11. Chapter 11 Phoenix
Chapter 11 Phoenix
I woke slowly, languorously, my body humming with the sweet ache of well-used muscles and thoroughly sated desires. For a long moment, I simply lay there, basking in the warm cocoon of tangled sheets and the lingering scent of sex and sweat and something deeper, headier.
Something that smelled like home. Like forever.
A slow, secret smile curved my lips as memories of the night before filtered through the haze of sleep, vivid and visceral. Damon's hands on my skin, his mouth hot and hungry as it mapped every curve, every hollow.
The raw, almost agonized sound of his voice as he'd spilled his secrets, his scars, laying himself bare in the most exquisite form of surrender.
And his eyes...god, his eyes. Those fathomless, whiskey-hued depths that had seemed to sear straight through me, seeing all the way to my battered soul. Reflecting back the same fierce, impossible love that had bubbled up in my chest, stolen my breath and scraped me raw.
I shifted, reaching across the rumpled expanse of the mattress...only to find cool sheets and empty space where his warmth should be. A frown tugged at my brow, a flicker of unease kicking up dust in my still-drowsy mind.
But before the worry could take root, before the old fears could sink their claws in and taint the perfection of the morning, I registered a clatter from beyond the bedroom door. A muffled curse, followed by the unmistakable sizzle of something hitting a hot pan.
Curiosity piqued, I slipped from the bed, hissing a bit as the plush carpet tickled the tender soles of my feet. A delicious soreness permeated my every muscle, a pleasant throb radiating from the core of me that sparked sense-memories of clever fingers and wicked tongue, silken skin and the blunt pressure of his body sinking into mine.
Shaking my head to clear the fevered rush of images, I snagged Damon's discarded t-shirt from the floor and shrugged into it, inhaling the lingering musk of him. It fell to mid-thigh, the worn cotton soft and warm against my bare skin.
Padding quietly to the door, I eased it open...and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Because there, standing in my kitchen like some sort of divine apparition, was Damon. Gloriously, unabashedly naked save for the apron knotted low on his hips, the taut muscle of his back and the mouthwatering curve of his ass on full display.
He was humming to himself as he worked, some haunting melody I vaguely recognized from one of Coffin Cargo's new songs. The scent of garlic and herbs perfumed the air, mingling with the warm, yeasty aroma of toasting bread in a way that made my stomach rumble and my mouth water .
For a moment, I could only stare, entranced by the fluid grace of his movements, the easy confidence with which he navigated my small kitchen. There was something strangely intimate about it, something that squeezed my heart and stole my breath.
This felt...domestic. Comfortable. Like a stolen glimpse of a future I hadn't dared to imagine, a life where mornings like this were the norm rather than the exception.
A life where I woke up to rumpled sheets and the dulcet sounds of off-key humming, to the sight of inked skin and tousled hair gilded by the mellow gold of the rising sun.
A life with him. With this impossible, infuriating, utterly enchanting man who had stormed my defenses and razed me to rubble, only to build me back up stronger, surer.
Whole.
As if sensing my presence, my perusal, Damon glanced over his shoulder. A slow, devastating grin unfurled across his features, his eyes glinting with mischief and no small amount of male satisfaction.
"Morning, gorgeous," he rumbled, his voice still rough with sleep and the echoes of our lovemaking. "Hungry?"
I arched a brow, my own lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement. "Depends. Are we talking food, or...?" I let the implication hang in the air between us, heavy with promise.
His chuckle was a dark, decadent thing, rippling through me like the first lick of good whiskey, hot and honeyed. "Insatiable wench. I was referring to breakfast...though I certainly wouldn't say no to an appetizer."
He punctuated the words with a smoldering once-over, his gaze lingering on the hem of the shirt where it brushed my thighs, the shadowed valley between my breasts. I felt that look like a physical caress, a trail of heat that simmered in my blood and pulsed between my legs.
But before I could cross the distance between us, before I could fist my hands in his hair and slant my mouth over his in a kiss that would incinerate us both, a brisk knock sounded at the door.
