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My professors carried on about their lessons, but I wasn’t treated the same as everyone else. I always came away with As. I never got criticism. I never got reprimands.
They’d never smile at me or give me gentle corrections or tell me where I’d got it wrong.
This is why I need these men—these misfits.
Scribbling a few notes into my notebook, I begin to follow along with the man when I hear a noise, and a second later, Phoenix walks in. He has his hand on the wall, and he follows a line to the liquor cabinet. He knows I’m watching him—he always knows. But he doesn’t acknowledge me as he picks up a crystal glass, places his finger just inside the rim, then pours amber whiskey until it reaches the edge of his nail.
He takes a long drink before he sighs, then turns to me. “Do you want to practice with me?”
My eyes go wide. “You can sign? Like, regular sign?”
“Yes,” he says a little sharply, then seems to think better of himself. He’s a little less snappy with me when I approach his limitations than he was when I first arrived. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve done damn near depraved things since then.
But maybe it’s just that he trusts me a little more.
“I prefer the tap method, but I made sure to learn tactile sign.” Crossing the rest of the distance between us, he stops at the edge of the sofa and holds his hand out and moves it like he’s searching for something. It takes me a second to realize he’s looking for me.
“I’m on the other side.”
Setting his drink on the table, Phoenix pauses at the furthest cushion, then leans over at the waist, his fingers skimming the fabric until they touch my knee. I jolt, the feeling rushing through me kind of hot and needy. I know a lot of it is my sheer and visceral relief that things will get back to…well, maybe not the way theywere, because this is still all very new for me. But the way they’re supposed to be.
I shift a little as Phoenix sits, and though he’s a massive beast, he still hooks one knee up on the cushion between us and holds out both hands with his palms facing each other. “Put the backs of your hands against mine.”
His palms are soft, and they warm my chilled skin almost immediately. When his thumbs stroke the sides of my fingers, my breath leaves me in a rush. His lips curl into a smirk like he knows what he’s doing—the bastard—and then he urges my hands to turn a little so my fingers are pointing toward him.
“Show me what you’ve already learned.”
I do. It’s simple shit. ‘Hi, my name is Alice. I live here. Where do you live. I’m a student.’
He chuckles and shakes his head as his hands move along with mine. “Not bad, princess, but we’re going to have to teach you how to beg if you really want to impress Ari.”
I swallow thickly. I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who would get all hot and bothered about someone putting me on my knees and making me beg, but staring up into Phoenix’s face, I can picture it. He hasn’t gotten too rough with me, or too demanding, but I think there’s something lurking inside him that wants to.
I think he wants to make me cry a little, and it doesn’t scare me the way it should.
“Do you beg him?”
He laughs, the sound low and rumbly. “No. He begs me. Ari needs a firm hand and a tight grip to keep him from spiraling, and believe me, we’re all happy to provide. He’d probably kneel for you, sweet thing.” His right hand leaves mine, cupping my face and drawing a line over my bottom lip with his thumb. My mouth opens just a fraction, and he holds the pads of his fingers there like he’s feeling for my breath. “I think I might like to have you both at my feet.”
Jesus. My body and brain are currently at war because while I want it, I can’t seem to stay still or focused knowing that they’re going to be home soon. Phoenix takes pity on me after a beat, and he returns his hand to mine and encourages me to keep going.
The video starts up again, and with his careful corrections, I make it through the first hour-long lesson before his phone starts to ring.
And that’s when panic sets in.
I watch his face—drawn and stoic as he talks to James. He paces the room, his hand tapping on various surfaces like he’s counting his steps, and while he appears calm, his knuckles are starting to turn white, and I can see a vein in his temple pulsing.
Something’s wrong.
“Alice,” he says, and I glance over. He’s not off the phone yet, instead holding it to his shoulder. “I need you to go upstairs for a little while.”
My eyes widen, and I hop to my feet. “Are you kidding me?”
His entire posture changes. Suddenly, he’s not a playful lover. Suddenly, he’s dangerous and demanding respect. “Do as I say.”
“Is someone…”
“Do as I say,” he repeats. He doesn’t shout. In fact, his voice just goes quieter, and that’s more unsettling than anything else. Clearly, we’re in danger—or something like it, and I need to remember that I might be trained, but Phoenix is a killer.
