Phoenix Rising: A Pretty Boy Rock Prequel

by S R Watson

  Phoenix Rising: A Pretty Boy Rock Prequel

  Copyright © 2020 S.R. Watson & Ryan Stacks

  www.watsonandstacks.com

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owner.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the authors at watsonandstacks@gmail.com

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  Editor: Editing4Indies

  Cover Model: Shawn Dawson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  About S.R. Watson

  About Ryan Stacks

  Prologue

  Phoenix

  The dancing lights shining down on me are hot as fuck. My shirt clings to my chest from the sweat. My guys are going hard on the guitar and drums while I deliver these “Have Faith in Me” lyrics. We’re on fire tonight! We rock Club Luxe every weekend, and it never gets old. “So, cling to what you know and never let go…” I make sure to make eye contact with the women standing front and center as I sing. One of them will be my conquest tonight. The eye contact personalizes the experience for them. Or so they think. We’re on the second verse when I spot her. I don’t know how I missed her come-hither eyes or that rack, for that matter. Even with the lights in my eyes, I can see this sexy brunette with double D cleavage spilling over her midriff top, and a skirt so short it barely covers her ass. I wink at her, and she blushes. The women to her right and her left blush too because they mistakenly think that wink was aimed for them. I’m sure they’d be down for a foursome, but this last set has me spent. I’m not in the mood to pleasure four women tonight. No, the sexy brunette is the lucky winner. I pull my shirt off over my head and watch as her eyes narrow. That telltale sign has sealed her fate. She will be on my cock before the bar closes.

  * * *

  Our gig for tonight is finally finished. I’m sitting in this makeshift backstage area designated for us by the bar. The room is a pretty decent size, so I can’t complain. Not to mention, the owner, Steve, has tricked this room out with black and white leather sofas and other contemporary shit we don’t need. All we need is a place to change and store our equipment, but he goes the extra mile to ensure we keep coming back. We fill the house every weekend—mostly horny women, thus bringing in the men too. It’s a win-win. My thoughts are cut short by a timid knock on the door. Bandmates, Killian and Ren, have already left for an after-party with two chicks. Asher was the first to leave. He said something about grabbing a few things from the store before his stepsister arrived tomorrow. It’s after midnight, but okay. The only person who it could be is my pussy for tonight. I had already given the green light to club security to let the brunette through if she came sniffing around backstage. I was beginning to think she wouldn’t show—afraid of the possible rejection. Who am I kidding? I’m sure she is aware of her assets and how to work them. Women like that always get what they want. She is in for a surprise, though, because so do I. When she crosses the threshold of this room, I run the show.

  * * *

  My sexual appetite is unparalleled, and so are my desires. Not every woman is privy to my tastes—I’m selective in that regard. I will have to see how this one behaves. If she submits, I will tilt her world on its fucking axis. If she needs persuasion, I will let her suck my cock before I show her the door. Those are my terms and ones that I live by.

  Opening the door, I’m greeted with a wicked smile. Her intentions are written all over her face. “Hi,” she says coyly. I’m not fooled by the innocent act, though.

  “Come in. What is your name, sweetheart?” I step aside to let her in. The security guy gives me a thumbs-up before I close the door behind her.

  “Shannon,” she purrs. My eyes are drawn to her red lipstick with thoughts of those lips wrapped around my dick. “Nice dressing room,” she adds.

  “Thanks. So, what’s on your mind, Shannon?” I ask, getting straight to the reason for her visit. I’ve never been one for pleasantries.

  “Excuse me? What do you mean?”

  “The reason you’ve come to my dressing room?” I can see she is trying to hold on to this coy act, but I’m not having it.

  “Oh…well. I wanted to meet you. The other guys are great. I’ve been coming here for a while, but tonight was the first time I had a chance to be so close to the stage,” she replies. Such bullshit. I hate liars and women who come back here, only to play innocent.

  * * *

  If you want to fuck me, own that shit. That I can respect. I can smell how wet she is for me, yet she wants to hold on to this illusion of being a good girl. I’m about to shatter this little game she thinks she’s playing.

  “Nice meeting you, Shannon, but what I really want is to be sucked off. So, the way I see it, if you’ve gotten what you’ve come for, then there is the door. If you want to get me off, then get on your knees.” I watch as hesitation crosses her face. She is probably not used to men being so blunt—instead used to them being wrapped around her finger. Her hesitation only lasts for a second before a smile crosses those lips. She drops to her knees, and her submission is enough to make me hard. I stroke my cock a few times, so she can watch it grow through my jeans. Her salivation is confirming everything I thought about her. Good girl, my ass. I take my dick out and rub it across her lips to tease her. She opens her mouth to take me in, but I pull back. My show.

