Page 20 of Victorious, Part 2 (The LA Defiance MC #6)

“Tell me to stop. Please tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my skin, voice hoarse, wrecked with restraint.

I shake my head, my fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, nails dragging across his bare stomach. “I can’t,” I whisper back.

He groans, his hand moves again, this time under my hoodie, palming the soft curve of my waist, trailing fire in his wake. His thumb brushes the underside of my breast, not quite touching.

He’s teasing.

And when I arch into him, silently begging, he finally cups me fully, his touch reverent and possessive all at once. I whimper, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. He growls against my throat and lies me back on the sleeping bag, following me down, hovering over me.

His hand slides lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my leggings. My breath catches, and my legs instinctively fall open, inviting more.

His fingers slide down, beneath my panties, pressing firmly against my clit. He slides them through my slick folds, and I instantly arch up against him while a small moan slips from me.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, kissing me harder, deeper. It feels like he’s trying to brand me with it.

His fingers circle slowly, then press, and the jolt of pleasure that rockets through me has me gasping his name.

“Phoenix!” My back arches. My nails dig into his shoulders.

My hips begin to rock against the rhythm of his touch, heat curling through me in waves.

My body is already beginning to tremble with the pleasure.

His mouth moves with mine, and then lower again, his lips trailing over my jaw, down my throat, until he finds the spot just above my collarbone that makes me whimper all over again.

His free hand fists in the blanket beside my head as his other works me with maddening precision, drawing me closer and closer to the edge.

Then he shifts, his hips grinding down into me, matching the motion of his fingers, making it impossible to think, to breathe.

My hands grip his hair, pulling, desperate, begging him not to stop.

My entire body shakes, trembling, caught on the knife’s edge of release.

But I want more.

I push gently at his chest, just enough to get him to pause, to look down at me. “Let me touch you,” I whisper.

His breath catches. “Clover—”

But my hands are already sliding between us, popping open the button of his jeans with trembling fingers. He shudders, his body tensing as I slip my hand inside and find him.

Hard.

Hot.

So ready.

His head drops to my shoulder, his groan muffled against my neck. “Fuuuck!”

I stroke him slowly at first, then firmer, my palm curling around him, feeling the way his body tightens under my touch. He thrusts into my hand instinctively, his lips crashing back into mine, all restraint gone.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes out the words.

I smile against his lips. “Then die happy.”

His mouth crashes into mine again, devouring, claiming, owning every part of me. And as my hand continues its rhythm, he grits his teeth, his breathing rapid before his whole body begins to quake.

“Clover,” he groans, his voice strained, eyes wild. “I’m not… I can’t—”

My eyes meet his while I continue to work him. “Don’t think. Just feel,” I tell him, and instantly that fire lights his eyes and he lets go of all the hesitation. His hands shift either side of my head, gripping the blanket in a death grip, and I continue to pump him as he rests above me.

This is so fucking hot.

His face contorts, his arms struggling to keep him up, and his hips thrusting in time with my movements.

My other hand moves under his shirt, my nails clawing his back.

He hisses, his eyes meeting mine in the most animalistic way.

My breathing quickens, my clit throbs so hard.

Watching him come undone on top of me is something I thought I would never get to see.

But this? This is a sight I want to witness every day of my fucking life.

I tug on him again, and then with a guttural moan, he breaks apart in my hand, shuddering against me, his hips jerking as he finds release, all over my stomach.

I smirk, seeing his cum all over me as he drops beside me onto the blanket, completely out of breath, and we lie tangled together, bodies heaving, hearts pounding.

“Jesus,” he mutters, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

I grin lazily. “Like you ruined this hoodie?” I jest.

He glances across at the mess he made and smiles like he’s proud of himself. But then he pulls me close again, arms tight around me, his fingers gently stroking my hair, not caring if he gets his mess on himself or not. “Next time,” he whispers, voice thick. “Next time, I’m not stopping.”

Suddenly, BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP splits through the air.

We both freeze.

Phoenix raises his brow, resting his forehead against mine as his fingers still. “Your heart?”

I let out a breathless laugh, half-hysterical, half-wrecked. “Story of my life, when I am around you.”

“It’s just the harmony of you, baby.” But when he looks down at me, his eyes are full of something deeper.

Something that tells me this isn’t over .

Not even close.

But first, I need to calm my heart rate down.