Don't Be Scared by AJ Merlin

Author:AJ Merlin [Merlin, AJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781955540315
Published: 2023-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

“I’m not keeping you here,” I murmur into the darkness. “I’m not doing anything—” I break off with a hiss when his teeth sink into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and I can feel him sucking a mark into existence on my skin to prove that he was there.

My hands reach up to do something—whether that’s to stop him or motivate him to keep going, I’m better off not knowing—but Phoenix catches them, fumbling in the darkness until he’s holding my wrists again, his body still pinning my legs to the ground.

“Rory,” he warns, his voice sounding forced and more than a little strange. “What are you doing?”

“What you’ve wanted to do since you left her in this shitty town,” Rory replies hotly. “Besides, she clearly doesn’t want me to stop.” He kisses up my jaw, nipping at my lip to draw a whimper from me.

“How do you know?” I ask, making the mistake of turning into him, our mouths brushing when I form the words.

But he doesn’t pull away. He stays there, so I feel every shape of every word when he says, “Because if you wanted me to stop, you’d tell Phoenix a name. Don’t play dumb. You know who you want to see dead in this town just as much as he does. If you don’t like this, then give us one. We’ll kill them, anyway. You’re barely contributing at all.”

Yeah, but there’s a big difference between not contributing and barely contributing. Like, jail time difference. I open my mouth to present my argument, knowing it won’t convince him anyway, until Phoenix moves, his shape only barely visible as he shifts to press one knee between my thighs, shoving them wide enough that he can sit between them with my knees on either side of his waist.

I kick at him, surprised at whatever the hell he’s doing, but with how he’s sitting, I can’t even do that much. Hell, I barely feel balanced with the way I’m perched between them, most of my weight on Rory’s chest as he holds me against him.

“What are you doing, Phoenix?” I demand, hating the small waver in my voice that belies the fear I feel.

“Making sure Rory doesn’t hurt you, obviously,” he scoffs. “Making you play your part, if we’re being technical.” I have no idea what he means for all of two seconds, until he releases my hands to grip my waist, gloves sliding against the skin that’s been exposed from how Rory holds the fabric of my hoodie in his grip.

“Why?” I demand, feeling more than seeing him as he leans in. My brain is frantic and scattered—I wonder if I’m dead or dying and this is the fancy fever dream my mind has created to keep me from realizing it.

But if this is a dream, then why are they so warm? Why can I feel the pressure of his knee that rubs at the apex of my thighs, and the discomfort of my protesting

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