Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Then Phoenix drops in with a gritty beat that pairs perfectly with the voice filter while I sing. When I pick my foot off the pedal during the chorus, my pulse is in my throat hearing the shift in my voice. The contrast wrecks me.
That feels like raw sex. Way too good.
At the end of “Dirty Rise,” my voice fades, and Phoenix finishes with a rapid, thrashing drum beat, his arms moving at lightning speed. Then it just abruptly stops. That song feels like being fucked. Officially.
Phoenix is chasing after breath. Sweat drips down his temples, and he wipes his face with the heel of his palm. Our eyes latch as this ragged, stimulating feeling stirs the air. He doesn’t have to say anything. I know he feels it too.
“Again,” he says in a deep, husky pant.
Again.
I nod, and after we play the song three more times with the filter, I give Phoenix his flowers. “It’s good.”
“It’s better than good.” He swigs from a water bottle.
I switch out guitars. “Yeah, you were right.”
He waits for more, but I end there. “Wow, a compliment,” he says. “You sleep on the right side of the bed or did you come hard this morning?”
I’m about to respond when he stands, just to fist the back of his shirt. He brings the sweaty gray fabric over his head. As he throws the shirt on his duffel, his inked chest comes into view.
The scatter of tattoos traps my gaze, but none more than the upside-down black rose. The thorny stem starts at his sternum and slips down the direct center of his body, petals blooming over his abs. The symmetry entrances me every time.
I want to explore all of his ink. In the least friendly way possible. That cannot happen. I force myself not to groan out in frustration, but I’m gripping the microphone on the stand too hard and I’m two seconds away from knocking my forehead into it.
Phoenix skates a hand through his damp hair. “Or are you coming right now?”
I lift my head. “Came this morning, but thanks for being concerned about my needs. Appreciate it.”
“Let me guess, you were alone.” He sits back on the stool. “But I didn’t peg you as a porn guy.”
“Then you pegged me right. I wasn’t watching porn.” I shouldn’t go further, but I desperately want to taunt him. So I add, “Was not alone though.”
He goes rigid. “Who was with you?”
I stay quiet. My body is up in flames already.
I must like this feeling too much if I keep volunteering for it.
He glares and presses his hands to his thighs. “You did not call RJ.”
“No, dude.” I adjust the mic stand. My pulse is racing as I continue to mess with him. “Maybe I picked someone up.”
“When?” he asks coarsely, but his eyes narrow in disbelief, not buying it. “I was with you until two a.m. last night.” At a dive bar, he means. We were finalizing the lyrics to “Dirty Rise.”
“After that,” I say.
“I walked you home.” I remember.
“Maybe I met him in the lobby.”
Phoenix cocks his head, eyeing me up and down, and his jaw tightens, a part of me hopes he can’t stand the idea of me with another dude—that the mere thought causes him internal distress.
“Bullshit,” he says. “You came in the shower. Or in your hand. Daydreaming about me.”
I feign confusion. “Are you sure that’s not what you were doing this morning? This sounds like classic projection.”
“What was he like?” Phoenix asks, nodding toward me. “Did he kneel at your feet, Cobalt god? Did he deep throat every single inch of you?”
Holy shit. I should not be having this back and forth with my bandmate. But it’s become apparent that Phoenix wasn’t exaggerating when he said he liked pushing boundaries too.
“Wish you were there?” I volley back.
“You would’ve liked it more if I had been.”
I clench the microphone. Breathe. Phoenix drinks me in, and I curl my fingers tighter. My body is a million degrees of scalding need.
I manage to tell Phoenix, “I’m not into threesomes or being watched by a third party, so I definitely wouldn’t have wanted you around.”
“I just meant me and you. I wasn’t including your hookup. Who, by the way, is imaginary—”
“That you think, dude,” I interject. “He could exist.”
“In your head, yeah.”
I give him a middle finger. “My head is a beautiful place. You keep trying to get in there.”
Phoenix doesn’t deny. “Let’s go again.” He grabs his drumsticks. He’s breathing harder, sweat tracks down his inked chest like rivers that I want to follow with my tongue. “Same tempo as the last round.”
The last round. I cup the mic with two hands, my forehead resting to the bulbous end. My lungs are in my throat just imagining going through this song again.
“You ready?” Phoenix asks.