by S R Watson
“I’m starving,” Ren says, sliding in next to Phoenix. “What are we getting to eat?” Asher looks over at me.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Whatever everyone else wants is fine.” My buzz has worn off, and I admit I am kind of hungry.
“Pizza it is then,” he says, and everyone mumbles in agreement. The guys try to talk in code about the orgy they just had, and once again, I feel like an intruder. Surprisingly, Phoenix is quiet and doesn’t participate in the replay of it all. It’s going to take some time to get used to listening to the guy talk, but it’s a beneficial inside track for my journalism. I lay my head against the seat and pretend not to hear about what redhead number one could do with her tongue. I close my eyes and drown out their sounds with my own thoughts that hold me captive. After all this time, the more unpleasant ones still manage to make a daily appearance. Nobody knows about these demons but me, and that is where they will stay. They can’t hurt me by memories alone.
I’m ready to call it a night. I took a brief walk down to the lake when we got back while the guys headed to the first floor for a meeting. The combination of listening to music and going for a walk always works to clear my head. Now I just want a soak in the tub and hit the bed. I walk into the bathroom, engulfed in the music still playing from my earbuds. My step falters when I realize I’m not alone. Phoenix is in the shower with his back to me. Holy shit, what a fucking sight! My feet are frozen in place as I watch rivulets of water stream down his back. I watch as the corded muscles in his thighs bunch with the slightest of movement. His ass is perfection—who am I kidding? His entire body is perfection. His egotistical ways are his only flaw. I know I’m intruding again, and I should leave, but I can’t stop admiring this specimen of a man. He must feel my presence because he turns slightly until his eyes lock with mine. He leans forward against the tile, but he doesn’t utter a single word. Fuck, I can’t move. It’s like watching a train wreck. Phoenix turns to face me, and I will my eyes not to look down. Epic Fail…Motherfucker. His cock is so hard and juts upward toward his navel. The immediate ache between my legs lets me know that I’m not immune to him—no matter how hard I try to be. His thick length has me salivating. I’m not sure who this woman is that he has awakened in me.
“See something you want, Harlow?” he finally says. His knowing tone is enough to break me from his invisible hold. I run out of there quickly, knowing my hand has been shown.
Phoenix Rising: Issue #1
Phoenix’s bandmate has one rule: his sister is off limits. But Phoenix has never been very good about following the rules.
After a lifetime of being used, Phoenix’s walls are up, and there’s only one thing he wants: a woman to fully submit to him. Which turns out isn’t so hard to find as a rock star. In fact, he has never met a woman he couldn't conquer, until he meets Harlow...
Harlow is Phoenix’s bandmate’s sister, and completely off limits to the band. But as far as Harlow is concerned, she’s off limits to all men after what happened.
Yet despite the secrets they both keep, Phoenix is drawn to Harlow like a moth to the flame. She doesn’t like what he stands for, but he’s turned on by the rebellion and determined to bring down her walls.
There’s only one thing he didn’t see coming…
That she would bring down his.
Phoenix Rising: Issue #1 puts a rock star twist on novels like Fifty Shades of Grey and The Steel Brothers Saga!
Chapter One
Phoenix
I’m sitting here in the living room, writing the lyrics for our newest song, “Come Undone.” The guys have all gone out to hang with friends, but it’s been a minute since I’ve had any inspiration for this song. I’ve been stuck in one particular spot, and now that the verses are flowing, I have to get them down. I’m on a roll until last night’s events creep into my thoughts. I picture Harlow standing there while I shower. The heat smoldering in her eyes was very telling. She wants me and doesn’t even know it. Either that or she’s just in denial. While she watched me perform at the bar, her body language was one of intrigue mixed with jealousy—jealous of the attention that I gave the women. The flush of her face when she saw another woman sucking my cock was just as revealing. I watched as her eyes wandered around the room at the other bandmates, and her reaction to their conquests was not the same. All of these instances told me what I already figured. I can’t help but smile because I know it is only a matter of time before I have my way. My allure is strong. Like all the others, she will come to me once she gives in to what her body craves—me. Deep down, all women want to conquer the bad boy. I can appreciate the challenge as I enjoy watching her at war with her wants and desires. I won’t make it easy for her. She will submit willingly.
