Chapter 19: Play with the Phantom: Chapter 17

Ari

Light, early-morning sleep envelops me, allowing me to sink deeper into the warm duvet. I feel like I’m floating in that calm, halfway space between being asleep and being awake, where time seems to disappear. The place where hours feel like minutes, and everything feels cozy and comforting. At first, I assume it’s the duvet brushing against my skin, awakening my senses just slightly.But then something pulls the duvet down my body slowly, and something grazes the curve of my hip, tracing slow, deliberate lines that pull me from the comfortable depths of sleep. My breath catches, the fog in my mind thinning as awareness creeps in.I shift, my body instinctively responding, even as confusion flickers at the edges of my consciousness. The sheets feel different. The air feels charged. And that touch—possessive, unhurried—isn’t my own.A shiver rolls through me, my pulse kicking up as my senses fully awaken. The bed dips beside me, a slow shift in weight. Not an accident.Someone is here.And I can’t move. Not out of fear—not entirely. But because somewhere, deep in the marrow of my bones, I know who it is.My skin burns where he’s touched me, a ghost of heat lingering even as his hand stills.His breath fans against my cheek, and I catch the faintest trace of Maddox’s scent. Leather. Musk. The slightest hint of pine.I swallow, my breath hitching, my body tensing beneath the heavy weight of realization. A tremor rolls through me, and as if sensing it, his fingers flex against my skin, pressing just a little harder. He grips me with a slow, possessive squeeze against my hip.The heat of his breath ghosts over my temple, and then—a whisper. “Shh.”A single syllable, barely audible, but I feel it more than I hear it.I blink into the darkness, my body frozen in place, halfway between fear and something dangerously close to excitement.I try to steady my breathing, to slow the rapid drum of my pulse.But then his fingers move again.A slow, measured drag over the exposed skin of my thigh that will be the death of me. Not pushing. Not taking. Just reminding.I exhale shakily, my body betraying me. My thighs clench together as my breath stutters. He shifts beside me, solid and inescapable, the heat of his body pressing against my spine.His presence isn’t just close.It’s everywhere.A calloused finger traces the dip of my waist. Lazy. , like he has all the time in the world. As it slowly dives lower, through my dark curls to the pulsing bud I need him to touch more than my next breath, a ragged whimper escapes my lips.UnhurriedAnd just like that, reality cracks through the haze. Asher.The reminder stings, sharp and sudden, slicing through the heat curling low in my stomach. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t want this. But then Maddox’s finger dips lower, circles exactly where I need him most, and the guilt?It shatters.It drowns beneath the ache of how much I want to see what happens. The pressure coils tighter, hotter, until there’s nothing left but need.No logic.No rules.Just .himA satisfied hum rumbles in his chest. “Good girl. So needy for me. Now, turn around.”Twisting my body out of his grip, I turn around as I try not to get tangled in my sheets. When I do, my breath hitches when I see him laying down next to me.Tonight, he’s dressed in black. A hoodie. Dark jeans.My pulse quickens, heat curls low in my stomach.The bedroom isn’t pitch dark tonight. I forgot to close the curtains. The soft glow of the streetlight outside filters through the window, casting just enough light to see him. My eyes catalog the familiar blue eyes. The sharp cheekbones. The faint crease between his brows.The tattoos… the smile.wicked My brows knit in confusion as his hand comes to my mouth. His thumb presses against my lips, insistent, until I part them without thinking. The salty taste of his skin floods my senses, and shame curls hot and sharp in my chest.The audacity.The sheer, unrelenting arrogance of him.And yet my tongue presses against his thumb as if it’s welcoming it into my mouth.I glare at him in the dark as I suck his thumb deeper into my mouth—not because I want to give him the satisfaction, but because I want to defy him in the only way I know how. A silent, dangerous dare.My body betrays me, hungry for him, even now. Even when I should be disgusted. Even when I should be thinking about Asher and the