Ashes and Anthems - Prelude to something bigger - Short Story… for now!

 They said they shouldn't. Their bodies said otherwise.

She gave in to the man she swore she’d stay away from.

He let her believe she meant something.

Then she saw the truth— And this time, she didn’t cry where he could see it.

Happy reading! OH and who knows, this just might become a book… and series… I mean, there are band members!

Fade to Black

The Sound Between Songs

Lucien Black

Her back hits the wall like a song I never meant to write.

Soft. Sharp. Final.

I brace one hand beside her head, the other curled around her hip, holding her there like I’m afraid the moment will vanish.

Evangeline Thorne.

The woman who walked into my chaos and didn’t flinch.

The woman who sees too much and says too little.

The woman who’s currently looking at me like I’m both the fire and the match.

She exhales like a confession.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this again.”

My voice is rough. “You say that like you mean it.”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.

Her fingers are already in my hair.

Her body’s already arching into mine like she’s forgotten what self-control tastes like.

I kiss her like a man starving. Like I haven’t touched her in weeks. Because I haven’t.

And because I know I shouldn’t.

But I will.

Her mouth is warm and wild beneath mine, her hands tugging my shirt up like she wants me bare, like she wants to feel every inch of the damage I’ve done to myself.

And I let her. I always let her.

“Lucien,” she whispers, breaking the kiss for half a breath. “This is going to hurt.”

I press my forehead to hers, breath shuddering.

“I know.”

Then I kiss her again, deeper, slower, filthier.

Because if this is going to hurt, I want it to scar.

Her mouth is still on mine when I walk her away from the wall and backward, one slow step at a time, until her spine hits the wall with a soft thud. She gasps, barely a sound and fuck if I don’t feel it everywhere. My cock hardening even more.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispers, breath warm against my jaw.

I drag my fingers up the inside of her thigh. “And yet here you are… letting me ruin you again.”

I grip her waist tighter. Pull her in like she belongs there, pressed between the cold concrete and all the things I haven’t said.

Because the second she walked in wearing that black dress and those fuck-me heels, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of her.

Not tonight.

Especially not with the way she looked at me from across the room like she wanted to be devoured.

Her hands slide up my chest, nails dragging across my skin beneath the thin fabric. “You’re not supposed to be touching me.”

“Then stop me.”

She doesn’t.

I grab her thigh and hook it around my hip. Her body arches into mine, like instinct and sin, like she was made to fit the part of me I’ve kept buried for too long.

“You want me to be gentle, angel?”

Her eyes flash. “Do I look like I want gentle?”

Fuck. Me.

I lift her off the ground in one smooth motion and carry her across the room, setting her on the edge of the couch. Her legs wrap around me like they never want to let go.

I slide one hand between us, up the inside of her thigh, fingers finding the thin lace already clinging to her and soaked.

She gasps.

“This is a mistake,” she breathes, voice barely there.

I lean in, drag my mouth along her neck, and growl against her skin.

“You say that while dripping through your panties. Try again.”

And I haven’t even taken my shirt off yet.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” I growl into her ear, grinding against her. “What were you thinking about, hmm? When you walked in here and saw me?”

She whimpers. Goddamn whimpers.

“Was it my mouth?” I bite her earlobe, just enough to make her squirm. “Was it the way I talk to you? Or was it how good I make you come with my fingers?”

Her hips roll. She’s fucking herself against me now, using my body like I’m hers.

Spoiler: I am.

I pull her panties to the side and slide two fingers through her slick heat, slow and dirty. She gasps, head tipping back.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur. “I’ll always have you, especially when you’re like this.”

She moans when I press two fingers inside, curling them just right, my thumb circling her clit like I already know her rhythm.

Because I do. I’ve written songs to it.

Her breath starts to stutter, her muscles clenching around my fingers.

“You gonna come for me?” I ask, voice thick. “Right here, against the wall? Before I even fuck you?”

“Lucien—”

“Say it.”

Her voice is barely a whisper. “Yes.”

She shatters with a sound I want to sample and loop on a track, raw and real and only mine.

And I don’t stop.

I drop to my knees in front of the couch, dragging her panties down her thighs as she leans back, legs already parting for me.

I hook one over my shoulder, press a kiss to the inside of her knee, and look up at her, flushed, breathless and trembling.

Then I bury my mouth between her thighs and devour her like a man starving, letting her ride my tongue until she’s clawing at my hair, gasping my name like a prayer.

And when I stand again, my lips wet, fingers gripping her thighs, I don’t ask.

I unbuckle my jeans, line myself up, and slam into her in one long, hard thrust that knocks the air out of both of us.

“Fuck, Evi…”

She’s tight. Warm. Perfect.

She takes me like she missed this. Like her body remembers everything we did and doesn’t care how wrong it is.