I hear her coming down the steps, so I continue writing the hook I was just working on. A quick glimpse is all I need to see she is wearing all black again. A baggy shirt and baggy pants hide her frame, but her hair is pulled back in a ponytail today.
“Something smells good,” she mentions. So I guess we’re going to pretend last night didn’t happen.
“Yeah. I have some tilapia baking in the oven. Today is meal prep Sunday.”
“What is meal prep Sunday?” she asks, walking toward the kitchen. I lay my notebook down, take my headphones off, and join her. She looks at me inquisitively, and I’m blown away by how beautiful her eyes are. They’re piercing gray and looking right at me now.
“Sunday is the day I prep my meals for the entire week. I need to eat every three hours to support my metabolism and muscle growth,” I explain.
“You have enough muscles.” She gestures by pointing at my arms. Those beautiful grays roam my body before she realizes she’s staring and looks away. “ I’ve never seen a singer in a rock band look like you before,” she admits.
“Well, good. Mission accomplished. I don’t want to look like your typical rocker.”
“Anyway, I’m sure you can eat whatever you want,” she concludes. She looks over the pan of chicken breast and greens I have already set aside. “You had pizza last night.”
“It’s about balance. I don’t aim to be lean year-round. I have days that I allow myself to indulge, but your training won’t erase a bad diet. I have to make conscious decisions of what I’m putting into my body and work out.”
I take the tilapia out of the oven, and she asks how she can help. I grab a few of the Tupperware containers and pass them to her. I tell her how many ounces of the prepped food go into each of the containers. I don’t meal prep my breakfast, but I do have a shit ton of eggs that I put into a zip lock bag. She inspects the bag but doesn’t say a word. We take turns using the scale and fall into a rhythm of portioning and sealing my food. I’ve never shared this task with a woman before—or anyone really. Nobody has really taken an interest, let alone ask to help. The guys don’t eat what I eat, so it doesn’t make a difference to them.
“So what were you working on when I came downstairs?” Harlow inquires.
“Just working on some of our music. Some lyrics for a song came to me, and I needed to get them down.”
“What is the name of the song?” Her face lights up with curiosity.
“‘Come Undone.’”
“I love music and writing. It is the reason I want to combine the two and be a music journalist. Can I hear some of it?” While I find it amusing that I’m actually talking about something other than sex with a female, my music process is private. I don’t even share with the guys until it’s done. They provide a soundtrack for me, and I provide the lyrics to said track.
In some instances, I write lyrics and then help the guys lay tracks to what I’ve written.
“Hmm, I don’t share until it’s complete. I will tell you that I’m sampling a little from the original “Come Undone” by Duran Duran. It’s a group from the eighties, so you may not be familiar with them.”
“Of course I am. Music lover, remember?” She gives me this megawatt smile, and I can help but laugh. With her
fist to her mouth like a microphone, she sing a line from the song. I can’t do anything but stare. She drops her hand, embarrassed.
“You have a nice voice,” I compliment. “Don’t be embarrassed.” She lets her guard down for a moment, and I get a peek at the woman behind all this black. She hasn’t been here with us long, but I can tell she puts up a front that she hides behind. I suddenly have an urge to know more about her. What is she hiding? Who hurt her? I bet that’s what it is—an old boyfriend maybe. She is not like all the other women I meet, and it is refreshing. It makes me want her even more, but not enough to change my own rules. She will have to come to me. Until then, nothing will happen between us.
“Thank you,” she says shyly.