We both froze, gazes snapping to the foyer with almost comical synchronicity. For a beat, there was only silence, the charged crackle of interrupted tension.
Then, Talia's voice filtered through the heavy oak, bright and impatient. "Rise and shine, bitch! I brought coffee and gossip, and I'm not afraid to use my spare key!"
"Fuck," I hissed, panic and hilarity warring in my chest. "I forgot she was coming over."
Damon's brows shot up, his lips pursing in a way that was entirely too distracting. "I take it that's my cue to make myself scarce?"
I shook my head, an idea taking shape through the haze of thwarted lust and the still-surreal glow of waking to find him here, cooking me breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Actually..." I bit my lip, suddenly uncertain. "Would you stay? I mean, Talia already knows about us. About this. And I...I don't want to hide you away like some dirty little secret."
Something flickered in his expression, too quick to catch. But then he was smiling, soft and warm and heart-stoppingly genuine, and the knot of tension in my gut unraveled like frayed silk.
"I'd like that," he murmured, the words rough-edged and sincere. "I'd like that a whole fucking lot, actually."
Warmth bloomed in my chest, a lush unfurling that tasted of joy and relief and a bone-deep sense of rightness. Heedless of our potential audience, I crossed the room in three quick strides, rising up on my toes to slant my mouth over his in a brief, scorching kiss.
"Thank you," I breathed against his lips, the words imbued with a thousand shades of meaning.
For staying. For being here, in all the ways that mattered. For loving me, scars and secrets and shattered edges, and never once flinching from my ugly, unquiet things.
His arms came around me, one broad palm splaying against the small of my back as he pulled me flush against the solid heat of him. I could feel him hardening against my belly, the press of his arousal both a promise and a provocation.
"Anytime, anywhere, firebird," he rasped, his teeth grazing the tender skin beneath my ear and making me shiver. "I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to."
I pulled back just far enough to meet his gaze, my fingers curling into the silky hair at his nape. "Good. Because I don't intend to let you go anytime soon. Or ever, really."
The words hung between us, heavy with implication and intent. A vow, whispered in the hush of a sunlit morning, the rest of the world still poised on the cusp of waking.
His eyes flared, hot and bright and brimming with an emotion that stole my breath, squeezed my heart to bursting behind the cage of my ribs. For a moment, I was certain he would ravage me right there against the kitchen counter, audience be damned.
But then Talia knocked again, louder and more insistently, and the spell was broken.
"Hold your fucking horses!" I hollered over my shoulder, grinning at Damon's muffled snort of laughter. "I'll be right there!"
Delivering one last, searing kiss to his smirking mouth, I reluctantly disentangled myself from his embrace and hurried to the door. I paused with my hand on the knob, shooting him a warning look .
"Behave," I mouthed, my eyes sparkling with mirth and barely suppressed mischief.
He simply winked, a roguish grin playing about his lips as he turned back to the stove, the mouthwatering swell of his bare ass taunting me as he bent to retrieve something from the oven.
Biting back a groan, I wrenched open the door...and promptly had the breath crushed from my lungs as Talia barreled inside, her arms coming around me in a fierce, surprisingly strong hug.
"Thank fuck," she muttered into my hair, the words muffled but vehement. "I was starting to think you'd fled the country or something."
I laughed, returning her embrace with equal fervor. "And miss all the juicy gossip? Not a chance."
She pulled back, her eyes narrowing as she took me in - the disheveled hair, the kiss-swollen lips, the oversized shirt that left little to the imagination. A knowing grin curved her mouth, sly and full of wicked promise.
"Speaking of juicy," she purred, her gaze flicking pointedly over my shoulder to where Damon still stood, unabashedly bare-assed and grinning like the cat who'd caught the fucking canary. "I see you had quite the evening, Ms. Newly-Minted Free Agent. Care to dish?"