I fuck her hard, deep and dirty. Each thrust a confession, each moan a line I’ll turn into a lyric later. Her eyes are glazed, mouth open, hands gripping my shoulders like she wants to climb inside my skin and stay there.

“This is what you wanted, right?” I growl, biting at her collarbone. “Me. Losing my fucking mind being inside you.”

She doesn’t answer. She just moans and tightens around me, and that’s all the yes I need.

She comes again with my name on her lips.

I follow right after, groaning against her throat like she owns every broken piece of me.

Because she does. She always has.

Her body’s still trembling around me, clenching like she doesn’t want to let me go.

And I don’t move. 

I want to stay like this, inside her, wrapped in her heat, her scent, her sounds.

Knock

It’s sharp. Controlled. The kind of knock that comes from a man who doesn’t get ignored.

Evangeline stiffens in my arms.

Her breath catches, eyes going wide like she’s just remembered where we are.

Who she is.

Who he is.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Followed by a voice that slices straight through her panic and right into me.

“Lucien. You in there?”

Richard Thorne.

CEO of Glasshouse Records.

Her father.

She opens her mouth to speak, panic climbing up her throat like it might choke her.

But I slide one hand over her mouth.

And start to move again.

Slow. Deep. Deliberate.

I pull out a few inches, just enough to make her gasp and drive back in, never looking away from her wild, helpless eyes.

“Lucien,” Richard calls again, his voice slightly more irritated this time. “I need a word about the showcase dates.”

“I’ll be right out,” I call back, tone smooth, not a breath out of place.

Her hands claw at my shoulders.

Her head shakes once, like she’s pleading.

But her body says something else entirely. Tight, soaked and already fluttering around me again.

“You were saying this was a mistake?” I whisper in her ear, thrusting harder now, hand still over her mouth. “You didn’t mean it. You never fucking mean it.”

Her muffled moan confirms it.

She’s close again.

Her lashes flutter. Her thighs tense around me.

Every breath is a silent cry for more.

“Don’t make a sound,” I growl, fucking her harder now, chasing the edge. “You don’t want Daddy hearing how much you love being used like this, do you?”

Her eyes roll back as she clenches around me. So fucking tight and coming apart in my hands for the third time.

And I finally give in.

I bury myself to the hilt, groaning into her neck as I come hard, hips jerking against her in deep, punishing strokes.

I stay there, pulsing inside her, both of us breathless and wrecked while her father stands on the other side of the door.

After a long beat, I finally let go of her mouth.

She exhales like she’s been underwater.

I pull back just enough to look at her face, she’s flushed, messy, ruined and all mine.

“You good?” I murmur, dragging my thumb across her swollen bottom lip.

She glares. “You’re insane.”

I grin. “You love that about me.”

Another knock. Louder. I don’t even blink.

I pull out slowly, letting her feel every last inch. Letting it drip.

Then I kiss her once, slow and dirty, and say loud enough towards the door—

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Richard. Had to take care of something important.”

…………

After the Set

Evangaline Thorne

The crowd is still screaming when I slip out the side exit, the heat of the room sticking to my skin like a mistake I already regret.

I should’ve left earlier.

Should’ve walked out the second his voice smoothed over and he said my father’s name like I wasn’t still full of him.

Or like my legs weren’t still shaking from the multiple orgasms he just gave me.

But I didn’t. I stayed.

I fixed my lipstick. Smoothed my hair. Blended back into the dark like nothing had happened.

And now I’m here, frozen at the edge of the backstage hallway, watching Lucien Black let some glossy blonde press her mouth to his.

She’s hanging on him like she belongs there. Like she’s done it before.

Her hands are all over him. Fingernails dragging across the ink on his chest like she’s tracing lyrics only she gets to read.

She laughs. Loud. Rehearsed.

He doesn’t push her away.

No, he lets her kiss him.

Worse, he kisses her back.

It’s nothing like the way he kissed me. That was desperate. Devouring. Personal.

And then her hand drops.

Casual. Possessive.

She grabs his cock through his jeans like she already knows what she’ll find there. Like she’s done it before and has the right to.

He doesn’t even attempt to stop her. In fact, he pushes his hips into her hand more.

And when he opens his eyes right in the middle of it and sees me standing there? I know it’s deliberate.

He doesn’t look surprised. Doesn’t flinch.

He also doesn’t stop what's happening.

His gaze holds mine like a challenge. Like he wants me to say something, daring me with his eyes.

I am not giving him the satisfaction.

I continue to hold his gaze just long enough for him to see the tears I refuse to let fall.

Then I turn without a word, heels clicking hard against the floor as I walk away from him again.

And I don’t look back. But I know he’s still watching me go. He’s always watching me go. This might just be the last time.

the end

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: May 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix