6. Chapter 6 Damon

Chapter 6 Damon

I gunned the engine of my '69 Camaro, the rumble of the V8 echoing through the quiet Miami streets. The sun had barely crested the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink, but I was already wired. Not from any chemical high – I'd been clean for two months now, ever since signing that fucking contract with its sobriety clause – but from something far more potent. Far more addictive.

Phoenix.

She was my new drug of choice, and damn if I wasn't jonesing for another hit. One touch, one scorching glance from those gold-flecked eyes, and I was ready to conquer the fucking world. Or maybe just her body. Again and again until we both collapsed from sheer pleasure.

I shook my head, trying to clear the x-rated images flashing through my mind. I needed to focus. Today was important. Zane and the guys were meeting me at the studio later to lay down the final tracks for our album, and I couldn't afford to be distracted. Even if that distraction had miles of golden-brown skin and a mouth that could make grown men weep .

It had been a hell of a two months. Staying clean wasn't easy, but thoughts of Phoenix, of not letting her down, had kept me on the straight and narrow. Well, as straight and narrow as a rock star could be. She was my anchor, my reason to keep fighting the cravings that sometimes clawed at my insides. And fuck if that didn't terrify me as much as it thrilled me.

I pulled up to the curb outside Phoenix's townhouse, killing the engine. The smell of fresh bagels and coffee wafted from the passenger seat, reminding me of her instructions last night. After our marathon sex session in the studio, she'd laughed that husky laugh that went straight to my cock and told me to be ready with breakfast by nine a.m. sharp.

So here I was, like a lovesick puppy panting after its master, eager to please. It would have been pathetic if I gave a single fuck. But the truth was, I'd tear out my own heart and serve it to her on a silver platter if she asked.

Phoenix owned me, body and soul.

I walked up the steps to her door, sunglasses in place against the already blazing morning light. I wasn't sure if I should knock or text her or what. It felt weird, this strange new territory of doing shit for someone else's convenience. Normally I was the one calling the shots, telling chicks when and where to be available.

But Phoenix was different. She commanded my obedience without even trying.

I thought I was like the ocean; wild, untamable, dangerous. But I was starting to think I might just have been the moon - helpless to her pull, forever caught in the changing tides of her affection.

Before I could reach out and knock, the door swung open, revealing Phoenix in all her post-shower glory.

And my heart nearly stopped .

She stood there, a vision of laid-back beauty, her damp curls tied up in a bright blue scarf, mellow gold eyes free of makeup. A faded concert tee clung to her lush curves. God, she was breathtaking.

Then my gaze locked on the logo splashed across her chest, and everything inside me turned to ice.

Artificial Hearts. She was wearing that poser Rafe Vega's band tee. It was like a mocking slap in the face, my worst insecurities come to taunting life.

"Morning," she chirped brightly, stepping back to let me in. "I thought I heard that beast of yours pull up."

I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Every cell in my body was screaming at the wrongness of seeing another man's mark on her skin, even if it was just a stupid piece of cotton. She must have sensed my sudden tension, because her eyes clouded with confusion.

"Damon? What's wrong?"

"What the fuck are you wearing?" The words came out harsher than I'd intended, laced with barely leashed violence.

Phoenix glanced down at herself, her brow furrowed. Then realization dawned, followed swiftly by exasperation.

"Seriously? It's just a shirt, Damon." She crossed her arms over her chest, that damnable logo crinkling with the movement.

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. "It's not just a shirt. It's Rafe fucking Vega's shirt. My sworn enemy, in case you've forgotten."

She rolled her eyes, and it took everything in me not to grab her and shake her until she understood the red haze clouding my vision.

"I haven't forgotten. I have tons of band tees. Occupational hazard." She shrugged, the casual gesture like sandpaper on my raw nerves. "It doesn't mean anything. "

I knew I was being irrational. I knew it was just a scrap of fabric, not some declaration of her secret loyalty to my rival. But the fury boiling in my gut didn't give a shit about logic.

Before I could stop myself, I crowded into her space, using my bulk to back her into the wall beside the door. I caged her in with my arms, my face inches from hers. Her eyes went wide, her breath hitching as I leaned in close.

"Take it off."

