Chapter 14: The Kiss that Started Everything
Catherine wasn't sure what had come over her. Perhaps it was some spell all its own—a kind of witchcraft she hadn't prepared for, a magic more potent than anything she'd ever encountered. From the moment she first met Phoenix, she had felt the pull—a strange, urgent awareness of him that defied logic and reason. Now, alone with him in the hushed intimacy of his bedroom, that pull had become a force of nature, stronger and sharper than ever before, like a live wire winding around her heart and burrowing deep into her bones.
It didn't matter that he was devil-kissed, or cursed, or that something dark was twisting its roots inside him. None of it mattered in this moment of raw, electric connection. And somehow, without words, without explanation, she knew he sensed it too. That odd feeling of knowing without knowing, of familiarity in the unfamiliar, of coming home to a place she'd never been. His gaze, dark and intense, burned into her, unwavering, felt like a promise etched in starfire. It was as though he'd been waiting for her alone in this lifetime, maybe for more—as if all of time and space had conspired to bring them to this moment, this connection. The thought shook her to her very core, sent tremors through her body that she couldn't control. Something raw and ancient rose within her, a need so profound and overwhelming that it left her skin burning, aching for his touch with an urgency that bordered on pain.
Being here, alone with him, hearing him open up about the darkness that plagued him, it did something to her—awoke something primal and untamed that she'd never known existed within her. Her body hummed with an energy she couldn't explain, every nerve ending alive and singing for him. She wanted to blame it on the alcohol, on the fact that they were wrapped in the quiet hush of midnight, their defenses lowered by the intimacy of darkness. But she couldn't. She couldn't excuse away the magnetic pull between them, couldn't rationalize the way her entire being yearned for him.
She couldn't explain the way her fingers twisted in his hair, desperate and needy, as her lips crashed into his with a hunger that shocked her. Her body moved of its own accord as he threw her back onto his bed, the kiss deepening, intensifying, as his weight pressed into her. The feel of him against her sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins. Their bodies, as if guided by some ancient memory, some cosmic dance, molded together perfectly, fitting as though they were two halves of a whole finally reunited.
A moan escaped her lips before she could hold it back, the sound raw and primal. His name fell from her lips, a desperate whisper, a prayer, a plea. He echoed it back with his own breathless groan, the sound sending shivers down her spine. The heat between them was palpable, electric, like the air before a storm.
It was bad. It was reckless. Terrible. Dangerous.
Wrong, her brain screamed, but the rest of her didn't care. Didn't listen. Couldn't listen when every cell in her body was crying out for his touch, his kiss, his everything.
She'd come here to warn Molly to stay away from him, and now…now she was tangled in his sheets, his hands mapping her curves as if he already knew every inch of her, as if he'd spent lifetimes memorizing the topography of her body. Her fingers found his belt, undid it with a feverish need that felt utterly foreign but completely essential. The feel of him, hard beneath her hand, made her heart thunder, her pulse racing so fast she felt dizzy with want. He arched into her touch, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands ran up her thighs, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His mouth trailed kisses along her neck, each touch of his lips igniting sparks beneath her skin, setting her very soul ablaze.
But then, just as she felt she might combust from the heat between them, he stopped. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tore himself away, the sudden absence of his touch leaving her cold, bereft. "Not like this," he managed, voice rough with desire and restraint as he backed away.
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A chill slipped over her in his absence, leaving her gasping, trying to catch up to the sudden distance between them. She sat up, a flush of confusion and longing coloring her cheeks, her body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire.
"I want to," he said, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breath. His eyes, dark with desire, roamed over her hungrily, and she could see the battle raging within him. "I really want to. God, Catherine, you have no idea how much I want you. But not like this." He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze finding hers with an intensity that made her insides twist with renewed longing. "I like you, Catherine. More than I should. More than I've ever liked anyone. I want to do this right—I want to court you, take you on a date. I want to savor every moment with you, not rush through this in a haze of alcohol and impulse. Can I? Will you let me show you how much you mean to me?"
Shock rippled through her, mingling with the desire still coursing through her veins. They'd just kissed—she'd just thrown herself at him with a passion she didn't even recognize, and now he wanted to slow down? He was speaking with a tenderness she hadn't expected, a depth of feeling that both thrilled and terrified her. And yet…she couldn't deny it. She wanted this, wanted him in a way that was completely uncharacteristic but felt more real than anything she'd ever experienced.
She nodded slowly, still dazed, feeling her pulse thrumming beneath her skin like a hummingbird's wings. "I'd…like that," she murmured, barely finding her voice. Molly was going to kill her, but she couldn't help the way things had turned out. How could she have known that Phoenix would end up showing her the darkest corners of his soul and she'd be drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like he was the sun and she a planet caught in his orbit?
How could she explain any of this to Molly—or herself—tomorrow? How could she put into words this connection that defied explanation, this pull that seemed to transcend time and space?
"Good." He reached for her hand, his touch sending another pulse of heat through her as he brushed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She felt her heart stutter, her whole body reacting to the small, chaste gesture with an intensity that felt like madness. It was as if every nerve ending in her body had rerouted itself to that single point of contact, his lips on her skin.
"Get comfortable here," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the passion that had consumed them moments before. "I'll take the guest room. Tomorrow, we'll talk about that date."
She nodded, swallowing hard as she reluctantly released his hand, watching him pull back with an aching sense of loss. All this heat, she thought, all this tension, all this cosmic connection, and he's leaving me with a promise of tomorrow. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him as he moved toward the door, drinking in every detail of him, committing this moment to memory.
"Wait," she blurted, feeling the words escape before she could second-guess them. "I have one question."
He paused, looking back at her with a raised brow, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "And what's that?"
"Was my kiss better than the devil's?" The question hung in the air between them, charged with meaning and mischief.
A slow, roguish smile spread across his face as he took in her challenge, his gaze sparkling with wicked amusement. "Oh, Catherine," he said with a look that made her toes curl and heat pool low in her belly. "I don't kiss and tell."
Without thinking, she grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, laughter bubbling up in her chest, breaking the tension. He caught it with a smirk, chuckling as he let the pillow fall to the floor. The sound of their shared laughter filled the room, a moment of lightness in the intense, emotionally-charged atmosphere.
"Goodnight, Catherine," he said, voice low and warm, filled with promise. His eyes met hers one last time, conveying without words all the things left unsaid between them. Then he was gone, leaving her with a promise, a smile, and the heat that lingered between them long after he'd left the room.
Catherine fell back onto the bed, her heart racing, her mind reeling. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, and could still taste him on her lips. Tomorrow, she knew, would bring complications, explanations, and difficult conversations. But for now, she let herself bask in the afterglow of their encounter, in the promise of what was to come. Whatever this was between them—this inexplicable, irresistible connection—she knew it was only the beginning.