Page 99 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
But then I look at his face. At those stupidly blue eyes watching me with concern despite the fact that I'm literallyjerking him off. At the way he's clearly holding back from arguing more because he can see I'm barely holding it together.
Fuck him and his emotional intelligence.
Fucking golden retriever alpha.
"Just shut up and let me do this," I mutter instead, leaning forward to bite at his shoulder. Hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough that Phoenix groans and his cock pulses in my hand.
So I give him what we both need. Fast, firm strokes that have Phoenix panting within minutes. His hands slide from my hips to my back, nails digging in as he fights to keep still, to let me control the pace even though I can feel how badly he wants to thrust.
"Close," he warns, voice breaking on the word. "Raf, I'm?—"
"Then come," I growl against his neck. "Come on, big guy. Show me what you've got."
Phoenix does, with a shout he barely manages to muffle against my shoulder. His whole body goes rigid, muscles locking up as he spills over my fist, hot and thick. I work him through it, gentling my grip as the aftershocks hit, until he's trembling and oversensitive and making these soft growling sounds that go straight to my own neglected cock.
When he finally goes limp against the headboard, I pull back to look at him.
Phoenix is a goddamn sight. Blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, lips parted and gasping, eyes glazed. The kind of thoroughly wrecked expression I've only ever seen on women before, and it does something to my brain that I absolutely do not have the capacity to process right now.
"Your turn," Phoenix says, his voice rough but determined.
I slide off his lap, my own cock bobbing obscenely as I move. Phoenix's eyes track the movement, and I watch him swallow hard.
"You don't have to—" I start, because suddenly I'm the one who needs an out. An escape from this thing we're doing that feels too intimate, too revealing.
Phoenix cuts me off by grabbing my hips and yanking me closer. "Lay back."
It's not a request.
I do it anyway, sinking into the mattress that still smells like Phoenix—pine and earth underneath Bells's overwhelming scent. My head hits the pillow and I stare up at the ceiling, forcing myself not to look at what Phoenix is about to do.
If I don't look, I can pretend this is just... friction. Just a body providing relief. Doesn't matter whose body.
Except it absolutely fucking matters.
Phoenix settles between my spread thighs, and the bed dips with his weight. I feel his breath ghost over my cock first, warm and making me twitch involuntarily.
"Raf," he says quietly. "Look at me."
"No."
"Look at me."
Something in his tone makes me obey. I tilt my head down to meet those blue eyes, and what I see there makes my throat tight.
Not disgust. Not reluctance.
Just... Phoenix. Looking at me like I'm something worth savoring instead of a desperate fuck in a hotel room while our scent match goes through heat next door.
"Okay?" he asks, and it's genuine. He'll stop if I say the word.
I should say it. Should tell him to use his hand like he offered, to maintain whatever shred of straightness I'm clinging to. Should?—
"Yeah," I breathe. "Yeah, okay."
Phoenix's mouth on me is nothing like a woman's.
He's tentative at first, clearly figuring out the mechanics, but what he lacks in confidence he makes up for in sheer determination. His lips wrap around the head of my cock and I have to bite down on my fist to keep from making a sound that would alert the entire floor.