Phoenix swallowed hard, but her chin jutted out stubbornly. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I dipped my head, running my nose along the column of her throat, scenting her. Fuck, she smelled good. Like rain-soaked jasmine and pulsing need. "Take. It. Off."

For a long moment, she just stared at me, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. Anger, defiance, confusion...and beneath it all, a simmering heat that matched the inferno raging in my blood.

Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the hem of the shirt and peeled it over her head in one smooth motion. The flimsy cotton fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as I drank in the sight of her bare before me.

She hadn't been wearing a bra.

I made a low, approving noise in the back of my throat, my gaze raking over the dusky peaks of her breasts, the rich swell of her hips, the tiny scrap of satin and lace that barely qualified as panties. She was a fucking goddess, and I wanted to worship at her altar until the end of time.

"Happy now?" she asked, breathless and flushed under the intensity of my perusal.

I flashed her a wolfish grin, my hands already reaching for her. "Thrilled," I purred, palming the warm silk of her skin. "But I'll be even happier when I've fucked you so hard, so thoroughly, that the only name you remember is mine."

Phoenix shivered, her eyes going molten with need. Her hands tangled in my hair as she arched into me, a kittenish mewl spilling from her lips. "Then what are you waiting for, rock star? Make me forget my own name."

Permission granted, I lifted her easily, wrapping those gorgeous thighs around my waist as I walked us deeper into her house. The breakfast I'd brought lay forgotten on the entryway table, bagels going cold and coffee losing its steam. But I couldn't bring myself to care. I had a much more appetizing meal in mind.

Phoenix clung to me, her nails scoring delicious tracks of pain down my shoulders, her mouth hot and demanding against my own.

But as I angled us toward the bedroom, she stiffened almost imperceptibly in my arms, her body shifting just slightly away from me. I frowned against her lips, feeling the subtle withdrawal like a slap.

Refusing to be deterred, I simply tightened my grip on her ass and deepened the kiss, intent on chasing away whatever fleeting doubt had crept into her mind.

By the time I found her bedroom, I was so hard I thought I might bust through the zipper of my jeans. I tossed her on the bed, taking a moment to appreciate the way she bounced and splayed across the dark sheets, a feast laid out just for me.

"You have no idea what you do to me," I rasped, shrugging out of my jacket and tearing at the buttons of my shirt.

Phoenix propped herself up on her elbows, a wicked gleam dancing in her eyes. "Why don't you come over here and show me?"

Growling, I joined her on the bed, covering her body with my own. Every glorious inch of her seared me, branding my flesh with her heat .

"I'm going to do more than show you, firebird. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

I kissed her then, hard and hungry, a clash of lips and teeth and tongues. She met me passion for passion, arching into me as I ground my aching cock against the drenched silk of her panties.

My mouth blazed a trail down her throat, pausing to nip and suck at her pulse point. Phoenix keened, her fingers scrabbling across my back, urging me lower.

I obliged with a dark chuckle, taking one straining nipple into my mouth. I laved the sensitive peak with my tongue, grazing it ever-so-gently with my teeth until she was writhing beneath me, incoherent pleas tumbling from her kiss-swollen lips.

"Damon, please..."

"That's it, baby. Beg for me."

I lavished the same attention on her other breast, my fingers dancing down the trembling plain of her stomach to the elastic of her panties. I could feel the heat of her through the soaked fabric, and it made my mouth water.

I needed to taste her. To drink down her desire like the finest wine until she was shaking and sobbing my name.

Placing a final, suckling kiss to the valley between her breasts, I began to work my way down her body, my lips and teeth and tongue mapping every dip and curve.

Phoenix was panting now, her skin glowing with a fine sheen of sweat, her eyes glassy and unfocused as she watched me worship her through the forest of her lashes.

When I reached the apex of her thighs, I paused, breathing in the musky perfume of her arousal. Fuck, she smelled incredible.

"Spread your legs for me, sweetheart. "

Phoenix complied with a breathy moan, letting her knees fall open wantonly. The sight of her pink and glistening, hardly hidden by the scrap of lace, made my cock jerk and weep with need.

Unable to resist, I leaned in and ran my tongue along the dampened fabric, savoring that first taste of her nectar. Phoenix bucked, a high, tight cry escaping her.

"Oh God..."

I grinned against her, my fingers hooking into her panties and dragging them down her endless legs. "Not God, firebird. Just me."

