Her lips part, trembling on the edge of surrender, and I can almost taste the truth fighting its way out of her.

  Say it, baby. Say my name, and I’ll drag the stars to your feet.

  “I can’t want this,” she whispers.

  “Can’t want what? This?” I taunt, grinding my cock against her, pulling a moan straight out of her throat. “That’s a shame, pretty girl, because it’s only ever been yours.”

  I do it again, just a little rougher, and her hips arch up, colliding with mine. Then we’re moving together, dry humping like it’s the only thing we’ve ever known—as if we’ve done it a thousand times, and we’ll do it a thousand more.

  I’m not leaving this bed until I get her off, and if she keeps grinding against me like that, I’m going to lose it right along with her.

  “More,” she pleads.

  My hand trembles as it slides down between us, the other still pinning her wrists above her head. I find the thin barrier of her panties, fingertips brushing the edge of the fabric, playing with it, and testing my own control. I ease it aside, knowing I could touch her if I let myself—but I don’t. Not yet.

  There is nothing I want more than to put my mouth on her.

  Not to prove I can make her come.

  Not to mark her.

  But because I’m sick with it.

  I’m obsessed.

  Because I’ve waited.

  Because I’ve spent a lifetime trying to be good enough to earn this.

  But mostly because I’m hers.

  My cock is fully tented like it’s trying to find its way to her, and every roll of her hips just makes it worse. It’s not even skin on skin, yet I’m shaking like I’m already inside her.

  I’m fucking gone.

  “Phoenix… no, it’s⁠—”

  I freeze.

  She asked for this, didn’t she? She did. She asked for more. She wanted me closer.

  I replay it in my head like a fucking mantra because I’d never just take. God knows I could’ve, and I’ve wanted to more than once. More than a thousand times, but I never have. Even now, with her beneath me and every cell in my body screaming to touch, I can’t. Not unless she wants it.

  “No, don’t stop, just… I want… Fuck, I don’t want…”

  She doesn’t want to want me, but she does. And I’ll take that.

  She can hate me tomorrow, but tonight, she wants us.

  I lower my hand down to the waistband of my sweats, my heart hammering, and push them low enough for my cock to spring free—hard, aching, and already leaking, like it’s been waiting its whole life for this moment.

  I’m not fucking her tonight.

  There’s no way I’m crossing that line unless I have her eyes on me and she tells me she’s mine.

  I need to feel it.

  That’s nonnegotiable.

  But this—this, I can do.

  The second the tip of my dick brushes against her, I nearly lose it.

  She feels perfect.

  Better than perfect.

  “Holy shit…” The words fall out, wrecked and raw. “You’re so soft.”

  I drag the head of my cock through her wetness—hers, mine, both, I don’t even know anymore.

  “You’re so wet. So warm. Fuck, how are you this soft?”

  “Shut up and move, Phoenix.”

  Her hips slide, and mine answer.

  I lower my face until I can feel her breath against my lips.

  God, I want to kiss her.

  I’ll never forget the way her lips felt against mine, not in this life or the next. I burned that kiss into my brain the day she left me, and now she’s right here. Less than an inch separates us, and it’s killing me. All it would take is for one of us to reach for the other, to close that gap, and I’d have her mouth again. I’d taste her the way I did all those years ago, only this time I wouldn’t let her pull away. This time, I’d make sure she knew exactly what that kiss meant to me.

  But I don’t kiss her.

  I’m scared of what I’ll become if she denies me, and I’m not ready to meet that version of myself.

  Instead, I grind harder, faster, chasing that line I know I can’t hold for much longer. I’m going to lose it any second now, and honestly? Can you blame me? My sex drive is through the fucking ceiling.

  “Fuck—” The word tears out of me as I come, spilling across her and covering her in me.

  Next time, she’s coming first.

  She deserves that.

  Bad fucking form on my part.

  I drag my thumb through the mess between her thighs, and a full-body shudder rips through me.

