The man leans across the table and takes the woman by the hand. “I love when you double fist my cock, just ramming it down your warm,” I say, then swallow, “tight throat. But I really need you to manhandle my balls to get me on the edge.”
“You know what I want to do, Bartholomew?” Phoenix says. “I want you to bend me over and fuck me like a dirty whore.” She laughs. I’m glad she’s laughing, because this is evidently just enough to make that Viagra go into full force. I’m thinking about my dick in her warm fucking mouth right now and my cock is straining against my jeans like it’s angry at life. I shift in my seat, attempting to inconspicuously adjust the erection I’m sporting under the table. “Fuck,” I mumble.
Thank god, the waiter comes back with our salad. I pretend like I’m starving and shovel that shit in my mouth. My cock needs for me to get my mind off sex.
“Wow,” Phoenix says, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap. “Hungry?”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, shaking my head. Fuck, my dick hasn’t been this hard since I was thirteen. I’m sitting in the middle of a five-star restaurant with a girl I could see myself fucking marrying at some point, and I have a boner that won’t let up. I’m afraid at any minute, it’s going to start lifting the table off the ground.
I keep repeating: Don’t think about sex. Don’t think about sex, but that’s like saying don’t think about the blue elephant in the room. For the next half hour, every time she slips that fork in her mouth, my dick twitches. Every time she rakes her teeth over her lower lip, it swells. When they bring out desert, she moans about how good the chocolate cake is, and I’m squirming in my seat. I’m pretty sure every ounce of blood has gone to my dick. There is no way in hell I can walk out of here and ride home with this shit. But what are my options?
She tosses her napkin on the table and scoots her chair back, meanwhile, I’m sweating bullets because the skin on my dick is stretched so tight it’s burning.
“I’m going to the restroom,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” I watch her walk across the room, that tight red dress she’s wearing hugging her curves. I close my eyes on a groan before dragging my hand down my face. I’m focusing on that old couple across the room, trying to think about sagging balls and dusty pussy in the hopes it will make this erection ease the fuck up. And then, someone taps my shoulder.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” a woman says, “but my daughter just loves your music, would you mind taking a picture with her?”
Fuck. I smile when I turn around. “Sure.”
A girl that can be no older than 12 shyly steps up to the table. She flings her arms around me and hugs me. Please, just don’t let my boner slide against her. Please… Her mom snaps a picture, I sign a napkin, and then they are on their way– and I’m still sitting here, chilling with a raging hard on.
The waiter hands me the check. I pay and Phoenix comes back to the table. “Ready to go?” she asks.
“Uh. Yeah, I just…” I have to go beat one out in the fucking bathroom. There is no other option. I can’t waddle out of here with this thing. “I gotta go piss real quick,” I say.
“Okay…” she narrows her eyes at me.
I place my palms on the edge of the table to stand, but freeze. How am I’m supposed to stand up without her seeing the tent I’m pitching? “Hey,” I slowly rise from my chair and point over her shoulder. “Isn’t that Michael Jackson?”
She cocks a brow. “He’s dead, Stone.”
“I mean, that singer, you know… look.” I shake my finger. “Just look.”
She glances over her shoulder and I nearly knock the chair over when I stand all the way up. I dart around the table and start toward the bathroom with my hand over my dick. A few people stare at me, a few notice I’m cupping my shit. I just smile and nod.
I throw the door to the Men’s room open, hurry to a stall, lock myself inside, and drop my pants like they are on fire. I spit on my palm and grab my cock, hissing through my teeth at the instant relief. I really hate to do this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I jerk over my shit, fast and hard until I’m doubled over and my face is going into spasms. My balls are all tight and all that heat is collecting in just the right spot and then–
“Oomph,” I grunt and growl when I bust a nut. Come shoots all over the wall of the stall, but all I can do is toss my head back against the door and laugh a little because that erection is going down. I exhale and grab some tissue to clean my dick off. I reach for more paper, but there’s nothing but the empty roll, so the wall will just have to stay decorated with my spunk. I feel like a new man when I walk out of that stall and over to the sink to wash my hands.
