Page 63 of The Fox

A hand grasps the back of my head, fingers curling into my mess of a mane. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a fist tightening in the sheets before my head is forced flush against his pelvis, my gag reflex fighting against his raging cock.

“Goodfuckinggirl. Such a good girl, waking me up like this. Gods, Amelia. That fucking mouth.” His voice is still deep with sleep, eyes closed, but he has completely taken over control. I relax, letting him fuck my throat. My thighs start rubbing in search of relief for the now burning ache deep in my pussy.

His eyes find mine, now hooded with desire as he moves his hand from the sheet to my jaw, caressing it in a knowing way. “Look at you, taking every inch I give you.??”

I hum, the feeling of him in my mouth and his hand on my jaw fixing cracks in my heart I didn’t realize were there. He’d done the same last night, when my demons started creeping in and my mind began to slip into my past. Rhodes has a way of making me stay present, and I love the gentle dominance his affection is laced with.

“Do you need me, pretty girl? Is that pussy soaked for me?”Gods that voice.I shift, taking him deeper into my mouth, loving the way his body reacts to me. I make him lose control and knowing I have this power makes me feel invincible.

It isn’t long before he explodes into my mouth, the saltiness of him coating my throat. I pull off him, licking the small drop that is still on his cock, before sitting up and wiping my lips with a finger. I lift up onto my knees as Rhodes leans forward, sucking my finger into his mouth and biting the tip softly. I gasp, making him chuckle before pulling me to him.

“We should probably talk about last night, Amelia.” His eyes scan mine and as much as I want to shrink from the conversation, I know I cannot. We do need to talk about a lot of things and this may be the only time we get the chance before everything implodes.

“Okay. I need coffee though.”

Rhodes stands from the bed. He is completely naked and I have the pleasure of watching his ass wiggle as he walks from our bedroom. I trace the firm planes of his back, the dips of muscle giving way to strong definition. I settle back against the pillows, pulling the blanket up over my body, and wait for him to return.

I should probably check my phone, but I can’t bring myself to. I want to stay here in this bubble for a little while longer. For so long, I have been alone. Yes, I have Duncan, and Parker is irreplaceable, but I have been an island. Until Rhodes. He barreled himself through every line of defense, beating my demons away, and made sure that I have never felt the need to second guess where I stand.

I can be soft when I am with him. I can submit to him because I know he has me. Out there, Ihaveto be Amelia Conte. But when it is just him and I? I can justbe.

I hear him rustling around in the kitchen, a slow smile dawning on my face as I realize that he is making my coffee. I spot the book he was reading last night, and I grab it. This book is well loved, the cover slightly tattered, and it smells like there is a history within its pages. I smile softly before turning to the dog eared page. The page is worn, and he’s underlined various parts of the passage.This means something to him.Glancing at the doorway to make sure Rhodes isn’t coming, I begin reading where he had left off.

When was the last time you exhaled?

Fully releasing that breath you’ve been holding and letting those shoulders

drop.

When was the last time you erupted, a loud presence

held sacred by your inner lioness? A resounding confirmation that you are still here.

I peek back up, not seeing him, so I continue. Rhodes has underlined this next part.

You are made of stardust and cosmic divinity.

Your bones are crafted from a lineage of unbreakable women,

of witches, steadfast and knowing.

You are of incredible power, not bound by the tethers of this earth or the next,

but rather rooted in the strings of fate that guide you home.

Perhaps you’ve merely forgotten.

The dance of your soul has not.

My name is written in the margins, and I bring my hand to my mouth in disbelief. Not only is this a beautiful piece of writing but then to see my name, in his handwriting nonetheless, next to it? I feel the back of my eyes burn. I hurriedly wipe the tears forming with my fingers. I don’t need to ruin Rhodes’ book with my tears.

“You found it.”

I look up to find Rhodes leaning against the doorframe, two mugs in hand and the adoration in his eyes makes me start crying again. “What is this?” I ask, holding the book gingerly in my lap. He comes toward me, holding out my mug, and grabbing the book when I take the coffee from him.

“This,” Rhodes gestures to the book, “is a collection of poems that my mother enjoyed. She often said that we are legacies of lineages crafted from stars. When I read this piece, I thought of you. There are collections in here, ones that I have memorized because they remind me of her, but this one? This one is reserved for the woman I love. You.”

He crawls into bed beside me, taking my hand in his. “How do you feel, baby?” The question is innocent, but the weight behind it is not. I don’t really know how I feel, and I suspect I won’t for a long time.

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