I grab the front of his jacket and yank him closer.
The kiss is graceless. My mouth finds his at the wrong angle, noses bumping, teeth clicking before we figure out the geometry. Phoenix makes a surprised sound against my lips—half grunt, half laugh—and then his hands are on my waist, hauling me closer, and the angle shifts and suddenly it'sright.
He tastes like coffee. His stubble scrapes against my jaw. One of his hands slides up my back, fingers spreading wide between my shoulder blades, and the pressure makes my brain go offline.
I walk him backward until his shoulders hit rain-damp brick. Phoenix's back connects with a thud and he grunts into my mouth but doesn't stop kissing me. If anything, he pulls me closer, one arm banding around my lower back.
His tongue slides against mine and I make a sound I'm sure as fuck I'll deny later. My hand finds the back of his neck, fingers digging into the muscle there, and he shivers.
We break apart long enough to breathe. His eyes are blown dark, blue swallowed by black, his chest heaving under my palm.
"This is a terrible idea," I manage.
"Probably." His voice is wrecked. Low and rough and doing shit to my nervous system. "Wanna stop?"
"No."
"Thankfuck."
Phoenix drops.
Just drops to his knees right there on the wet pavement like gravity made the decision for him, his hands already working my belt, my button, my zipper, and my brain hasn't caught up yet because I'm still processing the kiss.
"Phoenix—fuck?—"
"Shut up, Raf."
His mouth closes around me and I slam my hand against the brick wall behind me. My other hand finds his hair, fisting into those blond strands, and he groans around my cock and the vibration nearly takes my knees out.
He's not gentle about it. Not careful, not tentative. He sucks me like he's been thinking about this. Practiced the angle in his head. Imagined exactly how to take me apart.
Maybe he has.
Fuck.
My hips twitch forward involuntarily and Phoenix takes it, takesme, one hand gripping my hip to steady himself while the other braces against the wall beside my thigh. The tip of his tongue presses into the slit of my crown and my vision whites out at the edges.
"Fuck—Phoenix—fuck?—"
My fingers tighten in his hair. He moans. Actuallymoans, the sound muffled and obscene, and I can feel it everywhere.
He pulls back enough to breathe, lips swollen and shining, and looks up at me through his lashes with an expression that should be fucking illegal. Then his hands are on my hips and he's pushing me down. I lose my balance and we go down together.
My back hits dirt. Packed earth and scrubby weeds behind the warehouse, hidden from the street by the dumpsters. Phoenix lands on top of me, crushing the air from my lungs, and before I can bitch about it his mouth is back on me.
The ground is cold and damp against my shoulders. Phoenix's body is a furnace over mine, his broad chest pinning my hips, his hair falling around his face as he works me over. I can't—my hands scrabble at his back, nails dragging across his jacket, his hard muscle flexing beneath the layer of padding.
He's so fuckingbig. I've always known that, always registered it in the abstract way you register your bandmates' bodies when you see them every day. But this is different. This is his weight on top of me, his shoulders filling my entire field of vision, his huge hands pinning me down while his mouth takes me apart.
I arch off the ground. My fingers dig into the thick muscle of his upper back. His skin is fucking blazing through the fabric. I pull at his jacket, get my hands under his shirt, claw at his sides, his hips where his pants have ridden down a few inches. He shivers. I do it again and he groans around me and I'm fuckinggone.
"Phoenix—I'm—fuck, I'm gonna?—"
He doesn't pull off.
I come so hard my vision goes black. My whole body locks up, spine bowing off the dirt, hands fisting in the back of his shirt hard enough to stretch the fabric. Phoenix swallows around me and the aftershocks rip through my system like seismic tremors.
For a solid thirty seconds, I can't move. Can't speak. Can't do anything except lie in the dirt behind a warehouse and stare at the gray Seattle sky while my nervous system reboots.