And I am never taking Viagra again. Ever!
_________
The second Phoenix closes her front door I pin her to the wall. I fist her hair, yanking her head to the side as I work my mouth over to her neck, kissing and nipping. She squirms against me, her hands slipping underneath the back of my shirt. Her nails claw at my back. “God, I fucking want you,” I groan against her throat and grab her by the hips, tearing her away from the wall and backing her through the living room.
Her hands grab at my jaw and she deepens the kiss. My hands roam over her body, over her curves, and my cock swells. I pick her up and she throws her legs around my waist, the heat between her legs sending an extra jolt of adrenaline searing through me. I groan into her mouth and she pulls at my hair. We bump into the wall, into the doorframe, and when I get to the foot of her bed, I carefully lay her down.
I kick off my boots, and slowly pull my shirt over my head as I crawl onto the bed and straddle her. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, and that innocent fucking look nearly makes me lose all control. She sits up, her eyes locked on mine when she reaches around and unzips the back of her dress. One by one, the shoulders fall off, the dress pooling around her waist exposing her perfect tits. She reaches for the waist of my jeans, and that’s it. We pull and tear at clothes until there’s nothing left. She lies back, spreading her legs open, and I just sit right here for a second, staring at her. The dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. I want nothing more than to make her feel special, to make her feel loved, but how do I do that when all I can worry about is that she deserves so much more than me?
28
Phoenix
Stone’s dark eyes are locked on me. His chest rises in ragged swells, his nostrils slightly flaring as his hands so slowly glide over my thighs to my waist. He lowers himself over me. The heat of his skin when his chest presses over mine forces my eyes closed. There’s this electric charge between us, crackling and snapping, making me feel drunk on him. I wrap my hands around his neck and drag his face toward mine as I wrap my thighs around his waist. I want this. I want him. But he catches himself on the mattress, holding the weight of his body away from me.
“What are you–” He covers my mouth with a kiss so soft and sweet and perfect.
His thumb sweeps along my jaw as he rests his forehead against mine. “When I kiss you,” he presses his lips to mine again, “I swear, I can taste the next fifty years of my life.”
I swallow. My heart pounds. Because I can too. I feel like an idiot for letting myself feel this way, because how can you love someone you know so little about? I don’t want to be one of those romantics who falls in love so easily. Those are the people who walk around with shattered hearts. But some things just feel so right. They make you want to do things regardless of the risk. Everything inside of me is screaming to tell him I feel the same way, but I shove that down and kiss him harder as I reach between my legs and grab him. He stops, staring in my eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks.
I pause. I hesitate. “I can trust you, right?” I ask, and even though I know it’s stupid as hell, I just don’t want to feel anything but him.
“Of course,” he whispers before kissing me.
And then I guide him inside of me.
He pushes in slow. Deliberate. Draggin
g out the moment as long as he can before he fills me, and when he finally gets all the way inside, we both exhale.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his gaze locking with mine as his hand comes up to cup my jaw. He moves slowly as his lips cover mine in an agonizing kiss.
The tightness in my chest, the tenderness of this moment– it says everything we won’t. I grab at him, fisting his hair as I use my legs to pull him deeper inside me. With every passing second, we grow more desperate for each other. Hands and mouths are everywhere. His pace steadily quickens before he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head. The entire time that he’s fucking me, he’s staring at me, biting on his lip.
When my body finally gives in, when all that blissful heat begins to bunch in my stomach and release, I close my eyes. Everything fades into oblivion except him and me. I moan, I pull him into me, panting and clawing at his back. Seconds later, he collapses on top of me with a deep groan, his teeth sinking into my neck.
“Shit,” he pants, the heat of his breath sending chill bumps scattering across my skin. “That’s what it feels like when it means something…”
And I’m completely screwed, because it is. That meant something.
