Page 81 of That Girl is Trouble

He goes still when I rub my hand over his chest and down the ripples of his stomach, pausing just above his waistband.

“Please. I could take Triss.”

“Doubt it. I’ve seen her scrap.”

I laugh, and he pulls me tighter against him.

We’re quiet for a beat, and then I say, “It just caught me off guard. You showing up last night. You and me… together. I just needed you gone, okay? That’s why I made you leave. It felt like too much.” And like another betrayal. One more thing I have to hide from my sister. Another thing weighing on me the next time Jesse skates across my mind and reminds me of how fucked up our ending was.

He snorts. “That an apology?”

“Definitely not.”

With a sigh, he says, “Let’s just get some sleep, then, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” I say. My eyes are already shutting, my mind drifting as I let his heartbeat lull me to sleep in his arms.

It’s not the sun that wakes me hours later. Even with my eyes closed, the room quiet and still, with Axe’s fingers circling on my shoulder blade, I can tell he’s staring at me.

I let my lids flutter open. We’re face to face, lips close, bodies locked together. His eyes are hooded. More of that softness I love lines his features. My leg slung is over his, my arm coiled around his middle. I press my hand to his heart, relishing in the slow and steady drum against my palm that flutters up a notch as I explore his skin.

Whisper soft, I move my fingers over his jaw, over the scruff that’s gotten a little longer than what he usually lets grow.

“I like what you look like in the morning,” he murmurs, following the movement of my hand back down his body and over his tattoos. He props his head up on his arm, his bicep bulging, and as the light pours in from the window, getting brighter by the minute, I take in his sharp features, his body that’s looking more and more godlike as the sun hits it. I toy with the trail of hair lining the path from his belly button to the edge of his jeans and lower. His hand finds my ass, and he lets out a quiet groan as his grip tightens.

“How’s your ass feelin’?” he asks.

“All better now.”

“Might have to change that later,” he says.

Without warning, he flips me onto my back with so much force I let out an oof. Axe crushes down on top of me and immediately takes my bottom lip between his teeth. I moan at the contact. At the bulge he’s pressing between my legs.

“Make that fucking sound again,” he rasps, this time taking my mouth in a kiss.

His tongue wraps around mine, making all kinds of filthy movements that send images flashing through my mind of what else I want him to do with it, where else I want him to put it. At his command, another moan slips from my lips, but I don’t mean for it to happen. It’s overwhelming having him so close. His hand sliding down my hips and playing with the string of my thong. The absolute ferocity of his kiss.

A pool of heat gathers between my legs, and I deepen our embrace as I scratch the skin of his back. He moves his body like he did when he fucked me, slow and rhythmic, grinding his hips against me, undulating in perfect pace, and I encourage him forward, pulling him closer as I dig my heels into the small of his back.

It’s fucking heaven. Our bodies melded together, our fingers travelling unhindered over every curve, ripple, and ridge of exposed skin.

He tugs at my tank top, breaking our kiss to rip it over my head. Then his mouth is on my breast. It’s more of that hungry, frantic type of touching when he takes my nipple between his teeth, and I dig my head back into the pillow, biting my lip to stifle a moan.

“I need you to fuck me,” I say as I reach for the top button of his pants.

Axe chuckles as he flicks his tongue around my nipple, sending a shock of pleasure between my legs. “I’m not fucking you, Kitty.”

“What? Why not?”

“Let me explain how babies are made. That might help with your confusion.”

I huff out an irritated sigh, desperation washing over me as I dip my fingers into his waistband so I can make him give me what I’m craving. But Axe grabs my wrists and locks them in an iron grip above my head.

“Just pull out,” I argue.

“Not sure I have that kind of control. Not with you.”

“Axe—”

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