Page 98 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"We should probably—" Phoenix tries again, but I cut him off by grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back.
His eyes go wide. Then darker.
"Stop talking," I mutter against his jaw. "Just... don't fucking talk right now."
Because if he talks, if either of us acknowledges what we're about to do, I might actually think about it. Might question whether this is the scent match or desperation or some fucked-up combination of both making me want to climb this gentle giant like he's a tree and I'm suddenly a very motivated cat.
Phoenix nods mutely, and his hands go to his own belt, finishing what I started. The button pops open. Zipper slides down. Black boxer briefs peek out from the gap, and I force myself not to look too closely at what's straining against the fabric.
Not yet.
My own pants hit the floor next, kicked aside without ceremony. We're both in our underwear now, standing close enough that our breath mingles, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off Phoenix's massive frame.
Close enough that Bells's scent wraps around us both like a third presence in the room, driving us toward something inevitable.
I push Phoenix backward until he's sitting back on the bed, the mattress dipping under his bulk, and suddenly I'm looking down at him instead of up. At those blue eyes gone almost black with want. At the way his chest rises and falls with each controlled breath. At how his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
Good.
Let him work for it.
I hook my thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs. Phoenix lifts his hips without being asked, and I slide them down, revealing what I've been trying not to think about for the past hour.
Holyshit.
Phoenix is... proportional. That's the only word my scrambled brain can come up with. Proportional to the rest of his frame, which means thick and long and already hard enough that it's flushed dark and leaking against his stomach.
My mouth goes dry.
"Your turn," Phoenix rasps, his voice rougher than I've ever heard it.
I strip out of my own underwear and climb onto the bed, straddling his thick thighs, and Phoenix's hands come up automatically to steady me. His palms are warm against my hips, calloused from years of drumming, and the contact sends electricity racing up my spine.
"Raf," he breathes my name like a prayer or a question or maybe both.
I wrap my hand around his cock.
Phoenix's whole body jerks, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to bruise, and his head falls back against the headboard with a dull thump.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, that's?—"
"I know." I tighten my grip, give him one slow stroke from base to tip. Watch his face contort with pleasure, watch those blue eyes roll back slightly. "You're gonna blow me after."
That gets his attention. His head snaps forward, eyes focusing on mine with visible effort. "What?"
"You heard me." Another stroke, twisting slightly at the head the way I like it done to me. Phoenix makes a sound that might be a whimper if it came from anyone else. "After I take care of you, you're gonna take care of me. Fair's fair."
"Raf, I could just—" He swallows hard as I pick up the pace. "I could just use my hand. I don't have to?—"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. I force myself to slow down, to breathe, to not let the desperation bleeding through my voice sound quite so obvious. "It feels...lessgay for you to blow me. Somehow."
Phoenix's brow furrows even as his hips start moving, fucking up into my fist with increasing urgency. "Raf, that makeszerosense?—"
"Don't push it," I snap, cutting him off before he can finish that thought. Before he can point out all the ways my logic is fucked and circular and completely irrational. "I'm just... I'm..."
Desperate.
The word sits on my tongue, ready to spill out. I'm desperate and confused and so turned on I can barely think straight, and having Phoenix's mouth on me feels like it might ground this whole insane situation in something manageable.