  “I say when, sweetheart,” I tell her. I tease her a little more until a bead of pre-cum forms at the tip of my dick. She greedily licks it all. “Open,” I command. She enthusiastically does as I say, so I let her take me to the back of her throat. Holy shit. Doesn’t she have a gag reflex?

  * * *

  Her expertise at sucking me off has definitely given away that she is not new to this. Fuck, she is amazing. She bobs up and down on my length, and I can feel the tingling in my balls. I’m so close. I grab her by the hair to guide her for a few strokes before I try to pull her away. She refuses to be separated from my dick. I explode in her mouth, and she doesn’t even flinch. She continues sucking and licking until she has every last drop. I let my shit throb for a few seconds while I watch the look of satisfaction on her face. I wasn’t planning on fucking her, but she’s earned it.

  “Stand up and take that skirt off.” She quickly stands and does as I say. This one is a quick learner. I reach over and pull her shirt underneath her tits. Damn, they’re completely suckable, but I need to make this quick. The bar will be closing soon, and I need to be out of here before then.

  “The panties, too?” she asks.

  “Nope.” I turn her around and bend her over the counter. Grabbing a condom from my pocket, I slide it on before pulling her panties to the side. Just as I thought. She is so wet—no priming needed. I slam into her, and she cries out in ecstasy. I fuck her hard and fast as her knees buckle. I knew this one would like it rough.

  “Fuck, yes!” she screams. “Fuck me harder!” I pound into her a few more ti
mes before she is coming all over my dick. The clench of her pussy is enough to pull me over the edge with her. After I’m done, I peel the condom off.

  “Thanks, Shannon. It was really nice meeting you,” I wink. She smiles and begins grabbing her skirt and fixing her clothes. She knows her time has come to an end. I go into the bathroom adjacent from our dressing room to clean up a bit, and when I come back, she is gone. Asher has already taken the rest of my stuff back to the lake house with him, so I don’t have anything to pack up. I grab my helmet from the corner and make my way outside to my bike. We play here again tomorrow night.

  Chapter One

  Harlow

  This is ludicrous. Possibly the worst idea I’ve had yet. I’ve spent the past few years making sure I was invisible to the opposite sex, and now I’m going to live with four men for the summer. My stepbrother, Asher, has invited me to stay with him and his bandmates at their lake house before classes start this fall. We haven’t seen each other in a few years and have only kept in touch by phone. I really miss Asher, but I question whether I can really go through with this. On the one hand, it is a chance of a lifetime. I will get to observe the journey of his band as they strive to get a record deal. If I’m going to be a music journalist, I need to know every aspect of the music business—not just the glamorous illusion, but also the road to fame. On the other hand, I’m awkward around men. To think about being around four of them absolutely petrifies me. Gah, why do I have to be such a chicken shit? I know Asher won’t let these guys do anything to me. He’s said so himself. They’re all man whores, I’m sure. Their band name, Phoenix Rising, is probably synonymous with rising from some random’s bed rather than from ashes. Either way, if I’m going to be successful in the business, I need to find a way to prohibit my past from crippling me. This just may be the therapy I need—a push out of my comfort zone.

  * * *

  I stand here at the curb of the arrival section of Birmingham Airport. Asher should be here at any moment to pick me up. My nerves are all over the place. I clutch my hot pink luggage tightly to redirect my focus. My luggage is the most colorful possession that I have. Black is my usual color of choice. From my baggy jeans to my black nail polish, everything I wear is black. The darkness matches my soul and my past. It keeps people away from me, especially men. I don’t trust them. The only person to penetrate my fuck-off shield is Irelyn. She is my best friend and my complete opposite. We met at the community college I just transferred from, and from day one, she refused to be ignored. She didn’t stop until she broke down my defenses. She thinks I’m just a cynic, but she only knows the lies that I told her to explain why I am the way that I am. The pink luggage was a gift from her, and a rebellious attempt to protest my black obsession. Whatever. My thoughts are interrupted by a sleek black Escalade that pulls up and stops in front of me. Asher steps out of the SUV, and I swear he has hit a growth spurt. I don’t remember him being so tall. He comes around the back of the SUV as he runs his hands through his blond hair. His cerulean blue eyes crinkle, and a frown creases his brows as he takes me in.

  * * *

  “What the hell happened to my baby sister?” he jokes. There is an underlying seriousness in his tone. I’ve always had brunette hair, but now my waist-length tresses are blue-black from my home dye job. I’m told my hair makes my gray eyes look freakish. My hair is my veil to hide when I don’t want to be seen. I’m not the girl he remembers from three years ago.

  “What do you mean? It’s still me,” I chide. He begins putting my suitcases in the back as he shakes his head.

  “Still you, but Gothified.” He chuckles. “My princess has turned into Goth Barbie,” he teases. Princess was the nickname he had for me before our parents separated, and Mom moved on to husband number three.

  “Hush, you still love me. And Gothified is not even a word.”

