Phoenix (The Colton Cousins Book 1)

by Rebecca Rennick

  Suddenly, I feel exposed in my sleep shirt and force myself to stand and put on jeans and a sweatshirt. If he’s going to keep bringing women into the house like that, then he’s no longer going to get a free show from me. He can get his show from them. I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted, Nix, because you’re not going to see my panties and sweet cheeks ever again.

  Chapter 16

  Phoenix

  C oming hard in Joleen’s mouth while Clover watched felt so fucking good. Probably the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. But then why do I feel so shitty now? I hadn’t even planned on getting any that morning, but a text came in from Joleen, a pretty little blonde I actually had done on more than one occasion. The girl is a sex addict and doesn’t care one way or the other very much who she fucks. She is literally the only person I have ever gone back to seconds and thirds for. Because I know for one hundred percent certainty, she does not want anything more. She never asks to be taken on a date or complains about leaving after. Sometimes she doesn’t even get off. Only I do like yesterday. So, when she texted saying she was horny and nearby, I figured, why not? I needed some, and I couldn’t get it from the girl I really wanted. I had to relieve the pressure somehow. Joleen was my best option at the time.

  After Clover fled my room yesterday morning, I didn’t see her again all day. I was hoping to catch her this morning before she heads over to Rosie’s place. Just because I can’t have Clover on my dick doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view and save them for later fantasies. Fantasies that have, of late, been my shower routine. I’ve wacked off to thoughts of Clover all goddamn week. I thought it would help work her out of my system. All it’s done is give me more ideas on how I want to fuck her: bent over the kitchen island with her sleep shirt pulled up to her fabulous tits, being the main fantasy of my jerk-off sessions.

  As usual, I head downstairs for breakfast around midday when she would normally be doing the same. I start making an omelet while I wait for my morning Clover sweet cheeks show. I don’t have to wait long. I can hear her coming down the stairs. I begin my game of guessing what color panties she’ll have on today. Black is my favorite, followed closely by those baby pink ones. My dick twitches in anticipation.

  When she enters the kitchen area, I am not greeted with her standard pajamas of no bra, large t-shirt, and panties. Oh no, instead, she is fucking covered from head to toe. Dark grey leggings and a baggy hoodie cover that sweet little body of hers.

  What the hell? Why is she so covered? She never wears things like this in the morning when she gets such joy out of fucking with me and seeing me struggle.

  She doesn’t say a word to me as she walks right by, not even looking my way. Is she giving me the silent treatment? I don’t fucking think so.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” I ask cockily. Maybe I can entice her into our witty banter.

  “Clothes.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause, I want to.”

  Since when did she want to wear a hoodie that’s big enough for me? Wait. I think that is a man’s sweatshirt. Where did she get it? Is she bringing men home? Is she seeing someone that I don’t know about? My blood heats, and I stand to my full height.

  “Why are you wearing that sweatshirt?”

  “Because it’s comfy.” Her answer is short and clipped.

  “Looks like a man’s hoodie.”

  “Maybe it is. What’s it to you?” Her words lack all emotion except contempt. An unexpected surge of jealousy shoots through me. Whose hoodie is that, and where is he? So I can beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

  “Who the fuck does it belong to, Clover?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “That’s generally why people as questions.” My agitation is growing with every passing second that I think of her and some loser. Him touching her sweet cheeks. My sweet cheeks. No one is allowed to touch her. I can’t help the clenching of my fists, and I can feel the vein in my neck as it pulses.

  “None of your business,” She retorts. Still not looking at me as she moves around the kitchen.

  “If you’re bringing men into my home, it is my fucking business,” I bite out slowly, trying not to reveal my growing possessiveness of her.

  “I pay my rent, and if I want to bring a man to my room, it’s none of your fucking business. Just like it’s none of my fucking business who you take to your room.”

  So that’s what this is all about. It’s about what she saw yesterday. Is she jealous? She sure as hell seemed to like what she saw. At least, that’s what it looked like before she ran off and disappeared.

  “Did you like what you saw?” Changing my tone to low and seductive. This I can handle.

