Page 90 of Scarred Savages
Notebook: When in doubt, just fucking ride it.
Istare at Axel, at the axe handle jutting up from the bench between his spread legs, at his hand extended toward me in invitation.
This is insane.
This is the sort of thing that should make me turn around and run back to the house.
But the throbbing between my thighs says otherwise.
The heat in Axel’s eyes says otherwise.
And the lingering shadow of my nightmare, now almost entirely eclipsed by want, definitely says otherwise.
“This is fucked up,” I say, but I’m already stepping forward. “Like, seriously deranged.”
Axel’s grin is pure sin. “Yeah. But you’re still gonna do it.”
Something about Axel strips away my pretense and my careful boundaries.
With him, I’m just… me. Raw and real.
I move between his spread legs, looking down at the axe handle. It’s smooth wood, polished from years of use, about an inch and a half thick—my pulse quickens.
“You really cleaned this thing, right?” I ask, in a last feeble attempt at resistance.
He laughs, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. “It’s clean, Wildcat. Now stop stalling and get on my lap.”
I place my hand on his shoulder, feeling the corded muscle beneath my palm. His skin burns hot against mine.
Shifter heat.
Wolf heat.
Axel heat.
I remove my damp panties with my other hand and carefully straddle his thighs, my knees on either side of his hips, the axe handle between us, but not touching.
“Pick a word.”
“What?” I’m confused by the sudden shift.
“A safe word, Wildcat. Because I might not be able to tell the difference between your good screams and your bad ones.”
I think for a second, then smirk. “Moist.”
He barks out a laugh. “Moist? Seriously?”
“You said pick a word. Nothing kills the mood faster than “moist.”
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He grins wickedly, positioning me over the axe handle. “Now hold onto me, Wildcat, because I’m about to ruin you for every other weapon in existence.”
“That’s a weird flex but—”
“Luna,” his voice drops to that dangerous register. “Less talking. More holding on.”
His hands settle on my waist. Patiently, our faces are level now, his breath mingling with mine.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice rough. “Knew it the first time I saw you.”