Heat crawled up my neck, staining my cheeks a ruddy crimson. But I couldn't quite suppress my answering grin, the bubble of pure, effervescent happiness fizzing in my veins like champagne.
"A lady never kisses and tells," I demurred, the prim words at odds with the decidedly wanton sparkle in my eyes.
Talia scoffed, shouldering past me into the apartment proper. "Good thing you're no lady, then. I want details, bitch. Copious, filthy details."
I rolled my eyes, shutting the door and trailing after her into the kitchen. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
"One of my many charms," she agreed blithely, setting her bags on the counter and turning to face Damon with a frankly appreciative once-over. "Well, well. Aren't you just a tall glass of water sans warpaint? I hardly recognized you without all the guyliner and pasty complexion."
Damon barked a laugh, clearly unfazed by her blatant ogling. "You should see me after a three-day bender. I've been told I bear a striking resemblance to a half-melted wax figure."
"Kinky." Talia smirked, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I bet our girl here would still swoon at the very sight of you, booze-bloat and all."
"Hey!" I smacked her arm, glaring halfheartedly. "Standing right here, you know."
"Oh, I'm aware." She flashed me a shameless grin, waggling her brows. "Just enjoying the view...and the blackmail material. I give it a week before TMZ runs an expose on your sordid sex den and the rockstar shacking up in it."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "I hate you. Forget coffee - where's the damned whiskey?"
A low, dirty chuckle sounded from the vicinity of the stove, sending a shiver racing down my spine. "Now, now," Damon chided, amusement thick in his voice. "It's barely ten AM. At least wait until after breakfast to start day-drinking, yeah?"
I peeked at him through my fingers, my lips twitching traitorously. "This from the man who once drank an entire bottle of Jameson before a show and then proceeded to hump an amp onstage."
"Exactly. Learn from my mistakes, firebird."
His grin was pure, unrepentant sin, his eyes glittering with heat and wicked promise. I felt that look like a touch, a whorl of sparks igniting in my blood.
Talia glanced between us, her expression knowing. "Christ, get a room already. No, scratch that - you reek of sex and eye-fucking. Clearly rooms have already been gotten...and thoroughly defiled."
I threw a dish towel at her head, snickering when it smacked her square in the face. "Pot, meet kettle. Or need I remind you of the Great Dressing Room Incident of 2019?"
She pointed a threatening finger at me, eyes narrowing. "Utter that phrase again and I'm revoking your coffee privileges. And spilling every sordid detail of your lewd and lascivious acts to the groupies lurking outside."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me, bitch."
We glowered at each other for a prolonged beat, a silent battle of wills...until Damon's amused cough shattered the standoff.
"As entertaining as this pissing contest is, ladies, the food's getting cold. Shall we take this party to the table?"
Talia's eyes lit up, her grin turning distinctly feline. "Damn. He cooks, too? Oh, honey, you better put a ring on it quick, before I get any wild ideas."
"Back off, hussy," I growled playfully, moving to Damon's side and sliding a distinctly proprietary hand over his bare hip beneath the apron. "This one's all mine. Go poach your own broody musician."
He turned to me, his eyes molten and dancing with barely suppressed laughter. Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss over the corner of my mouth, his five o'clock shadow rasping deliciously against my skin .
"Damn straight," he murmured, the words a hot gust of breath against my ear. "I'm yours, Phoenix. Utterly, completely yours."
My heart stuttered, a hot, bright feeling ballooning behind my breastbone until I thought it might crack me open. Talia forgotten, I curved my free hand around Damon's nape, drawing him down until his forehead rested against my own.
"I love you," I whispered, fierce and raw. "I love you so fucking much it terrifies me."
His arms tightened around me, his heartbeat a steady drum against my chest. "I know, baby. Believe me, I know."
And I could hear it in his voice, see it etched into every line of his beautiful face. The same fear, the same soul-deep awe, the same staggering sense of rightness, of inevitability.
This was it. The endgame, the only outcome that mattered. Him and me, navigating this crazy, chaotic minefield of a life hand in hand.