  “Oh yeah, I totally enjoy watching my annoying man-whore roommate get off. It’s one of my favorite past times, didn’t you know?” She’s sarcastic, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

  “It’s definitely one of mine.” Moving closer to her, I give her my best panty-wetting smirk. It doesn’t have any effect on her. She’s still glowering down at her toast with pinched lips.

  “Don’t deny it. I know you liked it.” I try to push her just a little further.

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes.”

  Her jaw clenches and her brow scrunches even farther down. Turning her face a delicious shade of red. It is so easy to make those chipmunk cheeks turn pink. She’s pissed at me, but I can tell I’m getting under her skin. She’s trying to hide her desire under anger. I’ll make her admit she liked it. Hearing her tell me she was turned on watching me get off is the second hottest thing that will ever have happened to me.

  Stalking closer to her, I use my low, sultry voice.

  “You forget how thin your t-shirts are, sweet cheeks.”

  I take a few more stalking steps toward her. She takes a few away from me. Now she’s looking at me, eyes dead-focused on mine. Anger and frustration flash in those baby blues. Before her back presses into the counter behind her. Now I’ve got her. She’s not going anywhere. She realizes this, and the anger that was once there now starts to melt into a panic.

  “So?” She says shakily.

  “So, sweet cheeks.” I invade her personal space and trap her with my arms on either side of her, locking her in place—our faces only inches apart. “I could see straight through to your nipples—they were hard and ready for a good sucking.”

  Her breath hitches, and even under that giant hoodie, I can tell her chest is rising and falling with the labored breaths she’s taking. I’m pretty damn sure her nipples are hard, as well. Imagining her pert pink nipples, I inwardly groan. She’s losing her battle with anger, and it’s fast becoming an uncontrolled yearning. I can see it in the slight tremor that runs over her body. She wants me. I know she does. Even as she tries to paste on an indifferent face. She’s going to try and argue with me. Finally.

  “Just because my nipples were hard doesn’t mean I was turned on.”

  “Oh, that’s exactly what it means,” I whisper in her ear. Moving closer to her, I feel her breasts brush against my chest when she inhales sharply.

  All this teasing is getting me hard. My cock is starting to strain against my jeans. All I have to do is shift my hips forward a few inches. Her ragged breathing and little noises are testing my goddamn limits. I grip harder onto the counter to keep my hands from wandering to her thighs and spreading her legs. Pressing my throbbing cock into her hot pussy. I know she’d be wet for me. I can already tell she’s getting aroused.

  I want to see it in her eyes and lean back just enough so that I can. And I do. However, it’s quickly replaced with a scowl. What the hell? How can she go from aroused to pissed off so quickly?

  She places that sinful hand of hers on my chest and presses lightly against me. I don’t fight it and let her push me away. Maybe she wants to be the dominant one. I don’t mind letting the little chipmunk be in control. It would be a fucking turn on to have her climb my body like she threatened to
before. Until I turn it around on her. She would quickly learn who is in control once I have her. I don’t have a lot of restraint, and as soon as I put my hands on her, I won’t be able to stop myself. I would make her mine—in every way. Then she speaks and ruins my little fantasy.

  “If you ever put your clothes in the wash with mine again, I’ll soak them in bleach,” She snaps and then stomps off out of the kitchen without another word.

  Where the hell did that come from? We were having such fun, and then she just had to up and ruin it. This girl has got me wound so tight I can’t decide if I hate her for being a cock tease or if I like her even more because she’s such a cock tease. Getting off yesterday did nothing to diminish my craving for her. It’s going to take more than just a blow job to get her off my mind.

  Chapter 17

  Clover

  T hank all that is holy for Rose and Lily Colton and red wine. Because those are the only things that can brighten my day. This morning’s confrontation with Nix is still fresh in my mind and my panties. It was intoxicating and sobering all at the same time.

