Page 83 of That Girl is Trouble

“Hold on, babe,” he says, voice muffled.

I tighten my grip on the rod for support as he makes a meal of me, twirling his tongue around my clit. The sounds coming from his mouth are a mix of hungry grunts and laboured breaths and absolutely obscene sucking noises as he devours me.

There’s no holding back. Not like before, when he’d let a hand slip and touch my waist, when his eyes were hungry, watchful. Full of restrained desire. There was always a hesitation, a pause, a reason to stop. That reticence is glaringly absent this morning. Axe is fucking me with his tongue like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

I moan loudly as heat pools in my belly and tingles course through my extremities. Head thrown back, I bask in the way he licks me over and over again until my whole body is shaking. My orgasm slams into me like a goddam tidal wave, and I clamp my legs down hard on Axe’s head as I buck my hips against his face and ride it out.

“Fuck,” I murmur as he drops my legs to the floor.

“You need to be quieter,” he says seriously as he pulls me into his chest.

A large bulge presses into my stomach, and I reach for it, unbuttoning the front of his jeans so I can take him in my hand. But he stops me.

“Later, Kitty. I got club shit, and Graves will be looking for me.”

The taste of my pussy is still heavy on his tongue when he pulls me into another dirty, filthy kiss. It’s a promise of more.

More touching. More tracing ink in the dark. More red marks on my skin.

It’s his move. It always has been.

Axe always leaves me wanting more.

23

“Tell me everything.” Triss shimmies across the worn leather of the booth and settles to my left, red wine in one hand, a beer in the other.

It’s the only booth in the clubhouse. The rest of the seating is a hodgepodge of mismatched chairs, bar stools, and a few black leather couches near the pool table. According to Triss, she and Bex have claimed this little corner of the club. It’s Sinner Sister territory, the name Bex has lovingly given the small group of women who hang around the club. The ones she likes, at least. The others—the biker bunnies who she says tread all over our men—are Sinner Sluts.

Bex isn’t the friendly type. Back when I lived here, the woman scared the hell out of me. More than most of the men who come in and out of this place. Tonight, she’s in her usual low-cut tank lined in lace, skin-tight jeans, and heavy black eyeliner. Her blond hair is streaked with deep shades of blue and pink, her right arm covered from shoulder to wrist in a sleeve of dark tattoos. The perfect biker chick. She’s the antithesis of my buttoned-up older sister, who wears a loose-fitting white blouse tucked into a pair of high-rise jeans, her long, dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

I take a sip of my beer. “Everything?”

“Yes! It’s been months since I’ve seen you. How’s Jade? And school? When are your exams? Are you coming home for Christmas this year? Like… the whole break this time? Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here!” She wraps her arm around my shoulder, tugging me close, and I grip her hand and squeeze, a warmth of sorts flooding into my chest. “Did you want to do that Christmas market thing tomorrow?”

“Christmas? We’re a week into November.”

“You know how it is here. This town starts celebrating November first. Just like the Hallmark Channel. God, I wish you were around next weekend. They’re starting the festival of lights.”

Bex rolls her eyes. “Who cares about all that?” She props her chin on her palm and angles closer. “Tell me about the men. Are we talking the frat-boy-fucks or the broody artist type or… oh god, what’s your hockey team like?”

“You’ll have to excuse Bex,” Triss teases. “Brick’s been gone for almost two weeks on club business, and she’s jonesing for some dick.”

“Two weeks!” Bex says bringing her whiskey and coke to her lips.

Triss takes a deep sip of her wine, giving me a sidelong glance. “How are your classes going?” she asks.

Guilt bunches in my stomach. I open my mouth, gearing up to stutter my way through a response, but Bex saves me.

“Circling back to the men,” she says with a wicked smile. “Dating anyone?”

I pause. Men like Axe Donovan don’t date. They fuck. They possess. They consume. They live life hard and fast and don’t hold on to anything that might slow them down. Including women. I don’t know what the hell we’ve been doing, but it sure as fuck isn’t dating.

Bex squeals. “There is someone! Tell me about all the nakedness. Give me details.”

Shrugging, I meet the stern look my sister has turned on me with an eyebrow raise. “Got something to say?”

“I hope you’re being careful.”

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