Together. Always.
A platter clattered onto the table, shattering the moment. We both glanced over to find Talia watching us, an inscrutable expression on her face.
"Not that this whole love-struck mooning thing isn't adorable," she drawled, "but some of us are starving. And in dire need of dishing the latest dirt from the ninth circle of hell...also known as Rowe & Wade HQ."
I sighed, reluctantly disentangling myself from Damon's embrace. "Alright, alright. Let's eat and you can regale us with the latest scandalous goings-on of my former workplace."
We settled around the small kitchen table, Damon dishing up heaping portions of some delectable-smelling Italian egg dish studded with herbs and cheese. My stomach rumbled appreciatively, my mouth watering at the savory aroma .
"Jesus," Talia mumbled around a mouthful, her eyes fluttering shut in apparent bliss. "Marry me, Damon Cross. I'll bear you beautiful, smart-mouthed children and blow you every morning before coffee."
He snorted, shooting me a quelling look as I opened my mouth to issue a doubtlessly scathing retort. "Tempting, but I'm afraid I'm spoken for." He reached over, lacing his fingers with mine atop the table. "Besides, I hear there's a strict 'no assholes' policy in the Matrimony club."
Talia clasped a hand to her chest, feigning a swoon. "You wound me, sir. I'll have you know my asshole is top-shelf. Grade-A certified and open for business."
I choked on my coffee, glaring at her through streaming eyes. "I fucking hate you."
She blew me a kiss, unrepentant as ever. "Anyway, now that I've been so rudely rejected, I suppose I'll have to settle for living vicariously through you and your rockstar. By the way, where are your pants, sir?"
For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed. The silence stretched, taut and thrumming with tension, the only sound the cheerful sizzle of eggs in the skillet.
Damon's grin only widened, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed mirth. "Probably wherever Phoenix tossed them last night in her haste to get me naked. Girl's got a real talent for undressing me one-handed, you know."
I buried my face in my hands, a mortified groan muffling against my palms. "Oh my god, please stop talking."
Talia, on the other hand, looked positively gleeful, her shock giving way to an expression of unholy glee. "No, no, by all means - continue. In fact, feel free to demonstrate this alleged disrobing prowess. Slowly, and with feeling."
"Talia!" I yelped, my head snapping up to glare at her in horror.
But she just grinned, unrepentant as ever, and took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee. "What? Like I'm going to pass up a free show. Have you seen your man's ass, Phoenix? That thing deserves a fucking monument erected in its honor."
"Hah. Erected." Damon snickered, his shoulders shaking with poorly suppressed laughter.
I groaned again, fighting the absurd urge to crawl under the table and die of embarrassment. But beneath the mortification, a warm, giddy sort of happiness was bubbling up, bright and effervescent.
This was my life now. Lazy mornings and playful banter, the two most important people in my world snarking and sniping and mercilessly taking the piss...all while the man I loved cooked breakfast half-naked, his smile soft and content in a way I'd never seen before.
It was messy and ridiculous and utterly, utterly perfect.
Talia launched into a gleeful recounting of the latest gossip from my father's ivory tower of fuckery, I let myself bask in it. In this strange, beautiful new reality I'd stumbled into.
This felt...right. Easy in a way nothing in my life ever had been, the missing pieces slotting into place with an almost audible click.
And I knew, with a sudden, dizzying certainty, that I'd fight like hell to keep it. To nurture and protect this fragile, fledgling thing unfurling between the three of us, filling all the cracked, hollow spaces carved out by loss and pain and bitter disappointment.
We were a team now, for better or worse. A slightly dysfunctional, entirely inappropriate family of three.
And god help anyone who tried to fuck with that. Because if the last few days had taught me anything, it was that Phoenix Rowe was a force to be reckoned with when she had something - someone - to fight for .
And this? Damon, Talia, this weird, wonderful little slice of chaos and acceptance and unconditional love?
It was everything. The endgame, the final boss.
