Page 5 of From the Ashes
He thinks I’m talking about his dick-sucking skills, which aren’t bad either.
“This is just the warm-up, baby,” he mutters and I’m beginning to think his smirk is a permanent feature of his face. “But if you need to come, I’m ready to swallow every fucking drop.”
I’d managed to get myself under control, but his words and the thought of him swallowing my cum—having some part of mestill inside himwhen he rides tomorrow—is too fucking much. I grab his head and drive my fingers into his golden locks as I thrust my hips forward, spilling my fucking soul down his throat with his name on my lips.
“Phoenix, I’m com…oh fuuuuck…”
He makes a show of licking me clean after he pulls the last shudder from my body.
“Phoenix,” I say his name again, tugging on his hair as he gently licks my softening cock, trying to tell him I’m too sensitive for that.
“Trust me,” he says, pulling my cock back into his mouth.
And Lord, help me, I do trust him.
I’ll let him use my body however he wants, but standing is becoming an issue.
“Let me sit. My legs can’t hold me up anymore.”
“Here, come lay down over here,” he instructs with a shocking amount of tenderness. I gather my pants, pulling them up enough to walk, and the heels of our boots swish on the hay beneath our feet. He leads me toward the open tack room where there are plenty of saddle pads and blankets, and he throws a few of them onto the concrete slab of the small room. They smell like horses, but so do we, despite the showers we both took after our last rides.
Laughing, he says, “We’re probably going to itch like hell in the morning.” But then he grows serious as he runs one hand under my shirt, finding my scorched skin again while the other starts pushing me down onto the floor.
“You’re really eighteen, right? I don’t know why that’s such a special number, but it’s the one that ensures I don’t end up in prison if this gets out, so it’s important to me.”
“Yeah, I’m really eighteen,” I confirm. At leastthat’snot a lie.
“There’s not much about you online,” he says, waiting for me to offer more information.
I don’t.
“I like to know as much about the people I’m fucking as I can, and I know next to nothing about you. Just so I’m clear, Idon’t like that. Just because I choose to keep this part of my life hidden from the public doesn’t mean I like to feel hidden from my partners.”
I feel the desperation in his voice. What shocks me the most is the revelation that under his playboy persona, not only is Phoenix bisexual, he’s also deep, kind, caring, and honest. I’ve been obsessed with him because of his riding skills. And sure, in the last couple of years it became impossible not to notice his blond hair, tan skin, perfect smile, and killer body—hell, my reaction to him is part of the reason I’m in my current mess in the first place—but he’s so much more than meets the eye.
The most I’d hoped for this weekend was a win and a glimpse of him in the ring. But he’s about to give me everything.
Guilt slams into me tenfold.
I hurt everyone around me.
I’ll hurt him too.
If only that were enough to make me go back to my own camper and leave Phoenix alone.
Instead, I kick my boots off, and he slides my jeans and boxers down my legs before following suit with his own. I’ve never been face-to-face with a cock before, and the fact that I’m staring athiscock has me seeing stars.
Surely, he can see my heart beating through my inexperienced chest.
He’s fucking stunning.
A goddamn masterpiece.
The muscles of aman. Lines that accentuate the hardness of his body and the ruggedness of our sport. His skin isn’t flawless, he has scars like we all do. Old rope burns, gashes from hooves or horns. I wish I had time to hear about each and every one of them.
But I don’t. I’m out of time, which is really the only reason I’m allowing myself tonight in the first place.
Selfish bastard.
