Page 29 of That Girl is Trouble

Even now, as I stare at that damn couch, I clench my thighs, remembering the pain of his punishment, the slap of his hand, the marks he left on me, the way his fingers slid over the wet mess dripping from my pussy.

I shiver and focus once again on those curtains that still haven’t moved.

Fucking. Axel. Donovan.

The asshole strolled into the Garden a half hour ago, interrupted an uncomfortable conversation I was having with a very creepy customer, and then jerked his head towards the stairs and told me to go wait for him. More specifically, he barked, “Upstairs. Don’t come out unless I tell you. Ass on the couch.”

Ass on the couch.

Right.

I plant my butt firmly on the worn leather just as the curtain slides open and Axe walks inside.

“What do you want, Axe?” I bite.

In response, he holds up a folded hundred-dollar bill, but I don’t budge.

Ass on the couch.

He smirks. “You can get up, Kat.”

Pursing my lips, I stalk over to him and swipe the bill from his fingers. The fingers that, two days ago, I stuck in my mouth. That, two days ago, played my body like a goddamn fiddle. I look back at the couch for a heartbeat, then back at him.

He tilts his head, studying the cushions. “I didn’t come here for that,” he murmurs.

“Then why are you here?”

“How’s your ass?”

I scowl. “Fine.”

He angles closer, dropping his lips to my ear. “Did it hurt to sit after? Did you think of me every time you felt the pain?”

Yes. And yes.

“Did you fuck your hand thinking about it?”

Yes. Over and over again.

No words leave my mouth, but he grins darkly as he steps away, as if he already knows the answers.

“Why are you here, Axe?” I ask again.

The smile falls from his face. “I need something.”

Raising a brow and pressing my lips together, I stare back at that fucking couch.

But he tips up my chin with those godly fingers of his and pulls my attention back to him. “Not that, Kitty. I need a favour. For the club.”

“What kind of favour?”

He sighs as he maneuvers around me and drops onto the same cushion he occupied two days ago, resting his elbows on his knees. “Probably not fair for me to ask. You can say no.”

“You know I won’t.” I move a step closer and cross my arms over my chest. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Need to run surveillance on someone. I want you to get close to him. Close enough that you can get a hold of his phone. Whatever, uh… you need to do to get it.” He clears his throat. “When you do, connect this to it.” Leaning back, he shoves a hand into his pocket and pulls out a small USB-looking device thingy. “It will need a few minutes to do its thing, and then you need to get his phone back to him without him noticing. Can you do that?”

“Yes. He’s a regular here?”

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