My goddamn hill to die on.
So as Talia regaled us with the sordid details of my former colleague's torrid affair with my father - "I'm telling you, Storm is angling for stepmother status. I caught her browsing wedding dresses online and eyeing Cyrus like he was the last piece of cake at a fat camp" - I simply leaned into Damon's side, stealing bites of frittata from his plate and grinning like a loon.
Let the gossips talk. Let the haters hate. None of it could touch me, not anymore.
Because I'd already won the only battle that mattered, claimed the only prize worth fighting for.
A future. A family.
A love fierce enough to weather any storm, overcome any obstacle.
I had everything I'd ever wanted, right here in this sunny kitchen that smelled of coffee and contentment.
And I'd be damned if I let anyone - not my father, not the press, not the whole fucking world - take that away from me.
Phoenix Rowe was done running. Done hiding. Done apologizing for her sins and her scars.
"...and that's not even the worst of it," Talia continued, her eyes sparkling with a mix of glee and disgust. "Apparently, Daddy Dearest has been funneling company funds into some off-shore account, all while cutting benefits and laying off staff left and right. The man's a fucking piranha in Armani."
I sighed, rubbing my temple where a dull ache had begun to throb. "Why am I not surprised? Cyrus always did view his employees as little more than disposable pawns on his chessboard of corporate fuckery."
Damon's hand found mine beneath the table, his fingers lacing with my own in a silent show of support. I leaned into him, breathing in the warm, musky scent of his skin and letting it settle my jangled nerves.
"Sounds like a real peach," he drawled, his lip curling in distaste. "Remind me again why you put up with his shit for so long?"
I shrugged, a wry smile tugging at my mouth. "Masochism, mostly. And a misguided sense of filial duty. But I'm starting to realize that blood doesn't equal blind loyalty...and it sure as fuck doesn't buy my silence. Not anymore."
Talia reached across the table, squeezing my free hand in her own. "Damn straight, bitch. You're free now - free to bring those bastards to their knees and dance on the ashes of their ugly-ass Oxfords."
I laughed, the sound bright and unfettered. "God, I love you. Have I mentioned that lately? Because I totally fucking do."
"Duh. What's not to love?" She preened, tossing her hair over one shoulder with a grin. "I'm a goddamn treasure and you know it."
"And so modest, too," Damon deadpanned, his eyes glinting with amusement.
Talia flipped him off cheerfully, draining the last of her coffee and pushing back from the table. "And on that note, I should probably skedaddle. Some of us have real jobs to get to, and I'm pretty sure you two have some more naked apron shenanigans to get up to."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't quite suppress my grin. "Begone, foul wench. Go darken someone else's doorstep with your filthy mind and complete lack of boundaries."
"Never!" she declared, pressing a smacking kiss to my cheek before flouncing toward the door, pausing only to blow Damon an exaggerated air kiss. "Laters, babes. Do everything I would do...twice, and with video evidence!"
And then she was gone in a whirlwind of expensive perfume and cackling laughter, the door slamming shut behind her with a cheerful bang.
For a moment, Damon and I just sat there, blinking at each other in the sudden silence. Then, slowly, matching grins spread across our faces, relief and joy and a giddy sort of disbelief mingling in the charged air between us.
"So," Damon drawled, his voice husky and warm like aged whiskey. "Alone at last. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?"
I bit my lip, heat unfurling low in my belly at the blatant invitation in his tone. Memories of the night before - of sweat-slicked skin and grasping hands, of broken cries and shattered pleasure - flickered through my mind like a pornographic flipbook, making me squirm in my seat.
But as tempting as it was to drag him back to bed and lose myself in his body, his touch...I found myself craving something else. Something softer, more intimate.
I wanted to know him, this beautiful, broken boy who'd carved out a place in my heart and made himself at home. Wanted to peel back the layers of snark and cynicism, to find the tender, guarded places beneath and learn them by heart.