  All I saw when I looked into those hungry hazel eyes was yesterday when I walked in on him with some random chick’s mouth around his cock. I know I want him; I don’t deny it. Who wouldn’t? He’s every girl’s wet dream. I feel myself being drawn to him, like a nun in a cucumber field. Even though I know I can’t have him, it doesn’t stop the throbbing of my lady parts between my thighs. And the confused throbbing of the muscle in my chest.

  Thinking of the blonde between his legs reminds me that he can’t be mine. He isn’t mine. He doesn’t want me. He’ll always pick some bar babe over me. Why do I keep torturing myself?

  None of that matters right now because I’m with Rosie and Lily in their apartment, and we have red wine, Red Vines, chocolate, and pie, and that’s all I need. We drink and laugh and enjoy the most delicious pastries Lily made at the bakery, along with the rest of our food haul. She is an excellent baker and brought a box home just for us. We devour them. She also brought one of Cherry’s famous cherry pies. I’m eyeballing it as we speak.

  “Okay, okay. So, you’re telling me there are fifteen cousins in total?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We are one huge crazy family.” Lily’s light Southern accent is soft and sweet. To me, she’s like a real Southern belle. Her long golden blonde hair falls in natural soft waves, and her deep blue eyes could trap any man in their depth. She’s gorgeous, and I have only ever seen her wearing soft pastels and sweet flowy dresses. Her stark contrast to her cousin is refreshing. People in this family are all so different, yet they all seem to understand one another. One thing Lily has that they all seem to have, even in all her sweetness, is a tattoo. Put there by Nix, no doubt. A soft pink and lilac lily is tattooed from her left shoulder to her collar bone. Guess it’s a trend for her and her sister to get the flower that inspired their names tattooed on them.

  “Right. So, Nix has two sisters, both younger. Falcon, who is apparently as badass as Nix and Faust.” I quip from what they’ve told me so far.

  “But once you’re in with Falcon, she is the most loyal and loving person you’ll ever know,” Rosie informs me. It kind of sounds like that’s how they all are.

  “And the other is Raven, eighteen and a genius?” I ask. Lily answers me this time.

  “Yes. She does everyone’s taxes and the books for the bakery, bar, tattoo shop—all of them.”

  “Girl just loves a good spreadsheet,” Rosie interjects.

  “And she’s Nix’s favorite?” This, for some reason, was the most important piece of information to me. Although I know I can’t have him, I can’t stop myself from finding out everything possible about him.

  “Oh yeah. No one messes with Raven without dealing with Nix first. He is very protective of her, probably because of what happened to Robin.” Rosie’s voice drifts off a little when she mentions Robin.

  “Who’s Robin?” I know I shouldn’t ask, it seems like it might be a sore subject, but I’m morbidly curious. Plus, the lack of filter from brain to mouth makes me blurt out most of the thoughts and questions that roam through the mush that occupies the space between my ears.

  “Robin was Nix’s youngest sister.”

  “I thought you said he only had two sisters. Falcon and Raven.”

  “He does only have two, but he used to have three.” She says solemnly. Rosie is apparently unable to continue, and Lily picks up where her sister left off.

  “Robin died when she was five in an…unfortunate accident. It was almost ten years ago now. We’ve all mostly accepted it, but sometimes it can still be a sensitive subject. I think because of it, Nix watches over Raven extra diligently. He’s the best big brother any girl could have. Even though he’s a man-whore.” Lily’s lighthearted comment on Nix’s man-whoreness makes us all break out in laughter. Easing the tension from the story about his young dead sister.

  It’s hard for me to picture Nix playing tea party in a pink hat and sipping from a tiny cup with his little sisters. The more I think about it, the more it makes me smile. I’d like to think that he really does have a heart under all that muscle. His giving me the sketchbook and pencils proved there is something there. Something he doesn’t usually show others. I want to ask more about his sister, but I have a feeling it’s something they don’t like talking about, so I refrain.

  Rosie finally speaks up again, shifting the conversation back to something a little less sensitive.

  “Anyway, she’s his favorite and the only one who can get him to open up about anything. If you’re looking for dirt on Nix, she’s your gal.”

