Page 16 of Wild Card
“Fuck me or leave me alone,” he said. “But stop being a goddamned tease.”
He walked off, leaving me gaping, and climbed onto his bike. He tugged on his helmet and fastened the strap, then kick-started the Harley and sped off without looking back.
My cock was still hard in my pants, my blood hot. But my heart was cold as stone.
I cursed softly under my breath. How did that get so out of hand? Jesus, I was losing it.
I climbed into my car and slammed my door. Then I slapped my steering wheel until my palms hurt as badly as my dick did.
“Stupid, stupid, horny idiot!” I growled to myself.
I was lucky Axel wasn’t making a real complaint. But then he probably wanted to stay off the sheriff’s radar as much as I did.
I started my car and drove to the station, where I collected my private vehicle and headed home.
When I’d moved back to central Nebraska, I’d wanted nothing more than to hide from everyone and everything. As a result, I’d bought a fixer-upper in the middle of nowhere, about midway between Riverton and Granville.
I drove there now, counting down the minutes until I could get to my rustic little cabin that was always too damn drafty.
Not because I wanted to sleep, but because my dick wasn’t going to rest until it made me pay for the fantasies in my head.
Ten long-ass minutes later, I pulled down the bumpy trail and parked on the dead grass that served as my driveway.
I unlocked the door and let myself in. Bluey chirped noisily from her cage, her feathers fluffed up with annoyance at my long absence.
I worked too much to own a dog or cat, but the house was too dang quiet when it was just me here. I went over to her cage and tossed in some fresh seed.
Bluey swooped in, aiming to peck my fingers. I jerked free just in time.
“Nice to see you too,” I murmured. “I gotta take care of a little problem. I’ll be back in a minute, and then you can peck me as hard as you want.”
Fuck knew I deserved it.
I darted into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and ripped open my pants. I reached into my boxers, grasping my cock in a tight hold, and groaned so loudly I was grateful I had no neighbors.
“Fucking fuck, Axel,” I muttered. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I fumbled for the hand lotion on the sink and pumped a handful into my palm. I used it to slick my cock, heat licking at my shaft with each stroke, my balls heavy and tight.
Axel’s offer to drop to his knees and suck me off returned, and I imagined the incredible heat of his mouth around my dick. How deep would he let me go?
As deep as you wanted.
I’d grip his hair, pull him down on my dick. He’d have no choice but to swallow me or choke, and either option was okay because Axel was dirty and shameless, and he’d love gagging for me.
With a harsh cry, I came over my fist.
The mirror reflected my sweaty brown hair and flushed cheeks back at me. My wrinkled uniform shirt tugged out of my pants.
I averted my gaze, not liking what I saw.
I couldn’t go on this way.
Pathetic. Needy. Desperate.
Axel was right. He was a hothead, a wild card who treated the law like more of a suggestion than a rule. A guy I’d cuffed before and surely would again.
And he had my number. One hundred percent.
