PHOEBE

NICE, FRANCE

“Fuck, Damien, we’re gonna miss– oh, Jesus!” She moans and tries to regain her focus. “The wine tour is–”

He pulls all the way out and thrusts back inside of her, so slow and so delicious that words completely fail her. What was she saying? Where are they? It doesn’t matter.

“Fuck the tour,” he groans. “I wanna stay buried deep in this tight little pussy. I wanna fill you up until my cum’s leaking out of you for days.”

She’s on her back, on top of the rickety desk in the living room with her legs wound around Damien’s waist, squeezing him tight. They’re in a little house in Nice that overlooks a vineyard. Troy rented it for them, promising them fresh snow, wine tours, and some peace and quiet.

But so far, they’ve had very little quiet.

Damien pounds into her relentlessly, his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth and his brow furrowed in concentration. The sunlight shines down on him and all she can think about is how good he looks like this. That boyish charm is still there, but something’s changed in him over the past few months, made him warmer. Softer. Even while he’s fucking her like he owns every inch of her body, she knows he worships her.

His fingers sink into her hip and then he smacks it. Hard. Pain shoots through her, quickly dissolving into pleasure when he hits her G-spot. Her toes curl and she grips the desk, hearing soft conversation below as people gather in the vineyard for the tour.

They’re fucking five minutes late. God, everyone’s probably waiting for them.

They’re going to look up and see…

A woman getting the best sex of her life.

Isn’t that what honeymoons are for?

Her clit pulses, her legs wobble, and she’s not sure she’s going to be able to keep holding herself up at this rate. He’s been tenacious since they got here. Can’t keep his hands off of her. There’s no press, no phone calls, just the two of them figuring out how this marriage thing works.

They’ve got the sex down pat.

He’s taken her in the shower, the bed, over the bathroom counter, and even on the dining room table while she was trying to clear plates.

If this is what being married to Damien Bell is going to be like, she’s not going to complain. 

Her cunt pulses around him, squeezing tight. He’s got her shirt pulled up over her tits and her skirt bunched around her hips. 

She had stockings…

Somewhere.

“That’s it, babydoll. Just keep squeezing me like that.”

His hips snap harder, the pace making her eyes roll back, and she has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. But the gleam in his eyes tells her that he knows exactly what he wants to hear.

Damien leans forward.

“Scream for me, sweets. Show me how good I make you feel.” His eyes flick up to the window. “Show them.” 

He’s got his thumb on her clit, tracing small, agonizing circles, pushing her right to the brink and then pulling back just as she’s about to come. She lets out an agonized groan to accompany Damien’s wicked laugh. But Phoebe’s got her own tricks up her sleeve.

“If you want me to scream for you, you’ve gotta make me come, pretty boy.”

His face lights up and the circles around her clit quicken, his thumb working overtime while he fucks her faster. God, he’d better get her there now. It feels like she’s been teetering on a razor’s edge for hours now.

“You know I love it when you talk back to me,” he growls. “I wish you could see how fucking gorgeous you look right now.”

He lets out another moan, this one sounds like honey, his voice gravelly and soothing. Goosebumps rise on her skin and she’s so fucking close. The voices outside grow more and more distant. They’ve missed the fucking tour.

Phoebe tips her head back, eyes closed as pleasure starts to build, a beautiful warmth that grows in the depths of her belly. It spreads fast, and soon, she’s consumed with it as Damien fucks her right to the very edge of her orgasm.

This time, he lets her topple right over and she comes with a raspy cry, leaving deep red marks on his biceps. 

“Atta girl,” he purrs.

She’s so sensitive, she can feel his cock twitching inside of her. He keeps rubbing those same circles, his hips slamming into hers. 

Over and over.

And over again.

A loud crack echoes through the room and Phoebe’s heart leaps into her throat. Damien doesn’t seem to notice, picking up the pace as he crashes into her.

“Damien–”

“I can’t stop,” he moans. “Oh, fuck, Pheebs! I–”

He comes, crying out and claiming her mouth in a rough and passionate kiss. Just as he breaks it, she hears a loud snap and the legs on one side of the desk collapse beneath them. Her typewriter goes crashing to the floor, and Phoebe lets out a yelp while Damien quickly pulls out of her and grabs her, stumbling backward with him in her arms. When she looks over her shoulder, all she sees is chaos: papers everywhere, her coffee mug rolling back and forth on the floor, and the desk legs completely snapped off on one side.

“I told you the desk was a bad idea!”

He laughs harder, setting her on the ground, both of them watching as the desk slowly tips over and crashes against the floor. Damien raises his hands while Phoebe winces, thinking about how old that desk is. It’s going to be humiliating to tell the nice couple they rented this place from that they broke it.

“Oh, come on, Pheebs! That’s an accomplishment!”

She pulls down her skirt and her t-shirt as he tucks his cock back into his pants and zips them up.

“You have to be the one to tell Troy about that.”

“You got that polaroid? I’ll take a picture of it. We can put it on the fridge! It’s our first piece of furniture we ever broke together!”

She rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around him. He may have softened since she first met him, but he’s still an agent of complete and total chaos. Phoebe gets up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“We’ll take one when we get back. We have to go.”

“So that’s a no to another round?”

“You couldn’t even let me make waffles this morning without fucking me,” she laughs.

He holds up his hands and she already knows what’s coming. 

