5. Chapter 5 Phoenix

Chapter 5 Phoenix

T he relentless Miami heat clung to my skin as I strode into the studio, but it was nothing compared to the scorching awareness simmering in my veins. For two weeks, I'd been dancing on the edge of a knife, playing with fire in the form of Damon Cross.

Late night recording sessions that crackled with tension. Lingering glances across soundboards that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure. Every interaction was a new brand on my soul, marking me as his in ways I was terrified to admit.

I'd always prided myself on my iron control, on my ability to navigate the treacherous waters of this industry with cool detachment. But Damon threatened to unravel me at every turn, to strip away the layers of armor I'd spent a lifetime erecting.

It was in the way his smoldering gaze undressed me, leaving me feeling naked and exposed. The way his gravelly voice rasped my name like a prayer and a curse all at once. He was the serpent in my garden of Eden, tempting me with forbidden fruit I wasn't sure I was strong enough to resist.

As I entered the control room, I found him already waiting, lounging in a leather chair with a guitar propped on his knee. He was the picture of insolent ease, all tousled hair and wicked promises.

But it was his eyes that snared me, those obsidian depths swirling with hunger and something far more dangerous. Something that looked a lot like possession.

"Well, well," he drawled, setting the guitar aside with a deliberate slowness that set my nerves on edge. "If it isn't the elusive Phoenix, gracing me with her presence at last."

I crossed my arms, aiming for nonchalance even as my traitorous heart kicked against my ribs. "Some of us have work to do, Damon. The world doesn't revolve around your whims."

"Maybe not the world, firebird..." Suddenly, he was right there, crowding into my space until I was enveloped by his heat, his scent, his overwhelming maleness. "But I'm starting to think maybe you do."

Lust, hot and urgent, unfurled in my core. I knew I should push him away, reestablish the crumbling boundary lines before they faded to nothing. But when his fingers grazed my hip, branding me through the thin fabric of my dress, I found myself arching into the contact.

"Damon..." It was a plea and a prayer, a broken invocation of the only higher power I'd ever truly believed in - pleasure.

"Shhh, I've got you." His breath ghosted across my lips, a maddening almost-kiss. "Just fly for me, Phoenix. Let me take you to new heights."

And God help me, I did.

Our mouths collided in a maelstrom of heat and hunger, tongues tangling, teeth nipping. He kissed me like a man possessed, like he wanted to crawl inside my skin and make a home there.

I could only hold on for dear life, my fingers sinking into the thick silk of his white hair as he backed me against the mixing console. Cool metal bit into my spine, a delicious contrast to the inferno raging between us.

Damon's hands were everywhere - skimming my sides, palming my breasts, hitching my thigh over his lean hip as he notched himself against my aching center.

"Phoenix," he rasped against the galloping pulse in my throat. "I have to have you. Now. Right fucking now."

Yes, my mind screamed. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

But the tattered shreds of my reason chose that moment to resurface, a bucket of ice water on the blaze threatening to consume us both. With great effort, I wrenched my mouth from his, panting harshly in the charged space between our bodies.

"Wait," I managed, the word sticking in my throat like shards of glass. "Damon, stop. We can't do this."

For a terrifying instant, I thought he might ignore me, might take what I'd so recklessly offered. The muscles of his back rippled beneath my questing fingers, taut with barely restrained need. But then, with a muffled curse, he wrenched himself away, leaving me bereft and trembling against the console.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." He scrubbed a hand over his face, his expression a mask of frustration and self-disgust. "I didn't mean to attack you like that. I just...I can't think straight around you."

I wanted to bridge the chasm yawning between us, to smooth the lines of tension bracketing his mouth. But I knew if I touched him then, I'd be lost. So I simply shook my head, fighting to corral my scattered thoughts into some semblance of order.

"It's not your fault," I rasped, my voice husky with unspent desire. "I'm the one who needs to apologize. This thing between us...it's not professional. We can't keep blurring the lines like this."