  Jesus Christ, I’m touching her.

  She’s soaked in me, and possession like I’ve never felt curls in my gut like smoke.

  I’ve marked her.

  Claimed her.

  Shannen Clarke is painted in me.

  Her clit’s swollen, and when I graze it, her whole body jolts.

  “Oh fuck.” She gasps, her back arching off the bed.

  “I want all of this inside you,” I growl, and she whimpers as my thumb presses harder, circling that tight, pulsing bundle of nerves like it’s the center of the universe. “I want you leaking with me. I want you dripping every time you move. I want it to fucking hurt when I’m not inside you.” I lean in, hovering just above her parted lips, close enough to feel the heat of her breath. “Because that’s where this is headed, pretty girl. You know that, right? You gave yourself to me the second you let me back in.”

  The way her body answers mine is addictive as hell.

  She’s already unraveling, and I haven’t even touched her the way I’m dying to.

  “You like that? You like being mine like this?”

  “Stop talking, Phoenix.”

  “Run your mouth all you want. It doesn’t change the fact it’s me you need.”

  I smear my thumb through my cum, her wetness, all of it mixed together. Proof that no matter what she tells herself, she still feels me.

  “Open,” I murmur, and her lips part instantly, just like I knew they would.

  I push my thumb into her mouth, feeling her tongue wrap around it, licking away the mess we made.

  “You taste that? That’s us. That’s everything we are. Every dark, twisted part that binds us together. But do you know what else that is? That’s forever, baby. You and me, exactly how it was always meant to be.”

  “If you feel that way, then why haven’t you tasted us?”

  “If you want me to eat your pussy, you’ll ask for it. You’ll say, ‘Phoenix, wrap your mouth around my clit, and don’t stop until I’m coming all over your fucking face.’”

  “Phoenix… please wrap your lips around a dick, and tell me you’re finally done with me.”

  This fucking girl.

  She won’t be tamed, and that stubbornness only makes me hunger for her harder. But she needs to understand that from this moment forward, her pleasure belongs to me, and when she lets me all the way in, she’ll learn just how permanent that ownership can be.

  With one hand still locked around her wrists, I reach for my phone, flick on the light, and bite down on the edge to keep it steady. The beam hits between her thighs, and my cum glistens on her skin, slick and shining like a crown.

  God, I want to lick her—not in a romantic, worship-the-ground-she-walks-on kind of way. No, I want to drag my tongue through my own cum, clean up the mess I made, like it’s a fucking delicacy, then spit it in her mouth so she’s marked on the inside too.

  I want every depraved, dirty thing we could ever dream up, and the best part is, I know she wants it just as bad.

  She’s just punishing us both right now.

  She’s holding out like she’s in control, which is honestly fucking adorable, but I’ve survived years without touching her.

  So go ahead, baby, put on the performance of your life. Drag this out and pretend you’re not as sick for me as I am for you. But fake doesn’t last forever, and your body’s already given you up.

  I lift my face, and the light catches her eyes, making her squint.

  Good, they were open.

  The phone falls beside us once again, forgotten the second it leaves my hand, landing somewhere on the bed—could be the floor. I don’t even care at this point.

  “Why are you letting me touch you?” I hover above her, my arms braced beside her head. “You and I both know if you didn’t want this, I’d be on the fucking floor. You could claw, scream, and shove me back, and I’d go. Now, either kick me out of your bed or call out to me. Tell me it’s me you want, or show me just how much you want me gone. Your move, baby.”

  And she moves.

  God, does she fucking move.

  She thrashes beneath me, like a storm unleashed, her teeth clenched, legs kicking out as she twists hard under my body.

  She’s wild, furious, and so fucking beautiful. But I was made for this. I’m built for her wrath.

  I catch her wrists mid-swing, my hands locking around them like iron, slamming them down onto the mattress above her head. She thrashes, teeth bared, and then I feel it. The fight in her melts away, and her body goes slack beneath mine, every muscle surrendering in a way that feels less like giving up and more like giving in.

