Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (20 page)

“Nu-uh.” Phoenix glares at me in warning then slouches a little further down into the chair and lets his legs drop to the sides. A soft laugh escapes my lips and I stroke him again before repositioning myself to lay in his lap. Pulling his shorts and boxers down slightly, I release his taut hard-on from its confines.

God, he looks delicious.

I take a quick moment to admire his beauty before bringing my lips to his rising length, tracing my tongue around the edge. He tastes as good as he looks. Pumping my fist once more, I take him further into my mouth as he gently moves his hips.

His body is a banquet and I want to taste everything he has to offer.

A low moan escapes his throat. He can be so easy to please. And I’m the lucky bitch who gets to please him.

I nip playfully against the base of his staff and he releases a wild hiss.

“You are going to be the death of me, woman.”

Death by blowjob seems like a pretty good way to go if you ask me.

“That's enough. Come here.”

I like how he commands every part of me. I rise before him and he swiftly picks me up and plants my ass firmly on the edge of the dryer, pooling my skirt up around my waist in the process.

He pushes the fabric of my panties aside and skillfully slides in one finger and then two, spreading my wetness up over my clit. My body is ready for him and he knows it.

“Please,” I whimper.

He leans down and kisses my flesh once before grabbing his cock and positioning himself at my entrance.

“Phoenix. Please,” I beg again.

He grabs my ass tightly and collides his body into mine relentlessly. I hook my legs around his waist and squeeze as he pushes into me over and over and over again. Between the heated vibration of the dryer and our frenzied bodies, it won't take me long to combust.

He is my match. And each time he strikes against me, he ignites an undeniable fire. A fire that burns only for him. And each time we touch, we’ve rekindled the flame.

“Fuck, Phoenix. You feel so incredible.”

He plunges in once more, stilling his body against mine and kissing me fiercely. My insides clench and he moans instinctively.

“Shit,” he pants.

“What? Are you okay?”

“A condom. I didn't put on a condom.”

My body hesitates, but I know he's clean and so am I. I place my hand on his cheek. “It's okay. I'm on the pill, remember? Relax.”

“Are you sure about this?”

I lean back and slowly grind my hips against him, begging him to continue. I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life. I could never ask him to stop loving me, to stop making love to me. I can feel him pulsing inside of me. The sensation is intoxicating and I only want more.

“I want every piece of you,” I whisper before kissing him with the fervor of a wild stampede.

Phoenix picks up his rhythm mid-kiss and it’s all almost too much to handle. The intense pleasure. The risk of getting caught. The urgency to have him here and now.

“I'm so close, Ivy. I'm gonna come...”

As Phoenix tries to pull away, I grab his body and bring it to mine, keeping him upright as he unravels in my arms. I smile, satisfied that I could give him this release.

“You,” he pants before bringing his lips to mine and kissing me. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yes, you should have.”

He presses his forehead against mine and we stand there, panting.

I jump as the dryer buzzes beneath me and we both double over in a startled fit of laughter. Phoenix pulls his pants up and fumbles with his belt while I smooth my skirt out over my thighs.

“What about you, Ivy? I need to take care of my girl.”

“I'll let you make it up to me when we get home.” I can’t fight the smile, knowing what awaits us when we get back to our apartment. Phoenix tosses me a warm towel from the dryer. I hop down, do what I can to clean myself up and help him quickly toss the clean clothes in a laundry basket, not caring about the wrinkles.

I HATE TO ADMIT IT, but that horny buffoon of a man was right. A little emotional intimacy was just what Phoenix and I needed to find our way back again. And really, it’s probably less about intimacy and more about actually making a concentrated effort to be together. I could have spent the evening having him read me the phone book and I would still feel connected to him again.

Though I’d be a fool not to admit that the nearness of him wasn’t appreciated. Because it was.

Thrice.

I’m just thankful that things have finally gotten back to normal. And by ‘things’ I really mean us. It feels good to be back in his arms and out of my own damn head. Because being in my mind is a scary, ugly place to be.

Phoenix walks through the front door, already unbuttoning the top buttons of his oxford shirt. He looks so handsome with his overgrowth hair, trademark boy scout smile, and his dimple that just begs to be kissed. I instinctively give in to his natural charm and stand to greet him with a kiss on his cheek.

“You beat me home!” he exclaims, pushing me back in his arms to take a closer look at my face.

“I know, right? I walked into the gallery this morning and Brock had several of his sculptures in place.” Phoenix has heard me talk about how much of a train wreck Brock is and he raises his eyebrows questioningly. “I’m just as shocked as you are. I was prepared to be there late again, but we called it a day by three.”

“I’m just glad you’re home.” I feel the smile on his lips as he leans down kiss me again.

Mmm
…
me, too.
I wrap my arms tightly around the back of his neck and slip further into the drunkenness of his kiss. He dips me backward, devouring me. It’s the kind of kiss that comes with intention. Insinuation. Intoxication. Inescapable want and need.

And if he keeps this up, I will
never
grow tired of kissing him.

Phoenix sets me upright after a few more minutes of our impromptu make out session, and then brings his thumb to my lips, wiping away my smudged lipstick.

“So what do you want to do tonight?” he asks casually.

You.

“Well, Brock invited us out for drinks. Though I’m not sure how much more of him I can take.”

Phoenix nods understandingly. “Based on the stories you’ve shared, I don’t blame you.”

“But—”

“There’s always a but!” Phoenix interjects and smacks my ass as he walks toward our bedroom. I follow behind him, admiring the view that his perfectly molded pants provide.

“But we probably should. I can practically hear James in my ear telling me to give the man what he wants. And if he wants to take us out for drinks, we should probably let him. Besides, as crass as he is, he can be a little funny.”

