To Breathe Again

Chapter 45 - Fighting for Her

Trent's POV

A whole fucking week. It's been a torturous, agonizing week since I last held her in my arms. The cabin feels empty—too quiet without her laughter, her voice filling every corner. Grant and I have been working non-stop, combing through surveillance footage, chasing down every lead, dissecting every report that crosses my desk, all in a desperate attempt to figure out where the hell she is. This isn't my first missing person case—I know the statistics. The chances of finding her alive shrink with each passing day. Less than 50% at this point. But I refuse to give up. We all do. Grant, Sammy... we'd know if she were gone. Something in our souls would tell us. But right now, all we feel is a fierce determination.

She's strong—stronger than she ever gave herself credit for. She always thought she was fragile, but she doesn't know how wrong she was. She can survive this. I know she will. She'll fight for us, for the love she's always protected with the fierceness of a tiger. The only time I've ever seen her submit, ever seen her let go of control, was by choice—in the bedroom. My mind keeps replaying the last night we had alone together, a memory I cling to desperately as I miss her more and more.

FLASHBACK

It had been a hell of a week. I'd been stuck babysitting a high-ranking politician, ensuring his every move was protected, not to mention catering to his constant demands. He finally flew back to DC, and I was dead on my feet, feeling like I could sleep for a week. Why is it that the people who are supposed to be servants of the public are often the most entitled? Divas, the lot of them. Our forefathers would roll in their graves if they saw the state of it all, but that's neither here nor there.

Grant and Sammy had left for the day, "running errands," which left me and Phoenix alone. I knew what they were doing—giving us some time. I appreciated it. I needed the rest, but more than that, I needed her.

I walked into the kitchen and saw her cleaning up, prepping for dinner. Quietly, I stepped behind her and leaned in close, my breath grazing her ear. "Hello, my beautiful Phoenix," I whispered.

She jumped at my nearness, then spun around with that radiant smile of hers. "Trent!" she cried, throwing her arms around my neck. "I missed you." And then she kissed me, like I'd been gone for months. Hell, a man could get used to that kind of reception. Maybe I should work more insane weeks like this.

I kissed her back, deepening it, lifting her off the floor until her legs wrapped around my waist. I set her gently on the counter, leaning back to take her in. She was dressed in a loose tank top and pajama shorts, her hair tied up in a messy bun with stray strands framing her face. She wasn't wearing any makeup—just her, naturally beautiful—and the faint scent of lavender told me she'd recently stepped out of the shower.

"Phoenix," I murmured, "I've got a little surprise for you. Come with me?" I watched her eyes light up as she nodded and slid off the counter, taking my hand. I led her down the hallway to my room, and when I opened the door, I stepped behind her, lowering my lips to her ear again. "I think you need a nice, full-body massage, don't you?" I whispered, drawing out the words. I felt her shiver in response.

"Yes, Master," she breathed, and just like that, my cock stirred to life. I swear, she doesn't know what she does to me, what she does to all of us.

In the room, I'd set up my foldaway massage table at the end of the bed, leaving plenty of space to move around. Candles flickered on nearly every surface, casting a soft, warm glow. The lights were off, a fan hummed gently, and a video of a babbling brook played softly in the background. The air was filled with the scent of bergamot and lavender. I was determined to take care of her, to make her feel worshiped and cherished.