  “Baby, listen to me. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. If you want space, you’ll get it. If you want me gone, I’m gone. But if there’s even a small part of you that wants me, then whisper my name… just once, because I need you to want me back here. I need to know you’re choosing me.”

  I press a kiss to her jaw, so achingly soft. Because for all my fire, she’s the fucking altar, and I’d drop to my knees a thousand times if it meant I got to worship her the way she deserves.

  Her lips part just enough for me to catch the tremor, and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing altogether. My chest locks up as the silence between us grows heavier by the second, and when I hear my name slip from her lips, it’s so quiet I almost miss it.

  I release her wrists slowly, my hands falling away with care, like I’m afraid one wrong move might send her retreating again. But she doesn’t move away. She doesn’t even flinch.

  Instead, she reaches for me. Her fingers find mine, and without a word, she guides them back between her thighs, surrendering to me in the softest, most beautiful way.

  Once she places me where she wants me, her hands fall to her sides. I feel the sheets tighten beneath us as her fists curl into the fabric, like she’s bracing for something she already knows she won’t come back from.

  And she’s right. She won’t.

  My fingers tease, V-ing as I slide them up and down the sides of her clit. I want to push one inside her so fucking bad and feel her grip me from the inside, but she’s not ready for that yet. So I work her instead, getting her so fucking wet it’s obscene, before trapping her clit and circling it with two fingers.

  Seconds.

  That’s all it takes.

  One…

  Two…

  Three…

  Her pretty clit swells and pulses under my touch like it knows me already.

  She’s coming for me… because of me.

  My entire palm moves over her. Up and down. Again and again. She’s soaked for me, and I don’t stop until my hand is drenched and my skin is glistening from her. I lift it, dragging my tongue from the base of my wrist to the tip of my fingers, my eyes on her the whole time.

  She’s sprawled across the rumpled sheets, chest rising fast, her hair a wild red tangle that looks like hell had its way with her. She’s watching me, unsure whether she wants to come again or throw something at my face, and either one would get me hard right now.

  I hope she realizes that no one else will ever make her come again. Well… aside from herself. I’m not a total monster.

  If she wants to fuck herself, I’ll watch. Hell, I love watching. I’ll hand her the toy and hold her legs open. I’ll sit back and record it for her if she wants to watch it later.

  And just like that, my neglected and pissed-off dick starts to wake the hell up again.

  “I’ve got an early start. You can see yourself out.”

  Ah. There it is. Exactly what I expected from her.

  It’s probably for the best, considering I’d fuck anything she offered at this point—her, her hand, her attitude, even the barrel of a shotgun if she shoved it against my cock and promised to pull the trigger. At least then I’d come with her name in my mouth and blood in my lungs—evidence I was hers in the most final way possible.

  Pretty romantic, right?

  But it’s fine.

  Baby steps.

  She’s not ready for what this is, and that’s okay. But when she finally lets herself fall, I’ll be there to catch her.

  Leaving her tonight felt all kinds of wrong.

  I should’ve stayed over. It would’ve been our first sleepover, and honestly, about ten years too late, given how long we’ve known each other. Next time, I’m staying. No argument.

  I watch her on my phone for a while, the camera angle perfect from where I mounted it on her bedroom ceiling. She doesn’t settle easily, tossing and turning like her brain won’t shut off, one arm flung across the bed as if she’s reaching for someone.

  Good. She’s thinking about me.

  One day, I’ll be in that bed with her—holding her, loving her, protecting her. Being everything she pretends she doesn’t want. She might not need me, but need and want are different beasts, and eventually that want will win.

  Just as I’m halfway into my fantasy of the future, where her hair’s spread across my chest and my name’s caught in her throat, I’m dragged back to reality by the buzzing of my phone.