Damon's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble-shadowed skin. "Professional," he repeated, the word harsh and brittle on his tongue. "Right. Because that's all this is to you, isn't it? Just another business transaction."

The accusation landed like a blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. "That's not fair. You know how much your music means to me, how much I believe in-"

"In the band?" he cut me off with a mirthless laugh. "In Coffin Cargo? Or in me, Phoenix? Do you even know the difference anymore?"

The truth of it hit me like a freight train, leaving me reeling. Because he was right. Somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred irrevocably. This wasn't just about signing a talented act anymore. It was about him - the man who saw through my every defense, who set my soul on fire with a glance.

The man I was falling for, despite every cell in my body screaming that it was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.

Damon must have read the answer on my face, because his eyes shuttered, a wall slamming down between us. "That's what I thought," he said flatly. "My mistake for assuming this was something more."

He turned to walk away, and panic seized me in an iron grip. I couldn't let him leave like this, couldn't let this fragile thing shatter before it had even had a chance to begin.

"Damon, wait!" I lunged for him, my fingers closing around his wrist like a vise. The contact seared me to the bone, a brand I'd feel for days. "Please. Don't go."

He stilled, the muscles of his forearm flexing beneath my desperate grip. "Why not? You've made it pretty clear you're only interested in what I can do for your label."

"That's not true!" The denial ripped from my throat, raw and bleeding. "I want you, Damon. God, I want you so badly I can't breathe sometimes."

A weighted pause, the air itself holding its breath. Then, slowly, he turned back to me, his eyes molten pools of onyx in the dim light.

"Say it again."

It was a command, a plea. As if he needed to hear the words to believe them. So I obliged, pouring every ounce of longing into the confession.

"I want you," I whispered. "Not Coffin Cargo. Not some business asset. Just you, Damon Cross. The man who drives me out of my mind. The man who makes me feel alive for the first time in years."

He was on me before the last word left my lips, his mouth crashing over mine in a possessive claim. I wound my arms around his neck and surrendered to the onslaught, my body molding to every hard plane of his like it was made to be there.

Dimly, I registered him walking us backward, never breaking the seal of our lips. Then the world tilted on its axis as he hitched me onto the leather sofa tucked in the corner of the studio.

He loomed over me, a dark angel come to steal me away. "Tell me to stop," he rasped, his hands fisting against the cushions as if to hold himself back. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away right now."

But I couldn't. I wouldn't. Not when every fiber of my being was crying out for his touch, his taste. Not when I'd finally found the other half of my soul in this beautiful, broken man.

"Don't stop," I breathed, reaching for him with shaking fingers. "Please, Damon. I need you."

With a tortured groan, he came to me, settling his weight in the cradle of my hips like he belonged there. And he did. Oh God, he did.

Clothes were shed with fumbling urgency, although I kept my blouse on, careful not to expose the scarred skin of my back. Damon mapped the curves left bare to him with greedy hands and worshipful lips, as if memorizing every dip and hollow he could reach.

I drowned in the overwhelming sensation of his reverent touch, my world narrowing to the trail of fire he blazed across my body and the delicious ache building between my thighs.

He did sinful, glorious things with those clever fingers, stoking the blaze until I writhed shamelessly beneath him, breathless pleas for release spilling unconsciously from my lips. But when I reached for him, desperate to feel the heated length of him, I only got a wicked smile in return.

"Not yet, firebird," he purred, nipping at my pouting bottom lip. "I've been dreaming about tasting you for weeks. I'm going to feast on this pretty pussy until you're sobbing my name."

Lust, violent and visceral, clawed at my womb. "Damon, please..."

But he was already moving down my body, trailing openmouthed kisses over my quivering stomach. He breathed me in as he settled between my thighs, a rumbling groan of appreciation vibrating against my over-sensitized flesh.

"Fucking exquisite," he murmured, his eyes devouring me with a hunger that bordered on feral. "I knew you'd be sweet as sin."

Then his mouth was on me, and coherent thought fractured into a million glittering shards. He licked me open with languid strokes, savoring me like a priceless vintage. Each flick of his tongue was a revelation, a new height of pleasure I didn't know existed.