So I laced my fingers with his, bringing our joined hands to my lips and brushing a gentle kiss over his knuckles. "Actually...I was thinking we could go out. Maybe grab some lunch, take a walk on the beach. Just...be together, without any distractions or obligations."
Damon's brows shot up, surprise and a flicker of something warm, almost vulnerable, dancing across his face. "Phoenix Rowe, are you asking me on a date?"
I grinned, my heart fluttering wildly behind my ribs. "I suppose I am. Is that a yes?"
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head even as he tugged me closer, his free hand coming up to cup my jaw with a tenderness that stole my breath. "Baby, that's a hell fucking yes. I'd love nothing more than to spend the day with you, no masks, no pretenses. Just us."
"Good." I nuzzled into his palm, pressing a kiss to the thin skin of his wrist where his pulse thundered. "Because I plan on monopolizing your attention for the foreseeable future, Mr. Cross. Hope you're ready for that level of commitment."
"Oh, I'm ready," he murmured, his eyes molten and full of promise. "In fact, I'm pretty fucking sure I was born ready. You're it for me, Phoenix. The endgame, the final act. I'm in this for the long haul, come hell or high water."
My breath caught, my heart doing a dizzying tap dance against my sternum. "Damon..."
But he simply shook his head, his thumb tracing the swell of my bottom lip with a reverence that made me ache. "You don't have to say anything. I just...I needed you to know. To understand that this - us - is everything to me. Everything I never thought I'd have, never thought I deserved."
Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes, hot and insistent. But for once, they weren't born of sorrow or pain. No. These were tears of joy, of stunned gratitude and boundless, reckless hope.
Because this man, this glorious, infuriating, endlessly compelling man...he saw me. The real me, beneath the surface polish and brittle armor. He knew my darkest secrets, my ugliest scars...and he loved me not in spite of them, but because of them.
Just as I loved him. Wholly, fiercely, with an intensity that should've terrified me but instead felt as vital and necessary as my next breath.
So I didn't bother with words. They seemed paltry, inadequate in the face of such staggering emotion. Instead, I surged forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that aimed to communicate everything I couldn't quite voice - my gratitude, my devotion, my unshakable faith in this strange, precious thing blooming between us.
Damon met me with equal fervor, his lips slanting over mine as his arms banded around my waist, hauling me into his lap until I was straddling him, the hard, hot press of him cradled between my thighs.
We lost ourselves for a moment, hands roaming and mouths clashing, stoking the ever-present wildfire that crackled and sparked in the scant space between our bodies. But just as I was considering saying fuck it to our date and riding him into oblivion right there at the kitchen table, Damon gentled the kiss, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against my own.
"As much as I'd love to strip you bare and bury myself in you right this second," he panted, his eyes glazed and voice deliciously roughened, "I believe I was just promised lunch and a romantic stroll on the beach. And I'm very much looking forward to schmoozing my girl, taking her out and showing her off like the fucking goddess she is."
I laughed breathlessly, my heart so full it felt like it might burst. "Sap," I accused, but the word emerged soft and fond, drenched in affection.
"Guilty as charged," he agreed easily, his smile brighter than the sun. "But only for you, firebird. Only ever for you."
And really, what could I possibly say to that? What response could encompass the depth and breadth of feeling, of bone-deep rightness, those simple words evoked?
So I did the only thing I could. I leaned in close, my lips brushing the shell of his ear as I breathed my answer into his skin like a prayer .
"Ditto, rock star. Now take me out and woo me properly, so I can spend the rest of the day showing you just how crazy I am about your romantic, cheesy, utterly perfect ass."
Damon's delighted laughter chased us as we untangled ourselves and stumbled toward the bedroom to dress, giddy and light as the first golden rays of a new dawn.
The day beckoned, bright with promise and possibility. And for the first time in longer than I could remember...I couldn't wait to greet it.
With my hand in his and my heart in his keeping, I felt ready to take on the world.
The rest - the label, my father, the shitstorm of fallout no doubt brewing on the horizon - could wait.