Page 84 of Phoenix's Last Heist
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I would’ve ripped this place apart to get to you.”
Her fingers curl against the stretchy black fabric of my shirt. “I’m not sure there’d have been anything left of me to find.”
My hands move without thinking—one sliding around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head. She archesslightly, just enough for her body to press closer. Just enough that the thin barrier of clothing between us feels like an insult.
I lean down slowly, touching my forehead to hers. And because I can’t seem to resist any of my buried impulses when it comes to her, I let my lips trail down her hairline, curling around the shell of her ear. Almost gone. She was almost gone.
“You don’t know what you are to me,” I murmur, peppering soft kisses down her ear, trailing down her neck.
Her breath hitches and she shivers, her pulse fluttering beneath my lips.
“Then tell me,” she challenges.
Stars help me. The sound of her voice wrecks me. I’ve spent my life believing control was strength—precision, order, duty. But there’s nothing disciplined about the way I need her. I’ve never wanted anything I couldn’t earn, and yet every cell in my body is begging to be hers.
“On the ship, I never got the chance to explain to you, Lyra…You’re my mate,” I say, and the words leave me raw. “In every way that matters to my kind. My biology…my instincts…they’ve all chosen you. Duty kept me alive. You make me want to live.”
The words tear out of me, raw and reverent. For so long, I’ve carried the weight of my parents’ legacy—their devotion, their sacrifice, the duty that killed them. I thought upholding it was my purpose. But this—her—it’s something deeper. I want to protect her not out of obligation, but because I can’t imagine the universe without her in it. Because I don’t know how to breathe if I’m not breathing her in. Because my whole damn life, I’ve been trying to prove myself worthy of something—and she’s the first thing that’s ever made me believe I already am.
She stares at me, stunned. “Uh, come again?”
I chuckle, because she’s not pulling away, which means maybe, maybe this won’t ruin us.
“It’s a biology thing. My body—my instincts—recognize you as a perfect match for me. I started feeling it back on Xylothia and I wondered…but the more time has passed, the more certain I’ve become. After we had sex, my mating nodes changed. The next time—if there is a next time—it means knotting,” I murmur.
“Knotting,” she echoes, eyes wide. “Like, you’d…”
Her hand snakes down to rub my cock through my pants, and it’s already hard thanks to her extreme proximity.
“Yes,” I hiss when she grips me through the fabric. “The nodes—stars, Lyra, you’re going to kill me if you keep doing that—swell inside you. It’s to increase the likelihood of conception. The heat lasts for hours, but every Xylothian is different. I’ve—I’ve never knotted anyone before.”
“Conception?” her firm strokes slow infinitesimally.
“Not if you don’t want it,” I practically whimper. “Kids, I mean. I can take the pill.”
Her hand resumes the torturous movement, and she reaches up to ghost her lips across the line of my jaw.
“Matehood. That’s not just…a metaphor?” she whispers.
“No. It’s chemical. Semi-permanent. Sacred.”
She pulls back and blinks up at me, lips parting further, and for a second—for one burning, perfect second—I stare at her lips like I can will them to meet mine. The corners of her mouth turn up, and she makes the move.
Her mouth crashes against mine like she’s drowning and I’m the last breath she’ll ever get. Her hands fist in my shirt, yanking me closer, and I’m lost. Her taste is fire and sweetness and everything I’ve been aching for since she was taken.
My hips rock forward before I can stop them, my body responding to hers like it’s instinct. I want her. Ineedher.
And stars save me, she wants me, too.
She grinds once—just once—and it nearly undoes me. Her legs tighten around my thigh, and a low, involuntary sound tears out of her throat, muffled against my mouth.
I’m drowning in her heat, her scent, the heady rush of her skin pressed to mine. My fingers slip under her shirt, tracing the line of her back, the curve of her waist. She gasps when I find bare skin.
But then—BANG!A sharp noise explodes from outside our hiding place. There’s an angry din of voices, cut through with Kraxis’s shouting.
We freeze. In the stifling heat of the closet, we’re both panting, mouths inches apart, hearts slamming in sync. I press my hand gently to her lips, stilling her, and she nods.
Outside, boots stomp past and a door slams. The silence that stretches between us crackles with energy. My forehead stays pressed to hers, and I can still feel her trembling. Not from fear now—from restraint.