When he sealed his lips around my throbbing clit and sucked, I nearly levitated off the couch. "Fuck, Damon!" I moaned .

He chuckled darkly, the reverberations making me sob. "That's it, let me hear you. I want the whole damn studio to know who's making you feel this good."

My thighs started to tremble, signaling my impending release. But just as I was about to shatter, he gentled his ministrations, easing me back from the brink with soothing licks.

"Not yet," he coaxed, pressing suckling kisses to my quaking inner thighs. "I'm not done with you, firebird. Not by a long shot."

He brought me to the edge again and again, prolonging the sweet torture until I was a babbling, writhing mess.

Only then, when my throat was raw from keening his name and my nails had carved half-moons into his biceps, did he finally grant me mercy.

"Come for me, Phoenix," he commanded, his voice a dark rasp against my aching flesh. "Now."

He curled two fingers deep inside me as he closed his teeth around my clit in a velvet-soft bite, and I shattered. My orgasm ripped through me like a tidal wave, stealing my breath and obliterating every thought beyond the man wringing ecstasy from my body.

I was dimly aware of my legs clamping around his head, of my spine arching like a bow as I quaked and thrashed, but he never relented, working me through the storm with lips and tongue and skill.

When the aftershocks finally subsided, I collapsed against the cushions, boneless and replete. Damon crawled up my body, trailing his lips along the oversensitive skin until he could claim my mouth in a searing kiss. I could taste myself on his tongue, musk and heat and undiluted carnality, and the knowledge made me clench with renewed hunger.

"So fucking perfect," he breathed against my lips, gathering me into his arms until there was no space left between us. "Mi alma, mi Fuego. I'd happily drown in you."

The raw emotion in his voice cracked something open inside my chest, spilling secrets I wasn't ready to name. So instead, I arched against him, feeling the hot, hard length of him throb against my belly.

"Damon," I pleaded, it was half demand, half prayer. "I need you..."

His pupils dilated, eclipsing the stormy gray of his irises. With a muttered oath, he fumbled for his discarded jeans, producing a foil packet.

I wanted to tell him there was no need, that I was clean and protected, but the words lodged in my throat. That was a conversation for another time, when I wasn't drunk on the taste of his skin and the promise of his body.

He sheathed himself with trembling fingers, the blunt head of his cock nestling against my entrance. I hooked my ankles around his waist, my every thought narrowed to the glorious pressure of him poised to breach me.

"Look at me," he rasped, his jaw tight with the effort of holding himself back. "I need to see your eyes when I make you mine."

The intensity in his gaze scorched me, stripping away every defense until I was laid bare before him. I cupped his face in my palms, pouring everything I couldn't say into the connection.

"You already have," I whispered. "I'm yours, Damon. Only yours."

Something fierce and possessive flared in his eyes, a primal satisfaction that made me throb. "Damn right you are," he growled. "And I'm yours, firebird. Now and always."

With that vow still hanging in the air, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke.

That's when I felt it - the heated trail of piercings trailing down the underside of his shaft in a perfect line. My mouth went dry, hazy memories and lust filled fantasies of similar modifications surfacing my addled mind .

My head slammed back against the armrest, a silent scream trapped behind my teeth as pleasure bordered on pain. He was huge, stretching me to the limit, but it wasn't enough. I needed more of him, all of him.

"Told you it got better," Damon rasped, his jaw ticking with the strain of holding himself immobile. "Like it, firebird?"

I could only whimper in response, already desperate to feel that wicked ladder scoring delicious friction against my inner walls.

As if reading my mind, he started to move, rolling his hips in a slow, deep grind that had me seeing stars. Each drag of his cock ignited new nerves, stoking the embers in my core to a blistering inferno.

I met him thrust for thrust, my body rising to his in a dance older than time. And then his gaze captured mine, smoky and possessive in a way that stole my breath–but would never come close to the effect of his kisses.

