Page 187 of S is for SEX

Yeah, that’s not the ‘I think you’re way too cute’ snap, is it?

“I’ve been shot at and missed, and I’ve been shot at and hit. I’ve been beaten, burned, cut, stabbed, and I’ve gone long enough without food and fucking water that I should have died. I’ve been in more fucking fights than any professional boxer, and my left arm is pinned back together with metal screws - because the third time it broke, I didn’t have time or the money to fix it. I’ve been to jail more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. No, Avery, I’m far from normal. You want to know why they call me Slice?” he growled.

I stood and stared. I suppose I should have been scared or surprised. For some reason I was neither. I was beginning to like him more. For the first time since we had been spending time together, he was coming out of his shell. I attempted to swallow the rock in my throat, but couldn’t, so I simply nodded my head once. He reached down and grabbed each side of his cut, and pulled upward, unsnapping it.

He leaned over, hung the vest from his ape hangers, and turned toward me. As he stood facing me, he reached down and pulled his tee shirt over his head. He quickly turned, tossed it over his shoulder and onto the seat of the bike. As he turned around, now shirtless, I gazed like an idiot at his upper body.

Oh my God.

His chest was massive, and far more defined than I would have imagined. His stomach didn’t have an ounce of fat on it. In fact, it was chiseled to perfection. His upper arms were solid muscle, and now that he was angry, were quite swollen. But my focus wasn’t solely on his muscles or well-proportioned body. My focus, at least now, was on the twelve-inch-long scar on his stomach.

And the one below it that was eight or so inches long.

And the one across his chest.

And the one that went from his rib cage toward his back and appeared to never end.

The wounds didn’t seem to have ever been stitched or taken care of by a medical professional. It looked as if he’d been tortured by a chainsaw wielding maniac. As I stood and stared, he slowly shuffled his feet and turned around.

On his back were smaller scars, but there were more than I could count. They ranged in size from an inch to several inches long. Without speaking, he turned around again and grabbed his tee shirt. As I stood and stared, he pulled it over his head and covered his body.

“That’s why they call me Slice. Now, before you ask, about three or four of them came from fights. The other thirty or so?” he asked as he ran his fingers through his hair. “My Ol’ Man. You wanna know why I don’t have any on my arms? Because a shirt wouldn’t hide ‘em when I went to school, that is on the days he would let me go. And none of them ever got stitched because I couldn’t let the doctors see ‘em or he’d have been arrested. When I was a kid he’d already been to the joint twice. One more time, and it’d been life in prison. Well, now he’s doing life in prison, and I’ve got these to remember him by.”

“Turn around,” he demanded and he stepped toward me.

“Axton, I…”

“Turn the fuck around you question asking bitch,” he demanded.

Reluctantly, I turned around. The park bench was only a few inches in front of me. I felt as if I was trapped, but I faced it anyway. As he positioned himself behind me, he raised his hand to the left side of my jaw, clenched it between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted my head to the right. As he breathed into my ear, he pressed his hips into the back of my ass.

His breath against my ear caused goose bumps to rise along the length of my arms.

“You feel that?” he breathed.

All I could feel was his warm breath against my face. I swallowed heavily.

“Feel what?” I squeaked.

“That stiff cock of mine, Avery. It’s pressing against your ass. You feel it?” he asked as he pressed his hips against me with a little more force.

I nodded my head and whimpered.

“That lump you feel rising against that little round ass of yours, you want to know what I call it?” he growled.

Still holding my jaw firmly, his control of me was apparent. His strong hand not only held my face in the position he wanted it to be, but provided me a sense of ownership and restraint. Had he released me, I would have melted into a puddle right then and there. I nodded my head again and puffed out another dry yes.

“I call it progress,” he said as he bit my earlobe between his teeth.

With my ear still clenched firmly between his teeth, he continued. “For the last fifteen years, my cock ain’t been much good; probably either from my Ol’ Man beating me, or from all the women who fucked me over, hell who knows.”

“Reach back there with your right hand,” he demanded.

I stood in shock and trembled. Not from fear, but from nothing other than one hundred percent alpha male arousal.

Although we were standing in the hot sun, his breath against my ear caused me to shiver, “You little tease. You said whatever I told you to do, you’d do. Now reach your skinny little arm back here and grab that big fucking cock of mine.”

I reached behind me, slid my hand along the thigh of his jeans, and felt around until…

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