Then I dove in like a man starved, burying my face in the slick, scorching heat of her. Phoenix nearly bowed off the bed, a ragged scream tearing from her throat as I licked her from slit to clit.

Nothing had ever tasted so good, so right. I feasted on her, lapping up every fresh gush of honey, swirling my tongue around the throbbing pearl at the top of her sex. She rolled her hips against my face, fucking my mouth with desperate abandon as I dragged her closer and closer to the edge.

When I felt the telltale flutter of her walls, I thrust two fingers knuckle-deep, curling them just so. Phoenix flew apart with a hoarse cry, her muscles clamping down and rippling around my fingers in an endless wave.

I worked her through it, stroking and licking and sucking until she collapsed back against the sheets, thoroughly satisfied. Only then did I release her, pressing a final, reverent kiss to her swollen flesh.

I crawled up her body, my neglected dick throbbing almost painfully. Phoenix blinked up at me, dazed and sated, the beginnings of a cat-in-cream smile curving her lush mouth.

"Holy shit," she panted, running her fingers through the damp spikes of my hair. "That was... "

"Just the beginning," I promised darkly, nuzzling her neck. "I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

Before she could form a response, my phone started blaring from the pocket of my discarded jeans. I tried to ignore it, intent on following through with my promise, but the incessant ringing simply wouldn't stop.

"Are you going to get that?" Phoenix asked, half-amused, half-annoyed.

Cursing, I rolled off her and snatched up my jeans, digging out the offending device. Zane's name flashed across the screen, along with a slew of texts from the rest of the guys. Unease pricked at the back of my neck. They knew not to bug me this early unless it was important.

I accepted the call with a growl, "This better be fucking life or death."

"It's the studio, D." Zane's normally unflappable voice was tight with barely-suppressed rage. "Someone trashed our equipment. Thousands of dollars worth of damage. And that's not all..."

A cold knot of dread settled in my gut as he laid out the rest - slashed tires on the band van, anonymous threats taped to our rehearsal space door, our social media hacked with vile messages. It stank of targeted harassment. Of sabotage.

And I had a sinking suspicion I knew exactly who was behind it.

"Get the police involved," I bit out, my free hand clenching into a fist. "Report everything. I'm on my way."

I ended the call and turned to face Phoenix, an apology already forming on my lips. But she wasn't looking at me. She was staring at her own phone, her expression unreadable.

"Phoenix? What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, she turned the screen to face me. There, plastered across some shitty gossip site, was a photo of her and me from this morning. The headline screamed: "Producer Phoenix Rowe Caught Slumming It With Rocker Damon Cross."

My blood turned to ice in my veins. Someone had followed me here, had violated the sanctity of our time together for a sleazy headline. And they'd dragged Phoenix into the muck right alongside me.

"I have to go," I said woodenly, already reaching for my clothes. Rage and frustration warred in my chest, but beneath it all lurked a much more potent emotion.

Fear.

Fear that all of this—the studio, the threats, the media shitstorm—was because of me. Because of my fucked up past come back to haunt me.

And now Phoenix was caught in the crossfire. The one pure and good thing in my life, tainted by association.

"Damon..." She reached for me, but I couldn't let her touch me. Not now. Not when I felt toxic down to my bones.

"I'll call you later," I rasped, hating myself for the hurt that flashed across her face at my abrupt departure.

But what choice did I have? I needed to handle this, to figure out who was behind this attack on my band, my family. On her.

Even if it meant pushing away the only woman I'd ever...

I cut that thought off viciously, refusing to put a name to the feeling clawing at my chest. It was too dangerous, too impossible.

Phoenix deserved better than a fucked up wreck like me. Deserved the world at her feet, not the broken shards of a man too damaged to love.

So I did what I did best.

I ran.

Away from her, away from the impossible fantasy that we could ever have something real, something lasting .

Fate had proved time and again that I didn't get to keep the good things. Why should this time be any different?

Still, as I gunned my engine and peeled away from the curb, I couldn't shake the image of Phoenix standing there in the doorway, wrapped in nothing but a sheet and a wounded expression.

It haunted me, a bittersweet specter that would linger long after this shitty day was done.

But I couldn't afford to dwell on might-have-beens.

Not when I had a fucking war to wage.