. He helps me, shoving his pants down just far enough, and then he's pressing against me and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud.
"Look at me," he commands softly, and I do. His eyes are wild, hungry, barely controlled. "I need you to be quiet. Can you do that?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He enters me with a single thrust that steals my breath. I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip so hard I taste blood, swallowing the cry that tries to escape. He buries his faceagainst my shoulder, muffling his own groan in the fabric of my dress.
For a moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe together, adjusting to the feeling of being joined so completely. The fire crackles in the hearth. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the faint sounds of the party, laughter and clinking glasses and music from a string quartet. It feels impossibly far away.
Then Phoenix starts to move.
He sets a rhythm that's urgent and desperate, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. The table creaks beneath us with each thrust, and I send up a silent prayer that the antique wood can handle what we're putting it through. My hands fist in the back of his jacket, pulling him closer, deeper, needing him in a way that borders on painful.
I have to stay quiet. But every movement sends sparks shooting through my body, building toward something that's going to be impossible to contain.
"Phoenix," I whisper against his ear, my voice barely audible. "I'm close."
He responds by reaching between us, finding the spot where I need him most. His fingers work in circles while he continues to thrust, and I feel myself climbing higher with every passing second. The tension coils tighter in my core, winding toward an inevitable release.
I bury my face against his neck to muffle the sounds I can no longer control. Small whimpers escape my lips, and I feel his breath hot against my ear as he fights to maintain his own silence. We're both trembling now, both racing toward the edge.
"Come for me," he breathes, so quiet I almost don't hear it. "Let go."
The command undoes me. I shatter in his arms, waves of pleasure crashing through me while I bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. He follows moments later, his wholebody going rigid as he spills himself inside me with a groan that vibrates against my skin.
We stay tangled together for a breathless moment, foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in unison. His hands are still gripping my hips.
That's when I hear the footsteps.
They're already close. Too close. Moving down the hallway with the confident click of expensive heels on marble.
Phoenix hears them too. His head snaps up, his eyes going wide.
We don't have time. There's no time to separate, no time to fix our clothes, no time to do anything except stare at each other in frozen horror as the footsteps stop right outside the door.
The doorknob turns.
The door swings open.
His mother stands in the doorway, her hand still on the handle, her mouth open slightly.
I see what she sees: her son, between my thighs. Still inside me.
For one eternal, horrifying second, nobody moves or breathes.
Then Olive's expression shifts from shock to something far worse.
CHAPTER 7- JADE
Time stops.
I see myself through Olive Crawford's eyes and I want to disappear into the floor. My dress is bunched around my waist, my legs wrapped around her son, my hair falling out of its careful arrangement in wild tangles around my face. Phoenix is still inside me, his pants around his thighs, his hands gripping my hips. We are frozen in the most compromising position imaginable, surrounded by signed first editions and the weight of Olive's judgment.
Nobody moves or breathes.
Then Phoenix pulls out of me so fast it almost hurts. He steps back, positioning his body between me and his mother while I frantically tug my dress down over my thighs. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely grip the fabric. I hear Phoenix fumbling with his belt behind me, the clink of metal loud in the terrible silence.
"Mom," he starts, and I don't know how his voice can sound so steady when my entire world is crumbling. "This isn't what it looks like."
