Play with the Phantom (Midnight, #2)

by Amanda Richardson

I twist off the cap. I should clean up. I should stop. A satisfied smirk tugs at my lips as I dip my fingers into my own mess and let a few large drops slide inside the bottle, swirling it into the pale golden liquid. When she wakes up, she’ll have no idea what she’s rubbing into her skin. But I will. And every time she touches her wrist, every time she catches a whiff of that sweet, familiar scent, she’ll be wearing me. Carrying me. Marking herself as mine

“Angel, the only way I’d ever hurt you is if you begged me for it. If you got on your knees, looked up at me with those pretty, desperate eyes, and asked me nicely.”

She’s mine to take care of now. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

But the ocean? It doesn’t care about expectations. It crashes. It swells. It devours and gives and takes without asking for permission. Maybe that’s why I always felt drawn to it.

“Come on, angel,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you back on solid ground.” I haven’t been on solid ground since we met, I think.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.” I reach out, brushing my knuckles against her cheek. Softly. Slowly. “You don’t have to carry everything alone.” She swallows hard, her breath shaky. “And who’s going to carry it for me?” I don’t hesitate. “Me.”

“You’re impossible.” I tilt my head, my voice dipping lower. “I’m inevitable.”

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill, asshole.” Maddox smirks, his fingers gripping my hips possessively as he pulls out and watches his release spill from me. His thumb drags through the mess between my thighs, pushing it back inside with slow, deliberate pressure. “Lucky?” he murmurs darkly, his gaze burning into mine. “I don’t think so. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be on the pill at all.” He leans in, his breath hot against my ear as his fingers press deeper, making sure none of it goes to waste. “I’d fill you up again and again until you were dripping with me. Until your body knew who it belonged to.”

She’s the one thing I didn’t plan for, not really. Not like this. She’s the chaos I didn’t see coming, the storm I thought I could tame, but now? I don’t want to. I just want to stand in the middle of it and burn

“You think it’s real?” “I think you think it is. And that’s enough.” She pauses, watching me. “But also? You’re scared shitless.” “I am,” I whisper, and it feels like a confession. She grabs my hand and squeezes. “Good. That means it matters. The right kind of love doesn’t always feel safe. Sometimes it feels like a hurricane you can’t survive. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it breaks down all the bullshit so you can finally build something real.”

“If you weren’t already knocked up,” I growl, “I’d be coming inside you so hard you wouldn’t stop dripping for days.”