12. Eli

Eli

Filthy Design

I knew texting Phoenix about ending things with Leon would do the trick.

It wasn’t a lie. I do intend to end it. I just don’t know when. Going home…can’t happen. As much as I pretend it’s an option, it isn’t. And until I break through this wall Phoenix has built between us, I’m fucked.

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding here? This is fun. This is exactly what I need.

Every time he looks down at me, our connection intensifies. I watch his lean muscles flex while alternating between drums and feel his feet working the bass drums with speed. I’d honestly let him fuck me. His stamina is god-like, and as fun as it was to convince him he’s a secret cockslut, I’m curious about the side of him I never explored. Phoenix always topped before me.

I finally got the right meds, so I feel okay tonight. My head is quiet, and my sole focus is Phoenix.

I let my eyes explore him, let them project what I’m thinking. He keeps playing like he’s unaffected, but I know that’s bullshit. It’s in the subtle way his stomach sucks in with his breaths—how he keeps finding me in the crowd. The way he bangs his head because he knows it turns me on.

Tease. Little tease. I fucking love it.

They are playing my song again, as they do every show, and I pull my hair out of the bun it's been in. People bump into my back, getting rowdy and eager for more music.

Phoenix stares while I run my fingers through it, looking up through my lashes at him. Oh, he’s down to fuck. The poor thing is probably backed up like crazy. As the song rises to a crescendo, nearing its end, I jerk my chin towards the backstage area. He fumbles his footing for a split second before righting himself. I smile and weave through the crowd. Flustering Phoenix is probably one of my favorite things to do, I swear.

How I’ve gone this long without this feeling is mind-boggling.

He both silences my pain and coaxes all my desires just by existing. And when he’s caught in my orbit, circling me and waiting for gravity to pull him closer, I know true peace. I don’t think it’s the same for him, though. Too late to stop it. He’s been pushed into my trajectory. We’re going to crash. We’re going to smolder and smoke.

I can’t wait.

Flashing the security guard my wristband, he nods me along and through the door to where my current problem sits. Leon lights up when I enter the space. I know what I’m about to do, and somewhere in my head, I realize I shouldn’t—that I should practice some restraint, some decency . Am I really that cruel?

“We’re Dreadful. Thanks for coming out! Let’s hear it for the other bands tonight.”

I don’t have time to debate it. Phoenix is going to take down his kit, and I have every intention of stealing him after.

“There you are,” Leon coos, gesturing for me.

Strolling over to him and lowering myself on the couch, I kiss him quickly and say, “I’m heading to the hotel.”

“Again?”

“I need to film.”

He pouts but nods. “Okay. Will you stay next time?”

The right answer would be yes. If I had to dissect my decisions lately—which I don’t need to—I guess Leon is a means to an end. I knew he was into guys and would go on tour with Dreadful. I also knew that if I played my cards right, I’d end up on it with him because reaching out to Phoenix seemed too hard then. I couldn’t see his face, you know? I couldn’t feel him or gauge where his head was at.

“I don’t know,” I say, honest for once in what feels like years. The sentence sickens me, so I tack on, “Got bills to pay. People will lose interest if I don’t put out new content.”

“If you need help–with money, I mean. You know I’m here. Anything you need.”

Bile launches up my throat. Since when did I grow a fucking conscience?

“Not needed.” I squirm beside him, my thoughts drifting to the man on stage. “Thanks, though.” Placing a quick peck on his cheek, I stand up, stuff my hands in my pockets, and nod to the back exit. “See you later.”

W hat if he doesn’t show?

Honestly, when it comes to Phoenix, it’s probable.

He hasn’t forgiven me for last year, and I don’t know that he should, either. It’s funny how huge chunks of my memory vanish; the things I do get lost in time like they never happened. But that day, I remember so clearly. I remember every word, every horrible thing I did, and how I made him suffer through it. In reality, it was just a bad breakup. I think he knows that, too.

On an emotional level, especially for him, it was as close to death as one gets.

I pace the empty storage room I’m in, thankful I scouted it out earlier and knew no one would come back here during the show. After I left Leon, I shot Phoenix a text telling him where I was. It’s been twenty minutes, though. Headhunter is on stage by now, and their first song is almost over. Time is running out. I pull out my phone and check for any texts. He hasn’t responded or told me to fuck off, which means he’s debating. What is there to debate?

I felt him out there. I saw how his morals switched off while imagining everything we used to do.

If he does come, I don’t know that I want to fuck in here. Not that I mind him sweaty and dirty because I could care less about that—I want hours with him. Days. Weeks. A few minutes in a storage room isn't going to satiate my need for Phoenix, not by a long shot.

I stare at the door, my heart racing.

Come on, baby. Come to me.

Despite what happened between us, I doubt there will ever be a day I don’t view him as mine. Even if he does move on and finds that person to give him the future he wants—the person that gives him forever—Phoenix Sawyer will always be mine.

I’ve claimed parts of him no one else has or ever will.

My legs cramp from burning a trench in the tile, so I lean against the folding table on the back wall. I cross my arms over my chest so I don’t appear nervous and wait. More minutes pass, too long. He’s come to his senses, clearly. He’s realized that I’m not worth the powder to blow me to hell with. He’s decided that nothing I can do tonight will erase the scars I’ve given him. He’s—

The door creaks open. My lips part slightly, my chest tight with anticipation.

Phoenix steps into the room, his shirt back on and hair pulled into a low ponytail. He closes the door, hand glued to the knob for a few seconds before he pushes the lock. My cock perks up in my jeans while my stomach flip-flops. I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to creep closer to me. He doesn’t move and barely breathes. His eyes are on his feet, jaw ticking.

