I grab him by the collar and crash my mouth against his, hard enough to bruise. He groans into me, biting back, but I don’t let him win this time. My teeth sink into his lower lip until he gasps, and I shove him down onto the couch.
“You want me to use it?” My voice is rough, breaking with heat. “Fine. I’ll fucking use it.”
Phoenix sprawls there, chest heaving, eyes dark and hungry. “Do it, sweetheart. Show me how angry you are.”
Something snaps inside me. All the anger, all the frustration—it floods out in the way I shove his knees apart and fall between them. My hands tear at his sweats, yanking them down hard enough he curses. He doesn’t stop me. He just spreads wider, cock already thick and heavy against his stomach.
I don’t even start there. I grip his thighs, force them wider, and bury my face lower. Phoenix jolts when my tongue drags over him, rough and hungry. I don’t take it slow. I eat him out like I’m starving, tongue pressing deep, lips sucking hard enough to make him moan my name.
“Fuck, Lee—” His voice cracks, hand flying to my hair, but I don’t let him guide me. I pin his hips down with one hand and keep going, devouring every sound he makes. He tries to buck up, but I hold him there, ruthless.
My fingers press in next, two at once, sliding in slick from my spit. Phoenix curses loud, the sound tearing out of him as his back arches. “Jesus?—”
“Shut up,” I growl against him, pumping my fingers rough and fast. He shudders, thighs trembling, cock leaking against his stomach.
I pull out of him just long enough to spit down over my fingers, working them deeper, curling until he’s gasping like he’s going to fall apart. My mouth goes to his cock, swallowing him down while I keep fingering him open. He thrashes under me, one fist knotted in my hair, the other clawing at the couch cushions.
When I pull off him, he’s wrecked, chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead.
“On the floor.” My voice is harsh, almost unrecognizable to my own ears.
Phoenix blinks, dazed. “What?—”
I grab his wrist and drag him down off the couch, shoving him onto his knees on the carpet. He laughs, breathless and cocky even now. “Carpet burn, huh? You’re a mean bastard.”
“Shut up,” I snarl, already lining up.
He looks back over his shoulder, grin wild. “Do it then. Break me.”
And I do.
I slam into him in one rough thrust, and his laugh rips into a groan, head dropping forward. The sound of our bodies meeting is obscene, wet and sharp, my hips snapping forward again and again without mercy. Phoenix claws at the carpet, shoulders flexing, his voice breaking open.
“Fuck, Lee—harder?—”
I give it to him, every ounce of frustration, every ounce of rage. My grip bruises his hips, dragging him back onto me over and over. His knees scrape against the carpet, red marks blooming, but he doesn’t care. He pushes back into me like he can’t get enough, like he wants me to destroy him.
My chest presses to his back, teeth sinking into the curve of his shoulder, biting hard enough he hisses and I can taste something coppery against my tongue. “Mine,” I pant against his skin. “Say it.”
His moan is ragged, desperate. “Yours, fuck—always yours?—”
That does it. I fuck him until my vision whites out, until my own orgasm tears through me so hard I collapse over him. Phoenix takes it, groaning, his cock spilling untouched against the carpet.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room is our panting. My sweat drips onto his back, my hands still gripping his hips like I can’t let go.
Finally, Phoenix laughs hoarse and low, turning his head just enough to glance at me. “Feel better?”
I bury my face against his shoulder, still shaking, and mutter, “No. I need more.”
He chuckles, voice dark and wrecked. “Fine. But in the bed. My knees are shot to hell.”
And somehow, even through the anger, I laugh.
I’ve never been more nervous about walking into a house that I’ve already spent half my time in these past few months. Normally, it’s just us—our laughter bouncing off the walls, our clothes tangled on the floor, the faint smell of coffee still lingering from his morning routine. But tonight, with the counter cluttered with plastic cups and half a dozen liquor bottles, it feels like I’m exposing something private.
Phoenix notices. Of course he notices.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is calm, steady, the same voice that can command twenty guys on the ice without breaking a sweat.