_________
I wake with my cheek pressed against Stone’s bare chest. I lie here for a second, trailing my fingers over the tattoos on his arm. It’s moments like this that really hit you in the gut– waking in the arms of a guy you know you could love while you’re still terrified to actually let go because you don’t want to get hurt.
He’s immature and ridiculous, but he’s a good person. A truly good person, and in this life, I’ve only encountered a few of those.
His chest rises in deep swells. He’s fast asleep which means this is safe. I tilt my head, placing my lips next to his ear. “I want to love you,” I whisper even though there really is no want in there. I already do love him, as crazy as it sounds. I do. I just can’t tell him– so I tell his subconscious. I snuggle into his chest and close my eyes.
Bam!
My eyes fly open, my heart going into a dead sprint. Bam. Bam. Bam. I sit up in bed and grab my shirt and shorts from the foot of the bed, slipping them on before I stand and make my way into the living room.
“Phoenix!” Pam’s voice comes through the door. I roll my eyes while glancing at the clock. It’s 11:00 am. Plenty of time for her to have downed a few Mimosas. She pounds over the door again. I rest my forehead against the cool wood and take a breath before flipping the latch and opening the door. She staggers in, her blonde hair a mess, lipstick smeared, but her Chanel sunglasses perfectly in place. She steps into the middle of the room and drops a shopping bag to the floor. “I bought you a dress to wear for our interview,” she says, pulling her shades off.
I cock a brow. Our interview? It’s pathetic how she’ll ride the coattails of anyone she can just to get her name on a tabloid, an issue of Rolling Stone.
She brushes past me, stopping beside the coffee table to run her fingers over the petals of the roses in the middle. The toilet in my bathroom flushes and her eyes cut over to me. “Hmm. New boy toy?” she asks, smirking.
“Mother–”
“Baby, you know I hate when you call me that. It sounds too dignified.”
“Too dignified is right,” I muttered under my breath.
“Henry’s gone all this week,” she cocks a smile. “I was thinking of inviting that new band, Skeleton’s Secret, over…you know, to celebrate their new deal.” She laughs. “If you want to come over.”
“No, that’s fine.” I glance back toward the door. I want her to leave. I definitely want her to leave before Stone comes out.
“Ah, but the drummer’s so cute.”
“Again, no thanks.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” Then she glances around my apartment. “I’ve done enough for you already, unlike me, you don’t have to marry famous to have a good life.”
“Gee, thanks for the sacrifices, mom.”
“Anything for the apple of my eye.” She pats my cheek as she saunters past and gracefully falls back on the sofa, crossing her long legs.
A small bubble of hate rises in my chest as I watch her pull a cigarette from her purse and light it. She has never acted like she cared or loved me, unless it was for publicity. I can’t help but wonder if maybe Henry’s gotten tired of her shit and about to give her the boot. I do know he made her sign a prenup, which she still bitches and moans about. Maybe that’s what it is. She’s about to be out on her ass, and now that I’ve got a deal with Deviant she thinks she better butter me up so she can keep up her life of luxury and rock stars. I walk over to her and snatch the cigarette. “Don’t smoke in my house.”
“The way I look at it,” she sighs. “Henry bought it for you, so actually, it’s partly mine.”
“Yes, he bought it for me because you wanted me out of the house.”
She shrugs. “Any sixteen-year-old would die to live on their own.”
Maybe they would, but the thing is, I was dying for affection. Attention. Love. Real love. I didn’t want a friend. I didn’t want fame and a million-dollar apartment. I wanted a mother. “I didn’t want my own house,” I say. “I just wanted you to be a mother.”
Her brow wrinkles as much as the Botox pumping through her muscles will allow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
My chest tightens. I want to say so much, but sometimes there is no point. That time has passed. She can’t go back and fix things, not that she would want to, so the only purpose my bitching would serve is to possibly make her feel a twinge of guilt. So I take a deep breath. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just tired and… just, can you go?”
