Page 27 of That Girl is Trouble

But Axe doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he’s taking control of my hips, stroking me over the hard bulge growing in his pants as he takes more with his mouth—lips and teeth ravaging my chest, his tongue licking me up and down like I’m his new favourite flavour, like the cherry taste of my lips has suddenly fallen second to the taste of my tits.

I don’t stop him. I can’t.

It feels too good.

The tingle in my toes, the sudden tightness coiling in my belly, the pulse throbbing between my legs all warn that this needs to stop. Because if he doesn’t slow down, I might actually come just from feeling him like this. Clothes separating us, his hands on my hips, his mouth biting and sucking and licking every inch of me he can reach.

“Axe,” I breathe, pushing against his shoulders. “We have to stop. Or I might—I might—”

“You might what, Kitty?” he says, keeping a firm hold on me, his eyes finally locking with mine. “You might make a mess in your panties? You might come all over my lap?”

His voice is laced with an arrogant inflection—a note of triumph. He’s got me. He’s in control. He has the power.

Can never resist, can you? Doing exactly what I tell you to do.

The song ends, a saving grace that shakes me out of my haze.

I stop my movements when the room goes quiet. In response, he stills, his hands gripping me so hard I know he’s left marks.

“Meter’s run out,” I say icily, matching his tone of triumph in my voice.

Axe’s response is silence. He holds me close for a second longer, his eyes taking in the expanse of bare skin in front of him. Then he hauls me up by my waist and sets me on the couch, turns his back, and adjusts himself. The sensation hits me again—the satisfaction—but it’s quickly stifled at the amusement lining his face when he turns back to me.

He throws a wad of cash onto the couch, and says, “Ten songs. No less.”

Still topless, I lean back on the couch and rest my arms behind my head, giving him a full view of my chest. “I don’t think so.”

“Kat,” he grits. The way he says my name sends a shiver through me and hardens my nipples. His eyes drop to them. “Ass. Firmly planted. On the fucking couch. Ten songs.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and disappears through the curtains.

I immediately leap off the couch and shimmy back into my barely there bra before following him out. The second I step into the darkened hallway, I’m met by a hard wall of muscle, and Axe is pushing me back through that curtain.

“Hand or belt?” he asks.

My heart jumps, and a rush of excitement—of adrenaline—barrels through my body in anticipation of hurt I know he’s about to lay on me. The pain I used to crave. The touch I used to beg for. I don’t respond, and a devilish smile curls up his face.

“You don’t pick, then I will.”

I can barely control my pulse as I back towards the couch, my chest heaving in anticipation. He matches my strides, a glint in his eyes.

“Um. I—well—” I stutter.

When he speaks, his voice is so low I can barely hear it, but his words carry the same edge as those sharp features I can never help but stare at. “Choose.”

“Hand,” I breathe out.

He drops onto the couch, beckoning me onto his lap. This time, instead of straddling him, I get on my knees and lean over his thighs. Axe pulls me forward, and I yelp as he holds me, my head dangling as I wait for that first hit.

His hand slides over my ass as he pulls my skirt up and my underwear down. “How many do you think, Kitty Kat?” My skin heats with every soft caress he teases me with. “I’m thinking ten. One for each song.”

“Sounds… fair,” I breathe, my body on fire.

He chuckles in response, and without warning, his hand connects with my ass. I call out, suddenly very aware that anyone could walk in.

“Axe,” I warn. “If someone sees—”

“Yeah, I know, Kitty. You could get fired. Better be quiet, then.” He smacks me again, this time on my other cheek. I bite down on my lip to hold in a shout, and when the third comes, it’s even harder.

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