Remembering Phoenix (15 page)

“I don’t want to back out,” I assure him. I should look up at him, but I can’t. My eyes are firmly glued to his cock. My body pulses, needing more of him. “I just want you right now.”

In an instant, he positions himself between my legs. He smirks and slams into me. I gasp as he fills me, both physically and emotionally. I drown out everything except him. I feel every single inch of him as he consumes me. He sets a rhythm; our bodies slap together with each thrust he pushes inside of me.

He lowers his lips to mine, kissing me fiercely, like his life depends upon it.
Maybe mine does.

“You feel better than I imagined,” he breathes against my skin, the heat of his breath caressing my face.

“I’m feeling,” I whisper, not sure if he can hear me or not. But I am, I’m feeling so much more than I know how to handle. It’s a sensation I’m not used to, a tiny light shining in my state of darkness.

I wrap my arms around him, digging my nails into his back as he causes the stone wall around my soul to start weakening.

Heartbeat for heartbeat.

Ragged breath for ragged breath.

Soul for soul.

I feel him in every fiber of my being, etching a spot in my life so deeply. I don’t know if I’m ready for it. But this, right now—him—takes away all my uncertainty.

My spine starts tingling, pleasure building as he lifts my leg up over his shoulder, slamming his length into my deepest depths. Everything hazes out as my body is slammed with another orgasm. His rhythm falters, releasing his own right after me.

Slayter collapses beside me, gently kissing me on my lips. His touch is gentle and warm. His tenderness swarms around me, comforting me in a way I’ve never known. Bringing his hand up, he brushes is along my swollen lips. We stare silently at each other for a few moments, nothing needing to be said.

He pulls me into him, bare body against bare body, and I let his arms calm the storms raging inside.

Running his fingers through my hair, he whispers, “I’ve got you, Charlie.” For the first time, I believe it.

This is so not me.

The fanciest restaurant I’ve ever eaten at is Texas Roadhouse, and you can chuck peanuts on the floor. I’m a beer and hot wings type of girl. Not champagne and lobster bisque. I take a small sip of my water—which the waiter is keeping very full—and look out the window.

You can see a good bit of Dallas from twenty-seven floors up. SĒR is in a fancy hotel, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when my jeans, flats, and black V-neck fitted tee were way underdressed for the occasion.

This is what I get for agreeing to go out to dinner on a whim. I had a total of fifteen minutes to make myself presentable, and it takes much, much longer to do that. But when Slayter practically begs me to get out of my pajamas and grab some food, I can’t really object.

I should have.

But over the course of this relationship, or whatever this is, he’s made me agree to so many things I wouldn’t normally do. Before Slayter, I only left my house for work, to buy groceries, go to doctor appointments, or to endure family time. Now, I leave the house at least four times a week. Bowling. Movies. Dinner. Hiking. Going to the park. Shopping.

I don’t do any of those things. I watch movies on Netflix. I only hike on the treadmill—in my apartment. I could tell you every single time I’ve gone bowling—three times—and they all include Slayter. And to be honest, I’ve enjoyed every time.

After fighting with my feelings, fighting with the need to
not
be happy, I gave in. I’m still dealing with guilt, but I’m handling it. With the help of Slayter, the pain gets a little easier to bear. The pain hasn’t lessened; that will never happen.

Slayter just makes me stronger. When I’m weak, he builds me up. When I’m broken to the point of not believing I can put myself back together, he becomes a mender.

It still baffles me how, when I see so much ugly, so much dark, Slayter sees something in me. Light. Beauty. Hope…

“You look beautiful,” Slayter says, setting his glass down.

“I look ridiculous,” I whisper from around my glass of water. I’m thankful he spoke, successfully bringing me out of my thoughts.

Slayter smiles. “You couldn’t look ridiculous even if you tried,” he says before taking a bite of his Porterhouse steak.

I roll my eyes and take a bite of my lobster bisque. It’s a tiny little bowl. Far too tiny for the hefty price tag on it. Whataburger sounds good right now. Taco Bell. McDonald’s McNuggets, even. Hell, I’d even go for the dreaded Burger King. At least they actually give out human sized food to their patrons.

“At least I decided to ditch the Chucks.” I shrug. A lady walks by in a long black, sparkly dress. Her hair is covered by an overly large hat, like one you’d find at the horse races. I think I’d be more comfortable at the horse races, now that I think about it. “Why did you insist we come here?” I ask. “Something less fancy and more wallet friendly wouldn’t have sufficed?”

“This,” he points to his Porterhouse with his fork, “is the best steak you’ll ever eat. And plus, you deserve to go someplace nice every once in a while.”

