Chapter 7 Phoenix #2
He sidles up next to Leander, close enough that Leander can feel his presence, voice low and teasing.
“Hey, you really think you can just sit there looking all broody? You’re supposed to join the fun, not mope in the corner.
” His hand brushes lightly over Leander’s arm, playful, and there’s a flicker—just a flicker—of a smile tugging at Leander’s lips.
I notice immediately. My chest tightens, a thrill and something darker coiling at the pit of my stomach. Jax is good at this—too good. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I swear, man… you’ve got that smolder thing going on, but it’s wasted if you’re not in the game.”
Leander stiffens for a heartbeat, jaw tightening, then smirks just slightly, trying to mask how he responds. The blush creeping up his neck doesn’t fool me for a second.
I step closer, letting my shoulders bump his, letting him feel my heat, my presence. The tiniest spark of challenge lights in my chest. I’m not about to let Jax steal the spotlight, but I’m going to watch the play unfold, and I don’t miss a beat of Leander’s reactions.
Jax leans in even more, hand now brushing the side of Leander’s waist under the guise of steadying him during a laugh.
“Lee, man… about earlier this week, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have pulled a stunt like that.” He’s laying it on thick, hand on his shoulder, leaning close.
“It’s alright, man. I get you were just playing around.” Leander smiles at him, and my pulse spikes.
Leander glances at me, sharp eyes meeting mine briefly before darting away, icy but betraying just a hint of something.
Jax continues, oblivious to the storm he’s stirring. “Seriously, I was an idiot. Can I make it up to you? Coffee? Dinner, maybe?”
My teeth grit as a wave of possessiveness rolls over me. I don’t like the way Leander is having to look up at Jax.
“It’s really okay, Jax,” Leander laughs, the alcohol making him bold.
“Come on, man, just coffee. How about tomorrow? I want to make it up to you.” Jax’s eyes drag across Leander’s face.
God, where is a spoon to scoop out your best friend’s eyes when you need one?
Leander’s eyes flick to mine, sharp and hot, and I catch that tiny hitch in his breath. Oh, he notices. He notices everything, and he fucking grins.
I let my hand brush lightly against Leander’s shoulder, pressing just a fraction, and his jaw tightens again. Alison is oblivious to my not listening to her endless chatter.
The green of Leander’s eyes sharpens, burning with restraint and something unspoken. He’s caught between responding to Jax’s charm and trying not to completely lose his cool in front of me.
I step back slightly, letting Jax lean in closer, and the dynamic shifts like a live wire. I can feel the tension crackling between us—Leander’s body, rigid and tense, trying to resist the flirtation, and yet clearly affected.
Alison notices too, giving me a sharp, playful look. “Wow, I thought I had your attention.”
I ignore her. “Lee, can’t do coffee tomorrow. We have plans.”
Leander laughs. “I don’t think so, Locke.”
My hand slides across his back, gripping his hip harshly so Jax can’t see. “Yep, we rescheduled it.”
And what does my Leander do? He smirks like he’s having the best time in the world. “Oh, you’re right. Maybe another time, Jax.”
Jax, too high to notice the tension in the air, smiles. “Yeah, another time!”
I lean down to Lea’s ear. “Hey, can I talk to you in private for a sec?”
He spins, eyes crinkling, teeth flashing a half-grin. “Why? Mad about something?”
“Maybe,” I murmur, smirking. I loop my arm around his waist, guiding him toward my bedroom. His balance is off—he stumbles slightly, and I catch him, pressing a hand to his back. He leans into me more than I expected, drunkenly trusting, and it sends a thrill straight to my core.
“You’re drunk, Lee” I murmur, tugging him closer once the bedroom door clicks shut. The muffled noise of the party dims into background static, leaving just us. I push him gently against the wall, hand on his hip, letting the warmth of him press against me.
“So are you, asshole.”
“Someone’s angry.” I drag my nose against the line of his neck, resisting sinking my teeth into his skin. Resisting leaving my mark on him, so everyone knows he’s mine. “I’m the one who should be mad. Is it so easy to get you blushing that even Jax can do it?”
My thumbs slip into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer to the hardening bulge in my pants.
He huffs, hazel eyes flashing with anger and frustration. “You were flirting with her. Publicly.”
I tilt my head, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Only to see if you’d notice,” I whisper, letting a finger trace the curve of his jaw. “Only to see if you wanted me.”
He swallows, jaw tight, trying to act composed but failing. “You needed a girl to do that? You couldn’t have just asked me?”
I grin, letting my hand slide lower to rest lightly on his hip again. “I knew you’d notice. And I liked that. I liked seeing you react. Seeing you be jealous.”
His chest heaves slightly, alcohol flushing his cheeks a darker shade, heat rising. “Why do you keep… playing these reckless games with me?” His voice is a whisper, but it carries the weight of frustration, longing, and something unspoken.
“Because I need control,” I admit, leaning close so our foreheads touch. “Because I need a thrill. And right now, the thrill is you. You, and the way you fight it, the way you try to resist me.”
