Page 39 of Velvet Thorns
She starts circling that swollen nub, dipping inside herself, thenback to rubbing, all while I stroke my cock—slow at first, then faster, up and down, up and down. It’s fucking hypnotic. Precum leaks freely, and I slick myself with it as I watch her writhe on the bed, heat radiating off her in waves. She’s getting close, fast, and I speed up, refusing to let her come without me. That’s not how we do this. When she falls, I fall with her.
She moans, and fuck, she sounds like an angel.
“Oh god, right there.” She gasps, and my sanity splinters because she never speaks during this.
She starts rubbing faster, fingers moving in frantic circles, and I’m caught between keeping pace or slowing down because there’s a chance she’ll say something I don’t want to hear. Something that’ll split me open and leave me with nothing but my hard cock and a shattered heart.
The second her hand clamps around her throat, I know she’s about to come.
My breath punches out of me, and I decide to stop thinking. I fuck my fist harder and faster, heat spiraling up my spine, boiling in my blood as my orgasm builds.
“Come on, baby, come for me… Keep rubbing that little clit. Don’t stop.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She moans.
Her back arches, fingers moving in wild, desperate circles. Her nipples are hard, her body is trembling, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Every inch of her is screaming for release, and I’m right there with her, seconds away.
“Phoenix,” she cries, and my whole world stops.
Everything goes still except my hand.
Did I hear that?
Or am I so far gone that I imagined it?
“Say it again,” I growl. “Call out to me, baby. I’m right here. Let me hear you.”
“Oh god, Phoenix… Fuck me.”
And that’s it—detonation.
My control obliterates, my body wrecks itself at the sound of my name dripping from her filthy, perfect mouth, and I come harder than I ever have in my life.
The growl that rips from deep in my chest isn’t human—it’s animalistic, primal—and her cries make every pulse of my release hit harder, thicker, like my body can’t stop giving her everything.
I don’t even bother cleaning the cum off my skin before I’m tearing through the cabinets like a fucking maniac, desperate hands shoving shit aside until I finally find my tattoo gun buried in the back. My hands shake as I set it up, her image still glowing on my phone screen beside me—hair messy and eyes glazed, as if she doesn’t even know what planet she’s on.
She said my name like it meant something.
It meant everything.
The gun buzzes to life in my hand, drowning out the rational voice screaming at me to stop.
But I can’t stop.
I won’t stop.
I don’t want to think about anything except the wayPhoenixsounded rolling off her tongue.
I want to remember because memories fade, but ink doesn’t lie, and my skin will make sure I never forget.
Dropping into the chair, I stretch my arm flat across the cold table and press the needle to my skin just below my left wrist, dragging a single black line across my flesh in one clean stroke.
One line.
One mark.
For her voice and the way she said my name tonight—breathless, broken, beautiful. Blood wells up, mixing with ink, sealing the memory into me where it belongs.
