Page 111 of Double Down
Phoenix kisses me like absolution,and I answer like a desperate man who plans to keep sinning. I don’t deserve it—but fuck it, I’m taking it anyway.
I release her wrists, and my hands go straight to her hips as her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer and refusing to let me go. A small, wishful part of me hopes that the way she holds me—sweet and greedy—means she wants this as much as I do.
There’s nothing to do but give in to her demand. With both hands braced on her hips, I slide her up the wall, her legs locked around my waist while I devour her mouth.
Heat radiates from her through thin leggings and my slacks. There is nothing I won’t give for her, even though I know I don’t deserve her.
This woman sees straight through to the parts of me I never show. She knows who I am, and she still stays. I don’t understand it.
The others want her just as fiercely, but somehow she burns for me just the same as she does them.
Conrad’s not here with his rules and demands. Atticus isn’t here with his games. Storm isn’t here with his brooding need. It’s just me. Only me.
And her body burns for me.
“Maverick,” she whimpers. The need in her voice cuts through me. I did this. I made her doubt.
I said things—almost did things—just to hurt her. Vile things I can’t take back, but maybe I can atone.
Her shampoo surrounds me, wiping out the stale coffee and desperation clinging from that other woman. The taste of Phoenix—warm vanilla and honey—replaces the whiskey, and I lose myself in her.
It’s always been her. Since that first day. How could I think for a second that anyone else could ever come close?
“Firebird,” I breathe when I break the kiss.
“Take me to your room, Maverick,” she begs. “Please.”
She starts to lower her legs, but I haul her tighter, lift her clean off the wall, and carry her like she weighs nothing. I’m not letting go—not until she’s in my bed, not until every wicked word I threw at her is forgotten.
“I’m still mad,” she says, as if reading my mind.
“I know. You should be.” I shoulder into my room and kick the door shut. This is for her and me—no one else.
“Good. You should know.”
“I do.” I lay her back on my sheets, not letting go until her head finds my pillow and her hair fans out beneath her. I press kisses down her throat. “Do you want to talk first?”
“No. We’ll talk after. Right now I need you.” The honesty in her eyes almost breaks me.
“Firebird, I?—”
She sets her palm over my mouth. “I know. But you can tell me anyway…after. Right now I need you to show me.”
I nod, kiss her palm, then place her hand on my chest so she can feel how hard my heart hammers—only for her.
She keeps one hand there and takes my hand in hers, pressing it over her heart. “Do you feel that?”
It thunders in her chest.
“I do,” I admit.
“I’m trusting you. Don’t break it,” she whispers, eyes locked on mine.
I don’t understand how someone like her exists. How she sees me through the bullshit and under the mask I’ve perfected for years.
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t trust me with something so fragile. I’ll hurt you. I’ll disappoint you like I do everyone else.”
I brace for pity, for disgust, for anything that makes me smaller. I get neither—only understanding and iron determination.