fact that he and his parents are just down the hall.I should pull away. I should bite down. I should shove him off me and tell him I am done playing whatever game this is.But I don’t. Because I’m tired.Tired of doing the right thing. Tired of choosing the safer option. Tired of pretending I don’t want more.But tired doesn’t mean weak. Not tonight.My heart pounds, furious and desperate all at once. Because he didn’t come last night. And I hate that it bothers me. I should be grateful that he stayed away. But instead, I tossed and turned, restless, aching for something I’m not supposed to want.The guilt is sharp, but it isn’t sharp enough to make me stop.His thumb slips from my mouth, and when he drags it down the center of my throat—slow, possessive—I shudder like it’s the first time anyone has ever touched me there.“You missed me,” he says low, his breath warm against my temple. “Didn’t you?”I don’t answer. I . If I speak, I’ll unravel.can’tBecause I did.I really fucking missed the way he makes me feel small—protected. .DesiredBut that familiar pang of guilt crops up again. I’m supposed to be loyal. Good. Reliable. The strong one. The one who never lets her guard down.But here, with him, I’m allowed to be selfish. Allowed to want.“I didn’t,” I try, but the words are too soft, too unsure.“You don’t have to lie,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along the shell of my ear. “I get it. You didn’t want to miss me.” He pauses as his hand flattens against my rib cage, warm and anchoring. “But you did.”My breath hitches. He says it like it’s not something I should be ashamed of, and if I wasn’t so pissed, I might find that refreshing.His fingers trail down to my waist, his palm splaying over my hip.“Tell me no,” he whispers. “And I’ll walk away.”Silence stretches between us. My pulse pounds against his fingertips; he must feel how violently my heart is betraying me, how hard I’m trying to stay still, to keep control.But there is no control. Not with him. Not here. Not when every inch of me is screaming to let go.The worst part? He knows it. His smirk tells me so. His touch tells me so. And when his thumb brushes lower, just enough to feel the trembling anticipation on my lower hip, I snap.“Fuck you,” I hiss, the words tumbling out sharp and helpless, laced with frustration, hunger, and something dangerously close to surrender.And that scares the fuck out of me.I rip my wrist from his grasp, moving back like I can put distance between us, between this pull that refuses to let up.But his hand shoots forward, gripping my wrist.The movement is smooth—effortless.He’s not holding me back, exactly. It’s more like he’s reminding me who’s in control.“Let go of me,” I growl.Another dark chuckle. Richer this time, like he’s enjoying this. Like he knows exactly how this is going to end.“I’ll let go…” He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. “…if you can prove you’re not already soaking for me.”The bastard.I shift my hips and squeeze my thighs together, and I can how soaked I already am.feel My lips press together, and he smiles again.“Thought so.”“Screw you⁠—”But before the words fully leave my lips, his hand is on my mouth.Firm. Possessive. Daring me to .biteI stare up at him, my breath coming in short, sharp pants. His fingers flex against my jaw, a slow, indulgent press of control.“You can try to fight me, little warrior.” His voice is low, rough velvet, dragging over my skin like a promise. “I know that’s what you do. What you’ve always done.” His other hand traces my collarbones, trailing lower, his fingertips skimming my bare skin. “Always carrying everything. Always in control. Always making the decisions. Always settling, melding yourself into what other people expect of you instead of fighting for what you deserve.”A slow, calculated drag of his knuckles down my throat.“But you don’t have to do that with me.”My chest rises, lungs straining to hold in the oxygen. I suddenly forget how to breathe. He leans in farther, his lips barely brushing the shell of my ear.“You don’t need to fight me, Ari. And I know you don’t want to.” A shiver rolls through me. “You don’t need to think.” His grip locks just enough to make my pulse stutter. “Not with me.”I swallow hard, my body caught somewhere between surrender and defiance.His mouth grazes the curve of my jaw, his next words slow, precise, devastating.“Let me take care of you.”