His lips part slightly, a soft exhale escaping as he leans into me. I feel the tremor in his body, the flush creeping over his neck. “You… you’re insane,” he breathes.
“And you,” I murmur, brushing a hand along his arm, “love it.”
The words land, heavy and sharp, and he groans, letting his hands find my chest. He grips my shirt, tugging me flush against him. The press of his body, warm and taut, is intoxicating. Every nerve, every pulse of him against me is pure fire.
I tilt my head, letting our lips hover inches apart.
His lips part, and I slide in slowly, teasing, tasting him, memorizing the heat and texture of his mouth.
His hands wander down my back, fingers clutching my shirt and gripping my hips.
I respond in kind, letting my hands roam his waist, pressing him closer.
The kiss deepens, fierce, hungry, and I feel the weight of desire press against me, the way his body melts into mine, despite the drunken haze. He shivers under my touch, eyes glassy, lips parted, caught somewhere between wanting and waiting.
I brush my hand up his side, along the curve of his ribs, watching him inhale sharply.
“Leander,” I murmur against his lips, letting my thumb press lightly against the sensitive skin of his hip. “Say you want me.”
He swallows, jaw tightening. “Phoenix… stop teasing me,” he mutters, voice ragged.
“Never,” I whisper, leaning in, brushing my lips along his jaw, trailing toward his neck. His pulse is rapid under my lips, and his neck flushes a deep pink. “I want to see how far we can go together.”
His hands pull off my shirt. The heat, the flush, the tension—it’s all-consuming. Alison really did a number on my boy. He’s practically tearing my clothes off.
I tilt my head, teasing his ear with a nibble, feeling him shiver violently. “You’re shaking,” I murmur, voice low. “Are you… scared?”
“No,” he groans, pushing me lightly, though he doesn’t pull away.
“Liar,” I murmur, pressing my forehead against his, passing my hand over his crotch. “Have you ever had sex with a man before?”
His breath hitches, his eyes glancing away from my heated gaze. “Y-yes.”
“Liar.” I breathe on his mouth.
His lips find mine again, desperate, clinging, sloppy with alcohol but intoxicating beyond measure.
He’s trying to shut me up, and it’s working.
His hands wander, tugging at the button on my jeans, tracing my chest, sliding down my sides.
I deepen the kiss, letting him take the lead in small ways, letting him feel the freedom of letting go just enough to enjoy the chaos we’ve created.
And then—sharp rapping at the door.
“Busy!” I growl out, my hands sliding beneath Lea’s waistband to grab his ass.
He makes a strangled sound. I think from trying not to moan with uninvited ears so close. Cute.
“Uh, sorry, man. Someone broke some glass in the kitchen, and we can’t find your broom,” a muffled voice says.
I groan. They couldn’t just leave it be? “Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec!”
Leander and I pull back, foreheads resting together, breathing heavy. His hair is damp with sweat, cheeks flushed. I grin, slipping my hands to hold his face.
“How many drunk idiots does it take to clean some glass?”
Leander groans, swatting at me lightly, voice thick with alcohol and frustration. “At least five, I would guess.”
I laugh, leaning close. “You wanna stay here or do some clean-up duty?”
He knows what I’m actually asking: You want to sit here for a few minutes and get fucked harshly or go back to the party?
I pull on my shirt watching him carefully. Leander stumbles for a moment. But I don’t want to rush him into anything he’s unsure of. Damn it, the gentle thoughts are back.
He huffs, but the flush doesn’t fade. His jealousy, his desire, his intoxicated state—it all fuels me. Every smirk, glare, and reluctant laugh is like a drug. I know I’m pushing him, testing limits, and he’s letting me, and it’s thrilling.
“I’ll come help.”
I smile. “Okay. Lemme do something first.” I press my lips to his pulse, sucking his skin into my mouth before biting.
Leander gasps, his cock twitching against my thigh.
I release him, gently kissing the blooming red mark on his neck. “That’s better.”
“Freak,” Leander grumbles, but I see the faint pink in his cheeks.
I tug him toward the kitchen, steadying him against the counter when he stumbles.
He tries his best to jump on the counter, but I have to help him.
He’s muttering under his breath, complaints about Allison and Jax and the chaos of the party spilling from his mouth in a low, grumbling torrent.
I let him vent as I clean the shattered beer bottles.
He’s so cute when he’s drunk. Leander is always so quiet, but with a few shots in him, he’s a serial yapper.
“Why do you do this to me?” he mutters at one point. His finger grazing the purple hickey on his neck.
“Because I like it,” I admit, leaning my hands on either side of his hips. “Because I like seeing you flustered, wanting me, unable to walk away. Because I need everyone to know you belong to someone until I can fully claim you.”
His hands clutch at me again, and I feel the pulse of his desire, raw and insistent. I trail a hand down his side, resting it lightly against his hip, teasing, lingering, letting him feel the weight of it without taking too much. He groans, a low, throaty sound that makes my chest tighten.
And in that moment—drunken, frustrated, flushed with need—he’s mine.