We get all of my food prepped and packed away, so I ask for her help to make dinner. I admit that I’m enjoying her company. Usually, any woman in my presence equates to fucking and me leaving. None of the guys have women over because this is our sanctuary. No drama from pop-up visits or women who want more. Besides, if you go to their place, you can just leave. You don’t have to worry about how you’re going to kick them out. Regardless, anyone that gets the dick knows the score. A nut or two is the most that I can offer, and then I’m out. It may make me a bastard, but at least I’m an honest one. I don’t do relationships. I’m in control at all times, and I decide who is worth pleasuring. I can tell with Harlow things are different. I’m up for a challenge. I genuinely enjoy her company, so I don’t mind waiting until she acts upon what she really wants.
“Sure. What are we cooking?” she asks. “You’re not going to eat any of this food you just prepared?”
“Oh, I am. This is for the guys. I normally cook for everybody on Sundays since I’m already in the kitchen,” I explain. “I was thinking of chicken cacciatore.”
“That sounds out of my recipe repertoire.” She giggles and then looks away. I’m going to enjoy bringing her out of her shell—bringing down these walls she has put up. I don’t comment on my observation of her bouts of shyness; I simply take note.
“No. I promise it’s not that hard. I got the recipe off the Food Network,” I assure. “Can you cook?”
“Somewhat. Nothing that fancy.”
“Well, get ready to learn, woman,” I say as I wink at her. Her face flushes crimson. Also noted. I begin to pull more chicken out of the fridge with all the other ingredients we need. “The flour is key and for the dredging,” I explain.
“What the heck is dredging?” She sighs.
“It’s the same as breading. It’s the mixture we will make to coat the chicken to make it extra flavorful, and oh so delicious.”
“Yeah, but you can’t have any,” Harlow points out.
“Don’t remind me. I already had pizza last night.” I fake a facepalm, and it earns me another giggle from her. I'm starting to like the sound of it. “Well, I just have to live vicariously through your taste buds.”
“I’ll be sure to tell you how wonderful it tastes,” she teases. I continue to go over the ingredient list with her while we prep. It only takes us about twenty minutes. I sauté the onion, bell pepper, and garlic before instructing her to add the dry white wine. Once we add the oregano, capers, chicken broth, and tomatoes, we leave it all to simmer. “This is fun,” she admits. I have to agree.
“Shush, don’t tell anyone. That’s my other secret talent,” I joke.
“What is your other secret talent?” she questions.
The devious smile that spreads across my lips gives away where my mind has deviated. I show her my tongue as I stretch it to touch my chin. “Good God. Never mind,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“You know what. This has been a good time. Don’t taint it with your manwhore insinuations. I don’t need to know how well you eat pussy,” she huffs. Hearing the word “pussy” come out of that pretty little mouth of hers cracks me up for some reason. The vile word is at odds with the underlying innocence she keeps hidden. She is not yet comfortable with her sexuality, and I can tell. It’s a turn-on because she when does submit to me and her desires, it will be an experience that she hasn’t shared with many. While I don’t think she is a virgin, I do believe her body count is extremely low. Most men wouldn’t take the time to get past all the defenses. I, on the other hand, have all the time in the world. I have no shortage of pussy thrown at me daily. The opportunity to conquer hers can play out simultaneously in a game of wills.
“Ah, but you’re the one who took it there. I never said anything about eating pussy, or how good I am at it—glad you think so, by the way. I was simply showing you my tongue. How many people can touch their chin with their tongue? That’s the talent I was speaking of.”
She knows I’m full of shit, but she can’t prove it. She smirks, and I laugh. I have to admit, I’m quite good at cunnilingus, but so few have the opportunity to find out. I refuse to put my mouth on the easy pussy thrown at me. I’m selective in that regard. That pleasure is reserved for the woman I’m in a relationship with, and since that has been a while, so has the exercise of my oral talents. Hypocritical…maybe.
“Whatever. That’s not a talent.”
She’s obviously flustered at the thought of me pleasuring another woman, so I change the subject. “So tell me about growing up with Asher.” He has already told this story. I know his dad was her mom’s second marriage, and they were together for three years. She was in the sixth grade at the time, and he was in the ninth. Their parents split up his senior year. He went off to college for a bit, but they kept in touch. Even though I know most of the story, I want to put her back in her comfort zone.
