35. Tom Cobalt #3
He rocks into me to the hilt. He’s bottoming out. It feels so goddamn deep as he hits the sensitive spot on repeat, I can’t think. I can’t think. I can't fucking…I squeeze his bicep, half turned into the pillow. “Phoenix, Phoenix, Phoenix. I can’t—”
His moan melds with my sound…a sound I have never fucking made in my life. Something like a gutted cry. He strokes my cock up and down while we both come. Phoenix is whispering in my ear as I literally black out for a moment. My heart is pounding so hard, I’m surprised I’m still alive.
That was heart-attack-inducing. He’s so lucky he didn’t kill me.
He’s catching his breath above my spent, well-fucked body and gently pulling out of me. As I collect air into my lungs, it takes me a second to realize he was speaking in French. I scramble greedily for the exact words, and then I smile into a laugh as I find them.
“Mon bruit préféré,” he whispered. “Mon bruit préféré, c’est toi.”
My favorite noise.
My favorite noise is you.
“Don’t,” Phoenix pulls me away from the window. It’s been approximately five minutes since we had mind-blowing sex and created a sauna in his bedroom. Enough time to clean up a little bit, but not enough to bring the temperature down.
“Dude, it’s too hot in here. My sweat is sweating.” I reach a hand to the window’s latch, but he stops me again.
“You open that window, the whole room will smell like Pasquale’s.”
I frown. The restaurant below his apartment? “I like Italian. I have nothing against pasta.”
“I have something against burnt pepperoni. Man, did you not smell it on the way up here?”
“Uh, not really. I was mostly interested in your smell.” I watch him climb off the bed buck-naked. Okay, fucking hot. He has the second-best ass I’ve ever seen. Mine, obviously, is first-best. “You have a strong eucalyptus scent.” That I love.
He lets out a laugh. “That would be from the bundle of fresh eucalyptus hanging off the showerhead. Steffi’s many contributions to the bathroom.”
“Steffi Mendoza, as in the guitarist for Nothing Personal,” I mention.
“That’d be her.” He opens his closet from across the bed.
“Maybe not everyone in Nothing Personal sucks.” I kick down the sweaty, tangled sheets. “Just your brother.”
“Spare me from talking about my younger brother after we just fucked. Thank you.”
I grin. “It does smell good in here. Like car leather.” I look around for the source.
“Up.” He points to the air vent while he takes a skinny standing fan out of the closet. That’s when I spot a tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the vent.
I start to laugh.
“We all can’t spend a hundred bucks on reed diffusers, nepo baby.”
“No, it’s ingenious. I love it.” I lie on my chest to grab his journal off the end table. I have a few ideas already for the last song, and while I flip through the pages, he plugs in the fan, and a blissful wave of cold air kisses my skin.
When I cast a glance back, I’m trapped on the hungered, primal look darkening his eyes as he gazes at my ass. It instantly sets fire to my core. I feel even closer to combustion when he strokes his growing erection and nears the bed.
“Think you can take me again?” he asks.
Can I? Maybe. Do I want to? Yes, yes, I fucking do. My overachieving soul is telling him, “I can take it all fucking night, Phoenix. I’m highly gifted.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously.”
He glares. “Seriously.”
Fine. “Pourquoi ne viens-tu pas ici pour le découvrir?” Why don’t you come here to find out?
I swear he almost smiles, and very huskily, he says, “Je vais venir.” I’ll come. “Inside you.”
Holy shit. “Sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not an empty one.” We’ve both been tested recently, all negative, and we’re only having sex with each other, so I’m more than okay with no condom.
I’ve never had sex without one, though. So my pulse begins to race ahead of me. When I face forward, I feel him kneeling on the bed.
There is a tiny tickle in my brain that says, You should be working on the final song, Tom Carraway. You’re running out of time. Is this just fear speaking?
As soon as Phoenix drapes over me, his firm chest flush with my back, all voices of doubt silence in my head. His strong hands root my wrists higher up the bed. I am caged beneath the drummer of my dreams.
My breath is short and shallow. I almost grind into the mattress for friction against my aching cock.
I need him like I’ve never needed anyone. His jaw brushes against mine, his lips near mine as he turns his head toward me. The deeper, more tunnelling look he drives into me is everything and more. It feels like I’m being fucked before he’s even inside of me.
I swallow hard. I don’t pretend that I’m not nervous. He can hear my ragged breath that comes through my nose.
“Trop intime?” he whispers. Too intimate?
My pulse ascends. “C’est trop. Tout ca.” It’s too much. All of it. I take a breath. “Voilà pourquoi j’aime ca.” That’s why I love it.
He kisses me, just long enough that I don’t pass out. “J’aime ca aussi.” He says I love it too before he clutches my hip and flexes deep into me.
Holy shit.
His hand returns to mine on the bed. He laces our fingers, and there is nowhere safe to concentrate.
The feeling of him buried inside me, gone.
The aggressive sound of him pounding against my ass, gone.
The motion of his body rocking mine forward during every thrust, gone.
The desperation I feel and hear in his groans and unrelenting pace, very fucking gone.
I am deceased underneath Phoenix St. Pierre. Clawing at the sheets. Forehead pressed into the mattress. He tries to turn my head. But I can’t—I really can’t.
He’s killed me.
“My—” I need my hands. “You—” I try to move my hands, but they’re trapped in his. “Phoenix, please. Stop.” I come so hard with the word stop. My whole body goes rigid.
“Tom, hey, talk to me.” Phoenix has pulled out of me. I think the second I said stop, he did.
My face is a roasted red pepper. I came hands-free, which is a grand achievement, but I’m too focused on the fact that I ruined his sheets with my load. Like…fuck. It would be different if they were my sheets to ruin.
“Are you hurt? In pain?” Phoenix asks urgently.
“Yes,” I groan into the mattress, my hands on my head. I’m never fucking moving. I am going to die here.
“Man, please stop speaking to the bed and talk to me.” He’s rubbing circles on my back, and that feels great. I love the concern.
I’m feeling very taken care of during this funeral of mine.
“Real hurt? Real pain?” Phoenix asks. “Or just a bruised ego?”
“That is real pain, Phoenix.” I come out of my cocoon to shove his chest.
He takes the opportunity to pin me to my back. “What’s wrong?” He clutches my face with one tight hand, so I don’t look away.
I almost smile. Okay, I do kind of smile. Embarrassment stampedes away as I come face-to-face with his deep concern and affection for me. “You don’t want to know what’s wrong,” I say. “It’s horrifying, gruesome, gnarly.”
“I do want to know because if it’s my fault—”
“It is your fault. It’s all your fault,” I tease.
Phoenix rolls his eyes and glares at my rising smirk. “You’re fucking killing me.”
“Great, we’re even. You just killed me.” I sigh out to add in a slight cringe, “I came on your sheets.”
He chokes on a laugh. “That’s it? Jesus Christ, you are so fucking—”
“Handsome. Pithy. Intelligent beyond my years.”
“Dramatic and arrogant.” He kisses me, and I feel his smile against my lips before he says, “We’re going to shower, throw the sheets in the laundry, then order takeout. You want ramen?”
That’s his favorite. “You would eat ramen at my funeral.”
Phoenix is smiling even more. It’s maybe the most I’ve ever seen him smile at one time. “You’re going to survive this, Tom.”
“I know,” I say more seriously. “Cobalts never die.”