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I want to jump up and run away, as if that would do any good. He’s here, and he’s staying.

Phoenix.

My lips form his name, but I can’t make a sound. There’s a lump in my throat.

One night.

One mistake.

I repress a hysterical laugh as it tries to escape me.

I slept with him.

And I stole from him.

Now he’s here, and absolutely nothing good can come of this.

Interlude

Ophelia

July 2, 11:33 PM

I think I’m going to die, right here and now. And I don’t even mind. Not as long as his mouth is wandering down my neck while his hands stroke my legs. A yearning sigh escapes me, and I arch my back.

“Are you impatient, Ophelia?” he whispers. The sound of his voice makes me shiver with heat. I love the way he says my name. No one calls me Ophelia. I actually hate my name. But tonight . . . tonight it just feels right. When he asked me what my name was, I said it without even thinking about it.

One night.

One mistake.

A mistake that didn’t feel like me, like Lia. But it did feel a little bit like Ophelia. Maybe I told him my real name because I wanted a part of me to stay with him when I disappear after that night.

“Yes,” I say, trembling and writhing under his hands. I’m burning with impatience.

Just a little farther, and his fingers will be where I want them to be, where I need them to be.

“Phoenix.” His name is both a plea and a demand. “Please,” I beg him, and I’m not ashamed. He doesn’t make me feel that way. I don’t do things like this, I’ve never done anything like this, and everything is different because of him. I’ve never felt this way with anyone. So beautiful. So desired. So completely . . . uninhibited.

He smiles again, and I can feel it as his mouth continues to wander, his tongue playing with my nipples. The tension in my center grows stronger, almost unbearable. He has to do something; he has to set it free.

Oh my God, what’s happening to me?

My mind isn’t working anymore. I can’t think, only feel, and that’s the best part. I forget where I am, who I am, and why I’m here in the first place. I forget why he had to rescue me. My dark knight.

At the moment, I’m almost grateful for it. No, not just almost. Completely.

His fingers slide up the insides of my thighs, sending an electric tingle through my body. Very, very slowly . . . I’m dying. I must be.

“Phoenix, please,” I beg him a second time, lifting my hips. He slides down in one fluid motion, his head disappearing between my legs, and then his tongue is there . . . his tongue and his fingers.

I was wrong before: Now I’m dying.

I moan as his tongue finally caresses the center of my desire, which is throbbing so much it almost hurts. He licks me, slides one finger inside me and then another, and my muscles contract around him.

I bury my fingers in his hair, tugging at the soft strands, and I don’t care if I’m hurting him. He thrusts both fingers into me, hard and relentless. My body is on fire. I am on fire.

He pushes my hips back down as I arch my back, almost sobbing with need because I can’t take it anymore. It’s the pressure that puts me over the edge, that plus his tongue. And all of him.