It works. She tells me all about how even though he was the protective older brother and annoyed her at times, he was the best brother a girl could have. God, if he only knew the thoughts that ran through my mind about his baby sister—well, stepsister, but still. That is a fine line I will gladly walk, and another reason anything happening between us will definitely have to be her idea—or so she will think.
“What about you? I hear that you met Asher through Killian.”
“Yeah. Killian and I worked at this shitty bar in Birmingham. Our conversations eventually led to our love for music. We discovered that he played the guitar and that I sing as well as write music. He told me a friend of his was looking to form a band.” She listens intently as I tell her all about our formation. The food finishes cooking, so I fix her a plate. I can feel her looking at me as she takes a seat at the counter.
“Come on. I’m bringing your plate into the living room. I’m going to watch one of my recordings of American Horror Story.”
“I don’t watch scary movies,” she insists as she hesitantly walks behind me.
I set her plate on the coffee table as I take a seat on the sofa. I pat the space next to me and motion for her to come sit next to me. “Come on, pussy. It’s not that bad. It’s not scary the way you think.” She sits next to me, and I hand her the plate of food.
“I’m not a pussy,” she exclaims. She takes the food from me and takes the first bite. I’m scrolling through the recordings when a moan escapes her lips. My dick jumps to attention immediately. Holy fuck. I can’t help but imagine myself fucking her and having that sweet sound be the result of my cock buried so deep inside her.
“Sorry,” she mumbles when she realizes her mistake. “This is really good.”
“Orgasmic, I guess,” I tease. She rolls her eyes. “Hey, you’re the one moaning. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s amazing, and I helped.”
“Yes, you did.” I wink. She sighs, and I manage not to laugh. She is so cute, even with the Goth bullshit she’s trying to pull off. I have no problem with the look or people who are actually into the lifestyle. I can just tell that her impersonation is just that—an act. I’ve had friends who were truly Goth and were cool as shit. She is an imposter, but I won’t call her out on it. I finally find the “Curtain Call” episode. I fill her in br
iefly on the premise of the show. She comments on them calling themselves freaks, but other than that, she watches along with me and finishes her food.
She doesn’t make the whole hour without dozing off. I know I should either wake her up to go lie down upstairs or let her have the sofa, but I can’t help myself. I put a pillow on my lap and ease her head down until she lays on me. I lean back and flip to a recording of Key and Peele. This act is beyond what I’m capable of, but Harlow has been different from the beginning. I can’t put my finger on it yet. I watch as her breathing evens out. She’s so vulnerable at this moment with no pretenses. The door rattles on the first floor, and I know the guys are back. Ren’s hearty laugh confirms this. Shit.
Chapter Two
Harlow
A door slamming in the distance startles me awake. I look up into the eyes of Phoenix. Crap, I was lying on his lap. How in the hell did that happen? I let myself get too comfortable with him. I jump up and grab my plate. “Sorry,” I say.
“It’s no big deal, Harlow. You were tired,” Phoenix offers. He gets up and stretches, and I take my plate to the kitchen. The sun sits low in the sky now. Phoenix and I had an enjoyable day together. Who would have guessed? He had a few slip-ups, but for the most part, I got a chance to see another side to him besides the manwhore who encourages the women to be thirsty. Yes. I kind of like the Phoenix I got to spend time with today. Falling asleep in his lap was my mistake, and I’ll just have to be more careful. I hope he didn’t take that as me flirting. Although we made a few strides toward a possible friendship, I’m not fooled to think he is anything but a slut who enjoys all the pussy he wants. I’m not one of those females who idiotically thinks they have the power to change a man. A man only has the power to change if he wants to, and I don’t see that for Phoenix. He is gorgeous, and he knows it. He has the world at his feet, and when these guys make it big, because they will, the number of women who throw themselves at him will increase exponentially.