  “Duly noted.” If I ever get to meet Raven, I am most definitely asking for the juiciest piece of gossip on Nix so I can taunt him with it for the entire time I live there. Hoping it’s something really embarrassing, like he has an obsession with nineties boy bands. I could think of quite a few ways to use that against him.

  Sitting in Rosie and Lily’s apartment, we’re all curled up on the couches in comfy sweats and leggings. Sipping our wine and munching on the vast array of goodies spread out on the coffee table before us—I take a bite of the most delicious donut I’ve ever eaten. Moaning, I continue on with my recital of their cousins and what I’ve learned—making sure I get everything right.

  “Then there’s Nix’s older brother Griffon.” Thinking on it, I pause before commenting. “Wait, they all have bird-type names. What is up with that? Does his mother love birds or something?”

  “No idea. They started with it and just kept going. Our parents all have themes, it seems when they decided our names.” Rosie laughs. “Griffon is only two years older than Nix.”

  “So, if Nix is twenty-nine, that would make Griffon thirty-one?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lily nods with a mouth full of chocolate-covered strawberry.

  “And he’s not married or anything?” I ask. Not that I should be talking. I’m twenty-eight and have absolutely no prospects. Even though a thought of Nix flashes through my mind right after that thought. He’s not a prospect, though. Not even a one-night stand. Not even a passing impulse buy.

  “No. He’s had a few girlfriends, but none that he thought worthy of being a Colton. He’s a smart guy and is next in line for the council position when Uncle Faust retires.” Rosie explains.

  “He is very intelligent, graduated college with a degree in business. He’s also a very private man. Extremely responsible, organized, and focused on the business.” Lily adds.

  “Are you sure he’s Nix’s brother? Doesn’t sound like they’re related at all.” We laugh. It feels like I’ve known these girls for years. I’m so comfortable around them and can talk to them about almost anything. I’d love to talk to them about how I feel toward Nix and what happened between us. But I don’t think they’re ready to talk about their cousin like that.

  “That reminds me, though. You’re all named Colton. Why didn’t your mom take your dad’s last name when they got married?”

 
Rosie repositions herself, facing me with her legs pulled up under her.

  “I know it’s not traditional, but it’s important in our family business to have the family name.”

  “It gives us our status in the Syndicate. It makes sure we are given the respect and protection we’re owed. If we weren’t Coltons, we wouldn’t be covered under the accords,” Lily explains.

  “Ah yes. Nix told me about the accords the other day. He also explained the Syndicate and the other families.”

  “He did?” Rosie asks curiously. She’s looking at me with a knowing grin on her lips, though. She looks like she knows more than she’s letting on. I wonder if she put him up to it. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me.

  “Yes, he did. It was really nice of him to explain it all to me. I get a feeling he didn’t have to. You guys probably don’t share that kind of information with outsiders.”

  “You’re not an outsider anymore, Clover. You’re one of us.” Rosie lightly grabs my wrist and squeezes. My eyes start to well up with the kindness in her voice; I will not cry, I will not cry. For years I felt so alone and lost in the world. Here with Rosie and Lily, I really do feel like I found a place I belong. I just hope the rest of the family feels the same. I know Beau said he thinks I belong here, and Faust obviously likes me. But what about the rest? Rosie interrupts my inner ramblings as she continues to explain about the accords.

  “The accords are very important. They keep things in order and are the only thing keeping the Syndicate running, in my opinion.”

  “Yeah, but they also protect…”

  “Lily.” Rosie’s tone is harsh as she interrupts Lily mid-sentence. The two sisters just stare at each other for a long moment. Lily’s obviously confused as to why her sister interrupted, furrowing her brow. Rosie just stares at her sternly, a warning to not continue with whatever it was she wanted to say. It must be something I’m not supposed to know. Not surprisingly, there would be secrets in such a family. I couldn’t hope to know everything. They still don’t really know me that well yet. They know about my mom and my shitty past life. They know that I’m an artist, or at least would like to be. That I dropped out of art school after it got too expensive to continue. They don’t know about my past addiction—my rehab or the struggle I sometimes have to fight the urges. They also don’t know about my obsession with their cousin.