I walk to the kitchen and turn on the tap, running water over the end of the smoldering cigarette before tossing it into the trash. When I turn around, Pam’s right behind me. “I’ve given you everything you could possibly want,” she says.
“Yes, you gave me everything monetarily possible.”
“I do love you, whether you believe that or not,” she says.
I don’t say anything. I’m not a liar. I don’t hate her, but I surely don’t love her either. I’m indifferent. And that woman has no idea what anything outside of self-love is.
“Are you not going to tell me you love me too?” she asks.
“No.”
She stares at me, nostrils flaring, fist clenching.
My bedroom door creaks opens. I hear Stone walking across the living room. He rounds the corner and nearly walks right into Pam. “Shit,” he says, taking a few steps back and groggily wiping his hand over his face.
“Well!” A sick smile shapes her lips and her gaze drifts from Stone to me. “Well, Stone Steele.”
His eyes go wide and his face washes white before he stumbles back a step.
Oh dear lord. “You’ve…” I swallow, “met?”
“In Miami,” she grins, “Right, Stone?”
He doesn’t say a word.
She brushes a piece of hair from my face and grins. “One thing’s for sure, you’ve got your mother’s taste, but I should warn you, unlike Voss, Stone’s a little scared of the really kinky stuff.” She pats his cheek. “Aren’t you, baby.” My pulse clangs in my ears as she skirts around him and heads to the door.
I glance at Stone. He won’t look at me, his cheeks are turning a deep red, and he’s fidgeting with one of those stupid metal bracelets he’s always wearing.
“Tell me you didn’t,” I say. I can feel my nostrils flaring.
“Is that your…” he swallows and points at the door. “Was that your mom?”
“Stone!” My voice shakes. “Tell me you did not sleep with her?” I point at the door.
He drops his chin to his chest and sweeps his hand through his hair. “Phoenix, I–”
“Did you fuck her, Stone?” I’m near shouting, near tears because this would be how this plays out.
“Look, I…”
“Nope.” I point toward the door, my chest growing tight, my
stomach churning. There are millions of women in the world he could have fucked… but her. Her? That takes it to a whole new level of disgust.
“Phoenix.”
“Go!”
He steps toward me and I take a step back. “Stone, please, just leave.”
“You want me to leave because I slept with someone before you?”
“No, I want you to leave because you fucked my mother.”
He takes a breath. “But–”
“There is no but. I can’t… I can’t.” I close my eyes and I can just see the two of them fucking. “I can’t…”
“You can’t be pissed at me for that shit?”
“Well, I am.”
He exhales and shakes his head while dragging his hand over his jaw. “Not to be a dick, but do you know how many women I fucked before you? Before I knew you existed?”
The truth is, I shouldn’t be this mad, but I can’t help it. All those other girls are nameless, faceless, naïve girls. But that is Pam. “I just…” I shake my head. “This is just…we’re pointless.”
“Pointless?” he says. “No, Phoenix, this is fucking real. Don’t you try and tell me that–”
“It is! You’re about to go on tour, and I know the drill. I know the fucking drill…on both ends! I watched Jimmy and Henry cheat on her. She cheated on them. All I saw growing up were people lying, saying they loved each other and in the same breath turning around and fucking someone else. Pam told me that was just how rock stars lived. That they weren’t normal people, so the rules were different.” I toss my hands up. “I don’t want that!”
“And I don’t either.” He grabs my hand, but I snatch it away before storming across the living room and into the hall.
I go to my room and grab his shirt and shoes before walking back out and shoving them into his arms. “I want fucking normal,” I say. “And you are not that, Stone. You’re not.”
He stares at me, his jaw ticking. “I didn’t know you existed,” he says through clenched teeth.
Stone: A Standalone Rock Star Romantic Comedy (Pandemic Sorrow) Page 15