  “Of course it is. I just need to get used to your new look.” He closes the trunk and opens the passenger door for me. He is still the sweet guy I remember. Even though he is a little taller now, he’s still lean like a swimmer. With his charm, I bet all the women swoon over him, but I don’t want to think about him in that way. I want to keep my sweet image of my stepbrother pure. Hopefully, he’s not a whore magnet like most guys in a band. Okay, to be fair, I don’t know any guys in any band—just what I see on TV.

  “You’re late, brother. This look is not new. This has been me since you left,” I point out.

  “Whatever, Goth girl, let’s get you to your new home for the summer.”

  This place is a dream. It has three levels and a deck that leads to the lake. The main level is on the second floor, where I am now. The bedrooms are on the first and third floors. The furnishing and décor are contemporary and don’t look like the home of rockers. Leave it to Mr. Nolan, Asher’s dad, to spare no expense for these guys. That trait is what attracted my mom to him until she got greedy and went for a bigger fish. I think my favorite is the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, which let in all the natural light. The only thing missing is having Irelyn here with me. She is visiting family instead, and then she’ll be transferring to the University of Alabama with me in the fall. I’m walking around the state-of-the-art kitchen and admiring the cherry wood cabinetry when the other bandmates arrive downstairs.

  “The guys are here,” Asher says excitedly. He hops up from the sofa and heads to go meet them and to clue them in that I’m here, I’m sure. The guys come upstairs in a boisterous manner, bantering about whom was going to put away the groceries they just bought. Asher introduces them to me, and I must say, my first impression is that they aren’t as bad as I originally thought they’d be. So it seems. Killian Andrews is their lead guitarist, whereas Asher is the bass guitarist. Like my brother, Killian has shoulder-length hair, but his is brown like his chocolate eyes. Ren Lowry is their drummer. He has a black Mohawk and seems to be the only one who rivals my Gothness, as my brother would say. I’m digging his all-black attire. He gives me a slight chin lift as a greeting.

  * * *

  The guys are all welcoming. They don’t appear to be judging me for the way I look. I get that a lot, but it’s kind of the point. I’m just about to ask who their singer is when he comes up the stairs. Holy shit balls. I wasn’t ready. I hear Asher introducing him as Phoenix, but I’m speechless. Phoenix looks me up and down and smirks. I bet he gets this reaction from women all the time, but this is different. I don’t fawn over men. They’re not even on my radar. My heart quickens, and I work to swallow the lump in my throat. My nerves have kicked into overdrive. This feeling is foreign to me. This guy is so far from what you would expect as a singer of a rock band that it is unreal. He stands about six inches taller than my five-foot-four frame and is built like a fucking tank. The name Phoenix is so fitting for him. He is simply gorgeous. His shirt hugs his chest like a second skin, and I can see every etch of muscle. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm is a work of intricate art and draws your eyes even more to his fit physique. From his goatee to his perfectly styled short hair, he is perfection. His angled facial features are chiseled beauty. The fucker knows it, too. I can tell this one is going to be trouble. He arches an eyebrow in question, waiting for me to say something.

  “Hi. Nice to meet you,” I manage to say without getting tongue-tied. Geesh, I feel like an idiot. He is just a good-looking guy. Get it together. “Where is my room?” I ask, turning toward Asher. I’m going to have to stay far away from this Phoenix guy. The others seem nice enough, but my gut is telling me that he is trouble with a capital T.

  * * *

  “The guys and I discussed it. You can take the master bedroom on the third floor,” Asher says. A look passes between him and Phoenix before he grabs my luggage to take them upstairs. Phoenix follows us up the stairs.

  * * *

  “They discussed it,” he comments. “That was my room. I got booted to the room next door, so don’t think you’re going to get that bathroom all to yourself,” he informs. I don’
t want to come in taking over their space, so I just nod and look away as we pass the only other bedroom on this floor.

  * * *

  “There are two more bathrooms in the house, Phoenix,” Asher chastises.

  * * *

  “Yeah, but I want to use that one. That is the only master bathroom and the only one with a rain shower. Don’t worry; I won’t bother your princess. She is not my speed anyway.” Phoenix smirks. Asher’s face hardens, and I know he is getting ready to put his foot down. The last thing I want is to cause problems on my first day here. I can’t believe he told them he calls me princess, but like Phoenix just confirmed, I’m not his type anyway. I grab Asher’s arm to shush him.

  * * *

  “It’s fine. Really. I’m sure he and I can set up some sort of schedule. We’re the only two rooms up here, so it’s no problem,” I assure.

  * * *

  “Whatever. You don’t have to agree to that. You’re the only female in the house and should have your privacy—”

  * * *

  “Don’t make this awkward,” I plead, cutting off his rant. I look over at Phoenix, and his smugness is revolting. He didn’t win. I just don’t want any special privileges or to upset the balance of the house.