I look around the restaurant. The servers are in pressed, black slacks and white, crisp button ups. A guy, positioned in the corner, sings while playing the piano. The melodies float through the air like rich little musical notes.

A couple walks by our table, expensive perfume permeates the air. The woman’s chest is puffed out like she owns the place.
Maybe she does.
Her furry coat looks like it came fresh off a black bear. Poor bear. “Maybe she’ll get mauled by the next one before she can wear it.”

“What?” Slayter’s eyebrow cocks in amusement.

I flick my wrist slightly in her direction. “The lady walking? She looks like she’s wearing a bear. I hope the next one attacks the shit out of her. She deserves it.”

He chokes on his water; coughing into his black cloth napkin. “I can’t take you anywhere nice.”

I shrug. “I never asked you to.”

He looks into my eyes. His jaw ticks, like he’s wanting to say something, but he doesn’t. At least not with his mouth, but he’s talking to me alright. He’s yelling at me with each second his gaze burns into me. Each passing second, it becomes more intense, more heated with desire. His gaze falls down my face, landing right where my cleavage peeps out from the V of my shirt. I shift, turning my upper body slightly away from his line of sight. “That’s really not fair. Not fair at all.” He pokes his bottom lip out playfully.

I give him a wink. I enjoy that he can break me down. I enjoy being able to be playful and joke around with him. I’m not a joking person. I have a dry sense of humor, and most days, I have no humor at all. Around him, though, I find the hidden little comic in me. “All’s fair in sex and war.” I blow him a kiss.

“Sex, yeah? We’ll see about that later.”

A waitress walks by our table, her eyes tuned in on Slayter. She stops a few steps past our table before turning around. Her ombré hair whipping around from the swift turn on her heels. As quickly as she moves past our table, she’s back. Her eyes never leaving their lock on Slayter. I can’t say I really blame her. He looks downright edible in his black slacks and white button down that remains unbuttoned at the top two buttons. I know what’s underneath his shirt, and it is everything a woman’s wet dreams are made of. I might not blame her for looking, but that also doesn’t mean I really appreciate the fact.

Uh, hi. I’m right here, bitch.

“How is your dinner?” she purrs. She places her fingers on the edge of the wooden table, tapping them gently.

Slayter’s eyes move from her to me. He smirks as he notices my jaw tightening. My grasp twists tighter around the spoon the longer she goes without acknowledging me. This feeling of jealousy, and possession, washes over me, settling in my gut like the stomach flu. It’s not lost on me how I go through my life trying to remain in the shadows, but right now I want to be front and center. “Our dinner is perfect,” I answer her. Her body finally shifts, noticing me.
About time
. Her demeanor changes from flirtatious to snarky in a heartbeat. “We’d also like our check, too.” I look at Slayter seductively, licking my lips slowly as I reach across the table. Grabbing his hand, I rub my thumb in a circle across his knuckles. Knowing she’s looking at me makes my will to put her in her place grow exponentially. I’m not the same Charlie I usually am. She’s disappeared for the time being. "Dessert is waiting on both of us as soon as we get out of this shit-hole.”

She scoffs, “Well. I’m sorry you feel that way, miss.”

I can tell she’s trying to sound as polite as possible, but her complete distaste for me isn’t getting past me. It’s a good thing I’m not particularly adept at beating around the bush. “Actually, it’s been fabulous. That is, except for the last three minutes, when this rather rude waitress decided to eye my man like he was a lollipop.” At this point, Slayter slams several hundred dollar bills on the table, his amused eyes never leaving mine. I stand up, scooting my chair underneath the table. Leaning in to the waitress, I whisper, “He is, but I’m the only one who will be licking him.”

With a wink, I grab Slayter’s hand and walk to the elevators.

As soon as the doors close, every bit of steel lady balls I just grew dissipates. My bulletproof stature crumbles as Slayter stares down at me. I can’t believe I just did that. “Holy sh—“

His lips crash against mine, shutting me up, as he pushes me back against the rear wall of the elevator. His tongue glides in my mouth as his hands cup the nape of my neck. I kiss him back, relishing the way this spontaneity makes me feel.

When I’m with him, he brings me up, makes me feel alive. I just hope and pray one day I won’t
need
him to make me feel alive.

I want to be the reason my feet stay firmly planted. I want to be my own strength.

I want to be able to rely on myself.

He nips the bottom of my lip, releasing me, as the elevator door slides open.

I’m left absolutely breathless.

Maybe I’ll work on relying on myself tomorrow…

“Want some?” I hold out a spoon of ice cream to Charlie.