  Lucien Rivers.

  The guy who taught me everything I know. Not my blood, but he’s more of a brother than anyone I share my shitty DNA with. I’d trust him and Cain—his actual brother and a certified sociopath—with my life.

  I answer the phone, but he’s already talking before I can say a word.

  “You popped your cherry yet, lover boy?”

  “Lucien… I swear to god, I will pull your spine out through your dickhole.”

  “Save me the foreplay and count yourself lucky that Cain’s playing poker with some hedge-fund asshole and didn’t call you. You know he’d be all up in your ass about this.”

  “Just tell me what flagged, asshat.”

  “She’s got a business meeting coming up with James Lawson.”

  That name means nothing to me beyond headlines and hotel signs—just some smug-looking dickhead, shaking hands with another smug dickhead in a slightly more expensive suit.

  “Lawson Hotels?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you’re going to want to tighten the perimeter on this one. Trust me.”

  “Why?”

  “Clean public image, dirty-as-fuck private footprint.”

  Always filth behind money… Always.

  I don’t give a single fuck how many people are kissing his ring. He won’t be laying a finger on her.

  “Is she safe?”

  “As long as she doesn’t get in too deep with him, she’s fine. He’s all NDAs and hush money, and there’s always a pattern of women who are too smart for him who always wind up shutting up, one way or another.” I can feel my hands tighten around the phone. “Your girl pitched something, and his team ate it up. Bet it only took a single photo of her before Lawson decided he had to see her for himself.”

  That’s because she’s a fucking masterpiece in a world full of liars and parasites.

  “We’ve already got a running bet on how long it’ll take you to do something catastrophically stupid over her. I’ve got a week. Cain says three days. So if you’re gonna tank this with Lawson, let me know now, and I’ll call it in.”

  “You can both eat my entire dick.”

  “Bet you’re watching her right now, huh?” Lucien drawls. “Eyes on her bed, like the little psycho you are.”

  “First, I’m taller than you, and second, don’t project. You’re the one who mailed a girl a knife for Valentine’s Day.”

  “It was engraved with my name,” he says, like that makes it romantic.

  “Just ping me with what you found.”

  “You’re getting three PDFs, a zip folder, and two recorded phone calls that were definitely not legally obtained. Do with them what you want. Just don’t be a fucking idiot about it.”

  “I’m not gonna kill him.”

  “Good, because he’s not back-alley trash. He’s empire-level. If you so much as break his jaw, six lawyers will crawl out of his ass with lawsuits,” he says, his tone dropping just a fraction softer. “Keep your girl close, okay?”

  I nod to myself, already pulling up the first file on the burner. “Appreciate you, Lucien.”

  “You better, motherfucker,” he says, and then the line goes dead.

  The files open, and just like that, the night gets darker.

  Chapter 5

  Shannen

  I didn't hear him leave—not that that means anything, considering he's been slipping in and out of here for years without me knowing. But my alarm's been screaming at me for eight minutes straight, and I'm still lying here like a coward, my face buried in the pillow, pretending I don't exist and that last night didn't happen.

  I tried to convince myself that what I needed was separate from who I needed, but I can’t pretend those are two different things because they’re not. They’re all tangled up in one fucked little knot I tied myself, and I just keep yanking it tighter.

  I don’t do denial, and I’m not some naïve girl who thinks love makes monsters less monstrous. He’s exactly what he looks like: dangerous, obsessive, and so far past the line, he can’t even see it anymore. But deep down, he’s still the boy I knew, and that’s the part that screws with me because all of this—the control, the fury, the brutal way he loves—didn’t come out of nowhere.

  It was always there.

  But I’m not the girl he knew, and that’s the problem.

  He unknowingly helped build this version of me, so now I want to fight him harder. And I want to mean it. Really mean it because everything I said in that hotel room is still true. Every word I screamed at him, every feeling that tore through me… it’s still sitting in my chest, exactly the same way.