Page 29 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

“Not needed.” I squirm beside him, my thoughts drifting to the man on stage. “Thanks, though.” Placing a quick peck on his cheek, I stand up, stuff my hands in my pockets, and nod to the back exit. “See you later.”

What if he doesn’t show?

Honestly, when it comes to Phoenix, it’s probable.

He hasn’t forgiven me for last year, and I don’t know that he should, either. It’s funny how huge chunks of my memory vanish; the things I do get lost in time like they never happened. But that day, I remember so clearly. I remember every word, every horrible thing I did, and how I made him suffer through it. In reality, it was just a bad breakup. I think he knows that, too.

On an emotional level, especially for him, it was as close to death as one gets.

I pace the empty storage room I’m in, thankful I scouted it out earlier and knew no one would come back here during the show. After I left Leon, I shot Phoenix a text telling him where I was. It’s been twenty minutes, though. Headhunter is on stage by now, and their first song is almost over. Time is running out. I pull out my phone and check for any texts. He hasn’t responded or told me to fuck off, which means he’s debating. What is there to debate?

I felt him out there. I saw how his morals switched off while imagining everything we used to do.

If he does come, I don’t know that I want to fuck in here. Not that I mind him sweaty and dirty because I could care less about that—I want hours with him. Days. Weeks. A few minutes in a storage room isn't going to satiate my need for Phoenix, not by a long shot.

I stare at the door, my heart racing.

Come on, baby. Come to me.

Despite what happened between us, I doubt there will ever be a day I don’t view him as mine. Even if he does move on and finds that person to give him the future he wants—the person that gives him forever—Phoenix Sawyer will always be mine.

I’ve claimed parts of him no one else has or ever will.

My legs cramp from burning a trench in the tile, so I lean against the folding table on the back wall. I cross my arms over my chest so I don’t appear nervous and wait. More minutes pass, too long. He’s come to his senses, clearly. He’s realized that I’m not worth the powder to blow me to hell with. He’s decided that nothing I can do tonight will erase the scars I’ve given him. He’s—

The door creaks open. My lips part slightly, my chest tight with anticipation.

Phoenix steps into the room, his shirt back on and hair pulled into a low ponytail. He closes the door, hand glued to the knob for a few seconds before he pushes the lock. My cock perks up in my jeans while my stomach flip-flops. I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to creep closer to me. He doesn’t move and barely breathes. His eyes are on his feet, jaw ticking.

Long seconds pass before he eventually lifts them, revealing his lust and vulnerability.

I take a step forward at the same moment he does. Cocking my head and arching a brow, I wet my lips, and Phoenix fucking snaps just like before. He rushes me like he does in all my fantasies, curls his long arms around me, and hikes me up onto his waist. I crash down on his mouth, digging my fingers in his hair and prying apart his lips with my tongue. The folded table crashes to the floor as he slams me into the wall. I cling to him, swallowing his moans and tasting the salt from his sweat.

“Is this what you want?” he growls, thrusting his hips up and latching onto my neck. The slick heat of his tongue over my tattoo and the weight of his chest crushing mine has me dizzy. “Need me to help you fuck over another person?” He bites me and sucks.

“Shut up,” I rasp, seeking his mouth again.

Using the wall to keep me where he wants me, he shoves his hands under my shirt, the blunt edge of his nails scratching at my sides. I hiss through the sting, pulling harder on his hair.

Fuck yes.

He pinches my nipple between his fingers and sucks my tongue into his mouth. My eyes roll in my head. Nothing feels like Phoenix.Nothing.And when he’s angry like he is now, it’s even better. I shimmy off his waist to land on my feet and reach between us to cup his dick.

Lowering his head to rest it against mine, he watches while I stroke him through his jeans. “That’s it, baby. You missed me, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you,” he spits, grinding into my hand like a little slut.

I kiss him hard. The sound of his zipper so loud mingled with our breaths. His big hands hold either side of my head with bruising pressure while I stuff mine into his pants. My fingers curl around his cock, pumping him fast. Precum quickly coats my palm, his foreskin gliding over the fat head. He’s so hard, so responsive to every movement. He whimpers when I stroke my thumb over his slit, applying the slightest pressure.

“Let me suck you,” I say against his lips. “Don’t tell me no.”

“No,” he mutters but keeps fucking my hand. “I don’t want that cum dumpster on me.”

My stomach sinks a little, but I ignore it. “Liar,” I scold and drop to my knees.

He palms the wall over me, eyes wild as I lick up his shaft. “Am I going to catch something?” Fuck, he’s being meaner than I remember.

I glance up at him, kiss the weeping tip of his cock and say, "No." Then I suck him down my throat.

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