Our lips crashed together, more breath than finesse as we devoured each other. His tongue mimicked the rhythm of his hips, fucking into my mouth with filthy intent. I scored my nails down the flexing wings of his shoulders, reveling in the animal hiss that escaped him.

"Harder," I demanded, nipping at his bottom lip. "I won't break, I promise."

A strangled curse, and then he was slamming into me, the wet slap of flesh on flesh echoing obscenely in the studio. The force of his thrusts rocked me up the couch, and I scrambled for purchase, my hand slipping from the cushions to land on the mixer.

And music suddenly blasted from the speakers, the driving beat of Damon's latest track filling the air. We both froze, startled by the intrusion. But then I saw the unholy light that kindled in his eyes, and a whole new wave of desire crashed over me .

He braced one hand on the armrest above my head, the other snaking down to grab my ass as he started to move again, timing his thrusts to the pulsing rhythm.

It was dirty and primal and so fucking hot I could have spontaneously combusted. The gritty snarl of his voice from the speakers blended with his labored breathing in my ear, an erotic symphony that sank into my pores.

"You like that, baby?" he panted against the sweat-slicked column of my throat, his hips pistoning mercilessly. "Like getting fucked to the sound of my music, knowing everyone in this building can probably hear me splitting you open on my cock?"

"Yes," I keened, too far gone to be ashamed of how needy I sounded. "God yes, it's so fucking good."

He hiked my leg higher on his waist, the angle changing to hit some secret spot inside me that had my eyes rolling back. "I know it is. You were made for me, Phoenix. This sweet, tight cunt grips me like it never wants to let go."

His filthy words were my undoing. The spring in my core snapped, my orgasm roaring through me like a wildfire. I seized around him, my muscles fluttering and grasping as I tumbled into sheer bliss.

Damon swore viciously, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face in the crook of my shoulder and shuddered through his own release. I felt him pulse inside me, each aftershock wringing a fresh moan from my lips.

Slowly, the world came back into focus, the music fading to a distant thrum as I floated down from the high.

We lay tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin as our breathing slowly returned to normal. Damon's calloused fingers traced lazy patterns on my back, and I found myself melting into his touch, boneless and thoroughly fucked .

"Gotta say, firebird," Damon murmured, his voice a low rumble against my hair. "I thought being clean would've been a bigger bitch."

I stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Propping myself up on an elbow, I met his gaze, finding a raw vulnerability there that made my chest tight.

"But?" I prompted, arching an eyebrow.

His lips quirked in that crooked grin that never failed to make my heart skip. "But you, Phoenix... you make living in this fucked up skin bearable. Hell, you almost make it feel easy."

The unvarnished honesty in his words hit me like a sucker punch. I could see the war behind his eyes - the addict fighting for control, the artist desperate to create, the man yearning to be worthy. And underneath it all, a bone-deep discomfort that spoke of years spent hating his own reflection.

"Shit, Damon," I breathed, momentarily at a loss for words. Then, because deflection was my second language: "If I'd known my pussy had magical healing powers, I'd have monetized that shit years ago."

He barked out a laugh, genuine mirth crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Don't sell yourself short, firebird. It's not just the pussy - though that is fucking phenomenal."

"Damn straight," I smirked, but then sobered. "You know you're not actually cursed, right? You're a goddamn force of nature on that stage. Off it too, when you're not being a colossal pain in my ass."

"You love my colossal pain in your ass," he leered, but I could see the doubt lingering behind the bravado.

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head," I retorted, then softened. "I mean it though. You're... you're something else, Damon Cross. Infuriating as hell, but incredible."

He pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "You make me want to believe that," he admitted, voice muffled against my skin.

"Then believe it," I insisted, tangling my fingers in his hair. "Because it's true, you stubborn ass."

As I held him, feeling the steady thud of his heart against mine, I made a silent vow. I'd remind this beautiful, broken man of his worth every damn day, for as long as he'd let me. Because somehow, without me even realizing it, Damon Cross had carved out a place for himself in my life. In my heart.

And that was fucking terrifying. But also? It felt a hell of a lot like coming home.