“Listen, I see you bent over the kitchen counter in those little shorts you wear to bed and it’s game over for me.”

She swats at him and grabs his hand, pulling him toward the door.

“I’ll let you bend me over the counter after dinner, but we did pay for this wine tour.”

“Okay, okay,” he groans. “Anything to make my wife happy.”

She doesn’t even bite back a smile.

“I love it when you say that.”

This whole thing feels surreal, like she’s dreamed these last four months. Her life has changed so fast so quickly.

But for the better.

Always for the better.

* * *

They managed to catch up with the tour group and Damien came up with a piss poor excuse as to why they were late. Now, they’re walking through the wine cellar while the tour guide rambles up front about oak barrels. She can smell the grapes, the spilled wine on the ground, the sweat, and the oak that’s absorbed decades worth of alcohol. The walls are lined with stone and she detects the faintest hint of must despite how clean this place is. 

She and Damien have been chatting quietly most of the tour, only going quiet to watch a demonstration or two. But now he’s been pulled into a contemplative silence. Phoebe gives his hand a little squeeze.

“You okay up there, pretty boy?”

He grins.

“Yeah, I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Taking some time off when we get back.”

Phoebe arches a brow. The album’s been doing well. Really well. Troy called them to tell them that they were getting rave reviews from everyone and it’s selling almost as well as their first. There are rumors of a Grammy nomination, but Damien’s not taking any of it seriously. He said he doesn’t want to set himself up for disappointment. She can tell he’s excited about the very prospect, though.

He’s not as calm and collected as he thinks he is.

“I would think the label would want you guys to gear up for another tour.”

“I mean, eventually, yeah. Maybe in the summer, but…” He lets out a sigh. “I love the new album and I love touring, but…”

He trails off, staring into the distance. Is he talking about retiring? He’s at the top of his game. The whole band is.

“You know you’re going to have to tour without me.”

“Yeah, of course. I get that, but we just got married. Going out for another six months right away? That’s… it’s a lot. Besides, who’s gonna stay home and make sure that you eat something besides coffee, Pop Tarts, and cigarettes while you’re plugging away on that new article.”

After the wedding, they spent a few more days in Paris going to shows and checking out the local music scene. That’s where Phoebe found her newest muse. The French post punk scene is booming. She managed to scribble down a short pitch for an article in between pints of beer and keep Damien from heading straight into a mosh pit. She’s got interviews booked with artists when she gets home. Titanium could use a good dose of the Paris music scene. It’s booming, and it deserves a hell of a lot more attention than it’s getting.

“Says the man who steals my Pop Tarts and my cigarettes.”

“I’m just trying to save you from a big temptation,” he chuckles.

“Temptation might as well be your middle name.”

“Nah, I like James.”

They stop in front of a wall of oak barrels, only half listening to the tour guide. She wonders what prompted this change of pace in Damien. He loves the road, he adores a crowd and playing to a new one every night seems to give him a high he can’t find anywhere else. This industry rewards the artists who are consistently touring, consistently promoting, and recording. People lose themselves in the chaotic rhythm of it. Damien seems to be trying to claw his way out.

“What prompted this change?” She asks.

He takes a breath and tightens his grip around her waist.

“I don’t want 50 years to go by and realize I’ve barely spent any of that with you,” he replies. “I want to be able to wake up next to you every day– and before you say anything, I know that we’re going to have to spend time apart. I’ll have to tour, and you’ll stay in New York.”

He takes a deep breath, like this is the first time he’s said any of this out loud, but she can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while.

“I know that this career demands a lot of time away from you, but I also went into it so that I could have some fucking control. Now that we’re better established, I want to take time off, stay home, and just be fucking married. I wanna make your favorite food, I wanna fall asleep with you on the couch, I wanna fight over bedsheets and shit, I wanna do laundry and wipe down my– our– fuckin’ floorboards–”

“Damien Bell, you do not wipe down your own floor boards,” she laughs.

Back in Las Vegas, she wanted mornings with him, reading the newspaper together, and her head in his lap while he wrote poetry.

She wanted him to love her, and now, everything she’s been needing is falling right into her lap.

“You know what I mean, though,” he chuckles. “We only get so much time, Pheebs. And it took me almost 27 years to find you. I want to build a life with you.”

The look in his eyes is so earnest, and he takes her hands in his, cradling them gently. When she first met him, she never would have expected he’d say any of these things to her. Phoebe pulls him into a tight hug.

“I want to build a life with you, too. And I think some time off would do you a lot of good– besides, I don’t want to spend my fucking birthday on the road again.”

“That bad?”

“No, I mean… I don’t know.” He sighs. “Maybe I’m getting old or something.”

Phoebe pauses and raises a brow as the realization dawns on her. She knew how old he was, but in all of her research, how did she not know–

“Wait… when’s your birthday?”

“March 10th,” he laughs. “You didn’t know that?! Isn’t that like journalism 101?”

She winces as Damien gently tickles her in the ribs, making her laugh. To be fair, she was far more focused on his antics than his date of birth.

“Must have missed it. Sometimes, my research isn’t that meticulous.”

“Well, it’s just because you were busy looking at my gorgeous face.”

She remembers staring at that Revolver poster above her desk while she made notes, wondering what Damien Bell was really like and what it would be like to sit in front of him.

Never in a million years would she think she’d be married to him. 

He’s surprised her in so many ways.

He always will.