Page 64 of Pretty Broken Wings
“Do you even know how to do nails?” I hope that reason will make him stop. Logic.
Axel shrugs. “Mom gets them done a lot. I’ve gone with her to a few appointments.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Like fuck do I want to let him get anywhere near me.
Axel just gets up slowly. “I take it you don’t like to be manhandled, Raven. So come over here so I don’t have to do that.”
No.No, no, no. The monster is peeking around the corner.
“Listen, I paid a good amount of money yesterday to figure out how to do this right. I’m sure they won’t be perfect, but I’ll practice.” Axel holds his hand out.
Play the game, Raven. Play the fucking game.
Axel takes a step toward me. He approaches slowly like I’m a wild animal.
“Sit.” His voice is soft, and he steps behind me, gently pushing me to the chair. I drop into it, and Axel pulls his chair close to mine, facing me. I only snap out of it when his thighs settle on either side of my knees.
“What are you doing?” I jump, trying to shift back.
“Getting ready?” He shifts slightly so his legs aren’t touching mine and looks at me, then goes back to arranging the stuff on the table. I pick at my fingers, keeping them on my lap.
If I let him have the control he wants, will he let down his guard? I both love and hate that idea. I don’t want to have to play into his delusions. I thought the chapter on ‘pleasing a man so he doesn’t hurt me’ was over. But I also want something,anything, to go my way.
Then, a disturbing thought fills my head. If I flirt with him, will he fold?
Axel leans over the table to grab something, and my eyes are drawn to the muscles I can see under his shirt and his trim waist.
Fucking hell.
My right thumb still hurts. I glance down at it. It’s swollen up since yesterday at the joint where my thumb meets my hand.
“What do you want?” Axel pushes some muted colors my way. “I can’t do crazy designs yet, but I’ll try.”
My throat feels dry. He’s picked an array of dark jewel tones and blacks. Almost like he knows I always used to do my nails black.
“Black?” he asks.
I can barely swallow.
Axel squints and pulls a black polish toward himself. “Black would look nice on you.” Then he motions at me. “Hands?”
It feels like my hand is encased in cement when I try to move it. I battle with my own muscles, feeling the loss of control like it’s being yanked from my body.
Axel just reaches across the table and grabs my left hand gently, pulling it toward him, his fingers warm and soft on my skin. He leans in, squinting, then gets to work clipping the nails down.
He’s close, much closer than anyone in a salon, and I can feel his breath puff across my skin as he chews his gum and focuses on my hand.
I don’t say anything. I refuse to talk. Axel doesn’t seem to notice though, and his brows are furrowed in concentration. I watch carefully as he takes each tool, buffing down my nails and then matching the acrylic nails to the ends of my fingers. Instead of asking for my other hand, he fixates on the one he has, sometimes muttering to himself. He’s surprisingly gentle, holding each finger with just enough pressure to position it the way he wants.
Axel looks up at me. “How long do you want them?”
I shift. “Doesn't matter.”
“Sure it does.” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I may be a man, but I know length matters.”
I stare at him. Did he just make a dick joke?
Axel just winks at me. “How long, sugar?”
