She doesn’t stand a fucking chance. But I hope she tries.
Fuck, I hope they both try, for his sake.
My quiet steps lead me to him but his gaze refuses to meet mine even as I settle at the edge of his mattress. My palms splay low, sliding down the hard planes of his abs, stopping right at the line of his dark briefs peeking out above his jeans. Sweat dampens his skin and I’m surprised he isn’t naked in this hellhole.
“I know she can help you. And you can help her. If you just calm down,” I whisper, my teeth extending just from feeling his warm skin against mine, it’s hard to swallow when I touch him. Hard to form basic thoughts even.
“I am calm.” The growl of his words shouldn’t make me instantly hard, but I just fucking can’t help it.
“That’s not calm.” As I lean forward, my head dips, my lips grazing his jaw line, wishing like hell the brooding man had a pulse.
If he had a pulse, I’d know how he felt about me.
But he doesn’t. And I don’t.
We’re both a mess.
“This is calm.” When my teeth move ever so lightly across his perfect skin, the tension falls from his shoulders, the only indication he’s ever enjoyed what we are together.
My fingers slip lower and his silence is a daring thing. There’s no groans or gasps, there’s no lust within Phoenix at all, but he’s always fucking hard.
That constant quiet fucking kills me. His emptiness slices up my heart, hurting me as much as it hurts him.
My mouth trails lower just as my hand does, palming his thick outline over his jeans.
Whatever god is out there, he’s a cruel fuck for giving Phoenix a cock this big, but never letting him enjoy it.
A total waste.
My head dips lower, my kisses and words getting lost in his body. “I can calm you.”
A strong hand grips the side of my neck and with two sudden steps he lifts me and pins me with a hard clash against the metal bunk bed across from his. Blazing eyes search mine, aggression radiating off him in a way that should. Not. Turn. Me. On.
“If you want me calm, then let me do what I’m supposed to fucking do.” He bites the words out like a threat but his chest melds to mine.
My lips brush over his.
“Then fuck me,” I challenge with a slow flicking kiss.
And it’s a dirty fucking challenge that I know he loves. He loves sex even if he can’t feel it.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s envious of what he makes others feel. And fuck is he good at making me feel every fucking inch of him.
He leans closer with a pureness in his emerald eyes, his lips pressing to mine with surprising gentleness. Long fingers slide beneath my jeans just as his tongue slides perfectly over mine. He takes his time with dedicated slowness, stroking down my cock, inch by inch, before bringing the heel of his palm right across my head and making me groan into his claiming mouth.
The squeal of the hinges is the only sound and even that telling noise isn’t enough to make me pull away from the way he’s sucking my lower lip.
“Um...” Her quiet voice hums right into me, making my dick pulse in Phoenix’s hand just from the soft sound of it. I pull back, but we never untangle ourselves. I’m still grasping his neck and he’s still...he’s still grasping my cock. “I—I really need my notes.” Izzy’s dark lashes flutter closed, heat flushing across her pretty face the longer she stands awkwardly in the doorway, not daring to cross the two of us in the middle of the room.
The smirk pulling at my lips only grows the longer her uncomfortable situation drags out.
Finally, I shift out from beneath Phoenix’s big body, his frustrated sigh growling right out of him as he releases me.
The black binder near her bed catches my attention and I bring it to the poor girl still standing with her eyes closed.
Is she humiliated or turned on?
With her small body inches from mine, thoughts of how perfect she’d fit pressed right between Phoenix and I fill my head. I push the binder into her hands with so much slowness my fingertips caress each curve of her knuckles.
“Anything else?” I ask with a —hopeful—hinting smile.
She shakes her head hard. But then her big amber eyes open, looking up at me with the strangest, confusion shining there.
“I—I didn’t realize you two were—”
The single step I take closer to her, eliminating any suggestion of space, cuts her words away in her throat, her pulse drilling wildly there.
My lips brush there at the base of her neck, tasting her apprehension and loving the way her heartbeat kisses my lips.
The warmth of her body sends old memories of how hot blood used to taste along my tongue.
Once upon a time.
“We’re not,” I whisper, lingering, waiting and watching and hoping like fuck she’ll steal my confidence and come inside like we both know she wants to.
She’s an enigma. Sometimes she’s quiet and reserved. And sometimes she forces her assertiveness to shine out to hide how weak she is in this place without a dependable Prod within her to protect her.
“Don’t be late, Feck. Wouldn’t want another night of isolation,” Phoenix taunts coldly from just behind me, all but pissing over my fantasies.
My jaw clenches so hard I hear teeth crack just slightly.
Those lashes flutter as if she’s washing away a crazy thought in that pretty mind of hers.
And then she turns and walks away.
Why is he like this? Why does he hate everyone?
Including me.
My fingers dig into the wooden doorframe, letting it splinter down the center beneath my anger.
And then I walk away, too.
“Where are you going?” His voice crawls down the dark hall after me.
I don’t have the control to face him and not walk right back into him.
If I look at him, if I meet those tortured green eyes, I’ll be sucked in all over again.
And I’m not doing that. Not today.
“I’m going to find your feck. You promised to be there for her during gym. She needs someone there.”
His curses whisper down the corridor to me for several seconds.
Then his steady footfalls are following after me. The smallest smile tilts my lips.
He cares. He cares about me and he cares about her. He just doesn’t know it.
Fifteen
Izara
Gym: Welcome to Hell.
Enjoy the under-boob sweat, embrace your ass jiggles with every lap you run, and by all means, try not to cry too much as you cling to the bottom of a hanging rope and attempt to understand what the fuck this is preparing you for in life.
I wonder if the devil himself is the coach inside this quaint little gymnasium.
I stand before the building and I don’t want to go in. Cardio? Weights? This academy is trying to kill me. If I promise to be a good little Prod and not murder any more boyfriends, will they let me skip?
Probably not.
Striding footsteps sound behind me and I don’t know how I know, but I know it’s Saint. He just has that air about him. He walks like someone who doesn’t look at price tags when he shops, someone who doesn’t pay attention to the pump when he gets fuel, someone who just uses whatever credit card his careless fingers land on.
That’s what his pretentious footsteps sound like, if you can believe it.