51. Phoenix St. Pierre
PHOENIX ST. PIERRE
“Open your eyes,” I groan against Tom’s ear. We’re slick with sweat. Thursday morning sex in his bedroom is not a common thing, but Ben left early to have breakfast with Harriet on campus.
I’m taking full advantage of the private room. Especially since we’ll be back on the tour bus tomorrow.
Tom’s disheveled golden-brown hair hangs in his face, and I push it back with my hands. He’s lying on top of me, and we’ve been stroking each other for the past ten minutes. His eyes flit open from my directive, and his nose flares when I fist him harder. “Phoenix,” he grunts.
My breath is heavy. “Put my cock in you,” I tell him.
His chest rises and falls faster. Eyes search mine. “I can’t see behind me, dude.”
“You’re going to feel it out.” I reach for the bottle of lube on his nightstand. “Unless you don’t want to—”
“I didn’t say that.” He seems nervous, but that doesn’t automatically mean this is something he won’t like. It’s just new for Tom. This will be the first time he’s ridden me. The way he’s acting, I’m almost positive he’s never been in this sex position before.
He sits up fully, straddling my waist. “Tuck your calves under my thighs,” I direct him as I spread my legs open.
“You just lie there and look pretty, dude.” He smirks. “Let me do all the work.”
My abs flex. I try hard not to throw him on his back. “I give you one task and suddenly you’re a workhorse.”
“Sounds about right. Some might say I’m Pegasus.”
“Jesus Christ.” I walked into that one.
He situates himself like I instructed, then holds out his hand. I pass him the lube. “Let’s be clear,” I tell him. “You’re doing one thing. And that’s putting my cock in you. After that, you can sit there and look pretty.”
His neck flushes, and he uncaps the bottle. “You don’t want to see my skills in riding you? I can rock your world.”
“I don’t doubt it. But you’re moving like fucking molasses right now, Tom. So no. I’m going to take you hard and fast.”
He lets out a shallow breath. His muscles tighten, and I watch his cock stir with a telling twitch. Mine painfully engorges the longer he takes. And he’s taking his sweet fucking time. The smirk on his lips lets me know it’s purposeful.
After slicking his hand, he tosses the lube aside, then reaches behind his back. He strokes my length in slow, unhurried movements. My cock rests up against his ass, and he guides me to his entrance.
“Fuck,” I curse with a breath trapped in my throat.
Tom sinks himself down on me, his eyes tightening, and a moan rumbles through his chest. He hesitates for a split-second, and I affirm, “You’re okay.
” I rub his thigh in encouragement, then clasp his waist to steady him.
The pressure around my dick is a headrush.
I’m so close to just pulling him down on me.
“Fuuuck.” I make a coarser noise between my shut lips, grinding my molars.
“Holy fuck,” Tom breathes out heavily. “You’re so big, dude.”
“You’ve taken me before,” I choke out into a slight grunt. “This isn’t any different, man.”
He peers over his shoulder, but he’s not at an angle where he has a view. “Just slam into me,” he demands.
I laugh. “One task, Tom. You have one.”
He moans. “I can complete a million tasks. I am a task master. Okay, but this. Fuck…” He has a hand on the bottom of my shaft as he tries to take more of me.
He lets out a deep whimper, then rubs at his eyes like he wants to disappear after making that sound.
While I want that vulnerable noise to live inside my ears forever.
“You’re doing good,” I tell him. Really, this edging is fucking torture, but we’re both being tormented here. Pre-cum leaks from his tip, dripping on my abdomen. I fist his shaft just once, and his left palm smacks my chest like stop.
He’s trying to concentrate.
I let go of him, but all this does is make me want to ram hard inside Tom. I’m tensing every muscle in my body to keep from pumping into him myself.
His thighs tremble when he sinks down more. “Ah, fuck. Fuck.”
My eyes try to fucking roll. “Tom,” I grit out in pleasure. I’m buried fully inside him now. He’s taking all of me, and the thought is as annihilating as the feeling.
He breathes through his nose, trapping noises of arousal between his closed lips, and the deep, low, aching sounds he makes is killing my resolve to go slow. His hands slide against my forearms and biceps. “Phoenix.”
“Just sit there,” I instruct, and I curl my fingers around his erection again. Then I arch my hips into Tom, and he immediately doubles over from the intensity. The angle causes me to slip out.
Tom lets out an agonized noise, especially when I let go of his cock.
“Put me back inside you,” I demand.
He extends his hand behind him again, gripping me tightly. I help by spreading one of his cheeks for him. When I’m halfway in, he gives me a fiery yet pleading look. “Just fuck me, dude.”
I consider it for a second. “Say please.”
