Chapter 216
The night air is thick with the scent of roasted fish, spiced kelp, and something sweet that reminds me of honey. The deck of the Nereid is alive with laughter, the clinking of cups, and the distant sound of music playing from a worn-out radio someone must have scavenged.
The gentle sway of the ship beneath my feet is a steady reminder of where we are, but for the first time in weeks, the tension in my shoulders has loosened. It's a celebration—a well-earned moment of peace before we dive headfirst into the next battle, the next mission, the next storm looming over us.
Wake is across the deck, deep in conversation with Tai and Tyler, his face set in that intense way of his. Even when he’s relaxed, there’s a sharpness to him, a readiness that never quite leaves. But every few moments, his eyes flick to me, dark and hungry, sending a familiar heat curling low in my stomach. He doesn’t smile, but the weight of his gaze is enough to make my pulse skitter.
I pretend not to notice at first, making conversation with Cora and Andreas, sipping the cool, citrusy drink in my hand, but the way Wake is watching me? It makes my skin prickle with anticipation. My fingers tighten around the cup as I try to ignore the way my heart beats a little faster every time I catch his gaze lingering.
I don’t realize I’ve been mirroring his game until I catch the smirk tugging at his lips. The moment I see it, a thrill runs down my spine. He knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
The crew is too caught up in their revelry to pay us much attention as I slip away from the gathering, making my way down the dimly lit corridor leading to our quarters. My heart pounds, the anticipation thrumming through my veins like a living thing. I don’t have to look back to know that Wake is already following. I can feel his presence like a force of nature, his energy crackling against mine even before he reaches me.
I barely make it inside the cabin before strong hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him. Wake’s breath is warm against my ear as he murmurs, “You’ve been teasing me all night.”
I shiver, tilting my head as his lips brush the sensitive skin of my neck. “And you’ve been staring at me like you want to devour me whole.”
He chuckles, low and dangerous. “Maybe I do.”
The air between us is electric, charged with everything we’ve been holding back throughout the night. I turn in his arms, pressing up on my toes to capture his lips in a kiss that is anything but patient. It’s hungry, desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that leaves me breathless.
Wake lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he presses me against the door, his grip firm but reverent, like he can’t decide if he wants to worship me or ruin me. Maybe both.
His fingers trace the hem of my shirt, lifting it just enough for his calloused hands to skim over my bare skin, setting fire to every nerve in my body. I arch into him, gasping as his lips trail down the column of my throat. His touch ignites something deep within me, something primal and impossible to ignore.
He groans as I press closer, letting my fingers explore the broad planes of his back. The ridges of his muscles tighten beneath my touch, his body coiled with restraint. His hands slip lower, gripping my hips as he presses himself against me. Every movement, every breath between us is heavy with an intensity that makes my skin burn.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes against my lips, his voice rough, his control fraying at the edges.
I shake my head, threading my fingers through his hair. “Don’t you dare.”
His restraint snaps.
The world outside fades—the feast, the music, the looming war. For now, there is only us, tangled together in the quiet sanctuary of the cabin, lost in the kind of passion that makes everything else seem insignificant.
Wake moves us to the bed, lowering me onto the mattress with a care that contradicts the urgency in his movements. His hands trace the curves of my body, memorizing every inch as if he’s afraid to forget. His lips ghost along my collarbone, trailing heat in their wake, each kiss slower, more deliberate than the last.
I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside before returning to me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, grounding me. His touch is reverent, fingers skimming my sides, tracing the curve of my waist, as if he’s savoring every moment, committing it to memory.
His kisses deepen, becoming more urgent, more consuming. I feel myself melting into him, letting go of everything except the way he makes me feel—whole, wanted, safe.
His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs as he settles between them, and I let out a breathless laugh as he smirks down at me. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I murmur, tugging him closer. “Everything.”
He presses his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. “You drive me insane.”
“Good.”
Wake chuckles, shaking his head before capturing my lips again, and I lose myself in the feeling of him, the taste of him, the absolute certainty that no matter what happens next, we’ll face it together.
Tonight, we are not warriors or fugitives or heirs to something greater than ourselves.
Tonight, we are just Phoebe and Wake. And for now, that’s all we need to be.
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