Page 100 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"Fuck," I hiss through my teeth. "Phoenix, that's?—"
He takes me deeper, and whatever I was about to say dissolves into incoherent groaning. His tongue works against the underside, finding spots that make my hips jerk involuntarily. I try to hold still, try to let him set the pace, but it's impossible when every nerve ending is screaming.
One of his hands comes up to grip my hip, holding me down. The other wraps around the base of my cock, working what won't fit in his mouth. The combination is devastating.
But then again, Phoenix has always been good with rhythm.
I let myself look. Let myself watch this huge alpha male working me over with single-minded focus, blond hair falling forward to partially obscure his face. Watch the way his cheeks hollow with each pull, the way his throat works when he swallows.
It's obscene. It's beautiful. It's completely destroying every assumption I ever had about what I find attractive.
"Getting close," I manage to warn him, my voice barely recognizable. "Phoenix, I'm—you should?—"
He doesn't pull off. Just takes me deeper, and that's it. That's the end of my control.
I come with a bitten-off curse, my whole body going tight as release crashes through me. Phoenix takes it, swallows it down, works me through every pulse until I'm oversensitive and twitching and pushing at his shoulders because it's too much.
When he finally releases me, I collapse back against the mattress like my strings have been cut. Every muscle has goneliquid, and my brain feels like someone scrambled it with a whisk.
Phoenix crawls up to lay beside me, and I turn my head just enough to see his face. His lips are swollen, flushed dark. There's a slight sheen to his chin that he wipes away with the back of his hand.
"That was, uh..." I start, but I don't know how to finish.
"Yeah," Phoenix agrees quietly. "It was."
We lay there in silence, both of us breathing hard, both processing what just happened. The scent from next door is still there, still driving every instinct wild, but the desperate edge has dulled. Not gone—it'll never begoneas long as Bells is in heat—but manageable.
My arm moves without conscious permission, draping itself over Phoenix's padded middle. He's warm and solid beneath my touch, and when he shifts closer instead of pulling away, something in my chest loosens.
"We should probably talk about this," Phoenix murmurs after a while. "About what it means."
"Later," I mutter, closing my eyes. "Right now I just need to... not think."
Phoenix makes a sound of agreement, and his own arm comes around me, pulling me closer against his side. I let him, too exhausted to maintain whatever distance I should probably be keeping.
This is temporary. Just two alphas helping each other through an impossible situation while their scent match suffers alone. It doesn't have to mean anything we don't want it to mean.
But as I start to drift—not quite asleep but close—I can't shake the feeling that we've crossed a line we can't uncross. That whatever we are to each other now, it's different from what we were before.
But it isn't regret.
Fuck,it isn't regret.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
BELLS
Iwake up because my body decides it's done tolerating my bullshit.
The nest is suffocating. Every blanket Phoenix and Rafael brought feels like it's wrapped around my throat, cutting off air. The plush rabbit I'd been clutching is somewhere on the floor, abandoned when the nausea started creeping up my esophagus like a particularly aggressive vine.
My skin is on fire. No, scratch that—my skin is alternating between molten lava and arctic tundra so fast I can't tell which temperature is real anymore. The heat should've peaked hours ago. This isn't normal. This is?—
Oh fuck.
I'm going to puke.