His jaw tightens, and he lets out a deep breath through his nose. He moves a little lower, taking more of me.
“Won’t say please, got it.” My lips twitch into a smile.
His hand is flat on my stomach, and he flips me off with it.
My laugh morphs into a rough moan when he reaches the hilt of my cock. “Fuck. Jesus.” I return my hand to his hardened shaft, gently stroking him into a more forceful, relentless rhythm. I buck my hips into him with the same pace.
His lips break apart in a hitched breath, his face flooding with arousal, and our eyes catch more than once with tunneling depth. I hold his jaw so he doesn’t turn away from me. Seeing Tom surrender to these feelings while I make love to him has become my obsession.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck,” he pants. I flex into him again and again, and Tom clutches my arms to keep steady.
“That’s it,” I tell him.
He lets out heavy pants. “Phoenix.”
“You’re doing good.” Pleasure rips through my body as I thrust up into him. Stroke him. Descend into the overwhelmed look in his blue eyes. This position after the edging has destroyed me, and I honestly want this to last longer.
Wrapping my arm around his back, I stay inside Tom and flip him. His shoulders meet the bed, and his smile flickers in—like I just took him on a thrill ride—then out as I pound into him.
I whisper against his ear, “You better like this fucking rhythm, nepo baby, because I’m not stopping.”
He shudders under me into a groan. “Phoenix, fuck.” His fingers dig into my shoulder, and I love his strong grip on my body.
I love how Tom clings on. I want him fully fucking attached to me, and I grind deeper into him, the sensation of fucking him is a need I’m chasing after, not even a want anymore.
And then the doorbell rings.
I pause.
“What the…?” Tom inhales shallow gulps of air. “Dude. You just said—”
“Yeah, I know,” I snap, also short of breath. I kiss his reddened lips, really wanting to keep moving, but I ask, “You have a doorbell?”
“No one uses it.”
We both wait for one of his brothers to answer the door.
It rings again.
And again.
And again.
I pull out the same time he pushes at my chest.
“What the fuck,” Tom crawls off me. I’m grabbing my boxer-briefs on the ground.
“You can stay,” he tells me, fighting with a pair of sweats. His erection is comically noticeable. We were both so close to coming. I’m still hard too, but I’ll deal with that in a minute. I pull him back to the bed by his waistband and roll it down.
“Let me suck you off,” I tell him. “Doorbell asshole can wait a second.”
“What if it’s an emergency? Joana is down the hall. Luna lives three floors below. Could be one of them.”
“Give me twenty seconds, man.” My mouth is on his cock.
It only takes me ten.
I’m wiping my lips with the back of my hand, while Tom is racing out the door.
I rub myself quickly—and it doesn’t take me long to find a release.
I use the towel from Tom’s dresser, then toss it into his hamper.
By the time, I’m dressed and have cleaned myself up in the bathroom, I feel like I’ve taken way too much time. Do not put me on an EMS team.
“Are you sure she’s not living here?” The feminine voice catches me off-guard, and I pick up my pace down the hall.
As soon as I emerge in the living room, Tom sends me a hard, apprehensive look while he trails after this strange woman, probably in her late thirties or early forties. She wears a vintage-looking, fur-collared ’70s jean jacket that reaches her knees. It’s a warm May.
And she’s charting course toward the floor-length windows like she’s being summoned by the view.
If I didn’t have the same reaction my first time here, I’d think she was on drugs. “Who the hell are you?” I abandon my manners in my need to protect Tom.
She whirls around, and I’m immediately taken aback. Not from her light-brown hair, parted in the center. It’s her face—round, big blue eyes, and prominent ears sticking out from the wind-knotted strands—that reminds me of Harriet Fisher.
“Phoenix,” Tom says, on edge, as he motions a stiff hand toward the woman. “This is Hope Danes. Harriet’s mom.”
The mom that kicked Harriet out at sixteen, forcing her to sleep in her car, I’ve learned.
Rage.
I feel visceral, pummeling rage. “Hi,” I say, not nicely.
“I was just telling her that Harriet doesn’t live here.” Tom pats his thighs for his phone, but his pockets are empty. We both left our phones in the bedroom. “Did Harriet say anything about her mom stopping by?” He’s asking me.
“No.” I block Hope from beelining down the hall.
“Harriet wouldn’t have said anything,” she says, adjusting the long leather strap to her fringed purse. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“How did you pass through security then?” Tom asks with bugged eyes.
“I just talked to the front desk.” She shrugs. “Took me some time, but I knew they’d let me through. Everyone tells me I could sell sand in the desert.”
Tom threads his hands on his head, and I’m wondering if they have a panic button in their apartment. Because he looks like he wants to push it.