Long seconds pass before he eventually lifts them, revealing his lust and vulnerability.

I take a step forward at the same moment he does. Cocking my head and arching a brow, I wet my lips, and Phoenix fucking snaps just like before. He rushes me like he does in all my fantasies, curls his long arms around me, and hikes me up onto his waist. I crash down on his mouth, digging my fingers in his hair and prying apart his lips with my tongue. The folded table crashes to the floor as he slams me into the wall. I cling to him, swallowing his moans and tasting the salt from his sweat.

“Is this what you want?” he growls, thrusting his hips up and latching onto my neck. The slick heat of his tongue over my tattoo and the weight of his chest crushing mine has me dizzy. “Need me to help you fuck over another person?” He bites me and sucks.

“Shut up,” I rasp, seeking his mouth again.

Using the wall to keep me where he wants me, he shoves his hands under my shirt, the blunt edge of his nails scratching at my sides. I hiss through the sting, pulling harder on his hair.

Fuck yes.

He pinches my nipple between his fingers and sucks my tongue into his mouth. My eyes roll in my head. Nothing feels like Phoenix. Nothing. And when he’s angry like he is now, it’s even better. I shimmy off his waist to land on my feet and reach between us to cup his dick.

Lowering his head to rest it against mine, he watches while I stroke him through his jeans. “That’s it, baby. You missed me, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you,” he spits, grinding into my hand like a little slut.

I kiss him hard. The sound of his zipper so loud mingled with our breaths. His big hands hold either side of my head with bruising pressure while I stuff mine into his pants. My fingers curl around his cock, pumping him fast. Precum quickly coats my palm, his foreskin gliding over the fat head. He’s so hard, so responsive to every movement. He whimpers when I stroke my thumb over his slit, applying the slightest pressure.

“Let me suck you,” I say against his lips. “Don’t tell me no.”

“No,” he mutters but keeps fucking my hand. “I don’t want that cum dumpster on me.”

My stomach sinks a little, but I ignore it. “Liar,” I scold and drop to my knees.

He palms the wall over me, eyes wild as I lick up his shaft. “Am I going to catch something?” Fuck, he’s being meaner than I remember.

I glance up at him, kiss the weeping tip of his cock and say, "No." Then I suck him down my throat.

He moans loudly, banging his fist and then slamming his teeth over his lower lip. “ Fuck ,” he pants when I swallow around him.

His other hand holds the back of my head, guiding me up and down on his thick cock. I let him use my mouth, peeking up through my lashes while spit dribbles down his length. His musk fills my nose, and his taste burns my tongue.

Post-show Phoenix is dirty, and I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want this.

I grab the backs of his thighs, stuffing him down my throat until it hurts. My gag reflex triggers, but I breathe through it.He tastes like sweat, salt, and all the good missing from my world.

“Suck my balls, Eli,” he orders, aggressively removing me from his dick. He shoves down his boxers and pushes my head to where he wants. I don’t ever remember him using me so roughly before. Probably because it was always the other way around. I latch onto one of his balls, and his head tosses back. “Harder.”

I suck harder.

“The other one.”

I move to the other, trying not to whimper. He's pissed but so needy he can't seem to stop himself. I savor every fucking second.

While I work his balls, he fists his cock and jerks himself. “Open,” he growls, angling his cockhead towards my lips. I part them, goosebumps exploding everywhere. “Don’t move.”

My lashes flutter, the need to rub my dick intensifying. He’s so hot like this. All dominant and in control. “Paint me, baby,” I rasp.

He grunts, fist gliding over his inflamed cock. Reaching up to roll his balls in my hand, my stomach swoops as I take in his pleasure, the tangled strands slipping free of his ponytail and the flex in his forearm. I want to lick him, press open-mouthed kisses to his dick, but he told me not to move. My tongue feels dry as I hold it out, holding his lust-drunk gaze.

“ Fuck ,” he moans, and his cock shoots off. Cum lands on my cheek, nose, and upper lip. I lean forward to clean him, eagerly lapping the rest that clings to the tip. His lashes flutter for a moment before he hisses—his face twists as his chest heaves.

“Shit,” he says, eyes wide, and backs up. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck , Eli!” Quickly stuffing himself back in his boxers and looking horrified, he zips up his pants.

I lick my upper lip, so fucking happy that my eyes burn. “It’s okay,” I tell him, standing on wobbly legs, all the blood in my body rushing to my dick. I palm myself, wincing with how hard I am.

“It’s not okay! Nothing about this is okay. What about Leon? What about your boyfriend ?”

I remove my shirt, turn it inside out, and wipe my face. “Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t matter.”

My stomach clenches even as I say it. Phoenix matters more to me. I turn my shirt the correct way and put it back on, ignoring the wet spots from his cum sticking to my stomach. He glares at me like I just shot his cat.

“Nothing does matter, does it? Only getting high and fucking with people.”

I stalk over to him. “Don’t act so fucking noble, Phoenix. Not when you fucked my throat and used me like a whore.” And, like always, he’s silent. I guess he didn’t expect to be called out like that. “I’m a lot of things,” I say, voice low, “but I’m the one thing you won’t ever get rid of. And I truly believe that you’d hurt a lot of people just if it meant being able to keep me.”

“You’re wrong,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s a move only you would make.”

“Is it, though?”

Clenching his jaw, he twists the knob, the lock popping out, and drops his eyes to the floor. “This isn’t happening again.”

“It will. It'll keep happening because this is us, baby. We aren't living unless this continues.”

His throat bobs. Once. Twice. “No, Eli. That's just you.”

And then I watch him leave.