Phoenix sits down on the bed to take his shoes off and sighs. I’m tempted to say, “The hell with Brock,” and take him right now, riding him until the sun shows up in the morning.

“Really? I was kind of hoping to take you out to an improv show tonight. You know, get back to our weekly date nights.”

His eyes turn soft and melty, much like my insides. I sit down on the bed next to him, taking his hand in mine. Our fingers interlace and he slowly traces his thumb along the palm of my hand sending shivers of delight through my body.

“Being around Brock is kind of like being stuck in an improv sketch. It should be fun. And if we’re miserable after an hour, we can ditch him and still make the show.”

“Fine,” Phoenix concedes. “But if we’re going to a gay bar you are
both
in deep shit.” He cracks his killer smile, and playfully winks at me.

“ANOTHER ROUND OF SHOTS!” BROCK signals to a waitress, who is wearing shorts so tiny they are no doubt intended for a toddler. She acknowledges us with a wink and a nod.

I’m not sure how much more of this my liver can take. Phoenix, on the other hand, is matching Brock drink for drink. I stopped counting when I needed two hands.

“Thanks, Brock. But you really don’t have to do this,” I say, offering him a kind smile, tracing my finger over the edge of my glass of vodka tonic. We can’t keep blurring the lines of professionalism.

“Of course I do, my little honey bunny. It’s the only way I’m getting you kids up on that stage.” He waves his finger to the platform at the back of the bar where a stout man with a British accent is singing to Beyonce’s
Single Ladies
, complete with hand movements, a little too passionately I might add.

“There is
no
way you are getting me to sing karaoke. I told you that when we walked in here,” I retort.

“Wanna bet?” He throws his head back and laughs himself into a fit of hiccups.

“With enough alcohol, I’d venture to say I could get her to do anything,” Phoenix chimes in.

“
Anything?
” There’s a scandalous glint in Brock’s eye that instantly brings unease.

“Anything.” Phoenix seems confident in his abilities. And honestly? He’s probably right. For him I would do just about anything, alcohol not even required. Though it surely helps.

“Could you get her to do a time capsule?” The smirk on his face tells me I don’t want to know more.

“A
what
?” I say, exchanging a confused look with Phoenix. He apparently is as clueless as I am.

“Oh,
come on
. Everyone who’s anyone has heard of a time capsule.” He picks at his cuticles, waiting for us to take the bait.

“No, definitely not,” Phoenix replies as I shake my head.

“Well, you’re in for a treat.” Brock cracks his knuckles and leans into us, resting his elbows on the table. He speaks directly to Phoenix. “Okay, so you know when you’re in bed having a good time with a guy? Well, I guess in your case, a good time with a girl?”

Phoenix raises his eyebrows in intrigue and the waitress returns, sliding three more shots of whiskey onto the table. I smile at her innocently, praying she hasn’t overheard any part of this conversation.

“Okay, so you’re in bed doing your thing. And instead of …
you know
inside of her. You pull out and drop your load in a Rubbermaid container.”

I feel my face fall and turn bright red. “What the fuck?”

“Then you go into your backyard—”

“But I don’t have a backyard,” Phoenix interjects.

“Meh, semantics. So you go into your backyard. Dig a hole. Bury the Rubbermaid container. And you wait twenty years.”

“Twenty years?” Phoenix asks as my eyes volley back and forth between the pair like I’m watching a championship tennis match.

“Yes, twenty years,” Brock clips.

“That’s a long time to wait.”

“It’s a time capsule. What do you expect?”

“Good point,” Phoenix states, satisfied with the rationale.

“So twenty years pass and then, and
only
then, do you dig up the container and track down the girl. You go to her house, ring the doorbell … Then, when she opens the door, you throw the jizz in her face and cheer,
Thanks for the memories!
That, my friends, is a time capsule.”

If I were sober, I’d be mortified, but I laugh so hard vodka comes out my nose and stings like a fucking bitch.

“That shit is right out of the urban dictionary,” I say, slapping his shoulder with the back of my hand. Phoenix is doubled over in hysterics.

“Pretty much.” Brock grins as a handsome piece of young meat catches his eye across the bar. He grabs his shot glass off the table and raises it in the air. Phoenix and I follow suit. “To new friends, compromising sexual situations, and time capsules!”

I throw my head back with the shot and enjoy the slow burn in my throat.

“Brock Coulter, you’re next!” the DJ announces from the back of the bar.

Brock slams his empty shot glass down on the counter and theatrically stands up, whisking himself away to take center stage.

Phoenix and I give him a whooping holler, egging him on in his shenanigans.

“That guy is insane,” Phoenix says, watching him jump on stage in disbelief. It’s amusing that Phoenix actually decided he likes hanging around Brock, considering he doesn’t warm up easily.

“That’s one word for it.” I’m clapping so hard my hands hurt.

Brock raises his hand, effectively silencing the raucous crowd. The only sound is the clinking of glasses at the main bar.

He looks out into the audience, grabs the mic like he’s about to make love with it and as the bass guitar line starts in the background, he coolly says, “Are you bitches ready to do The Time Warp?” The crowd explodes into a frenzy as the instrumental to the iconic soundtrack booms through the speakers.

Brock closes his eyes and runs his palm down the front of his chest stopping in front of his crotch as he sings. “It’s astounding ...” he croons, his voice haunting

I fall back in my seat as I watch him unbutton his shirt and fling it to the floor as he sings both the male and female parts of the song to perfection.

Brock shakes his hips to the music as he sings but when he gets to the chorus the entire bar jumps to the left, steps to the right and shakes their hips right along with him, reenacting the scene straight from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Mid-song, I look over at Phoenix. He is all smiles and actually rocking out in his chair.
Humph ... and he thought he wouldn
’
t have fun.