It wasn’t meant to be funny, but he laughs anyway. “That’s the most illogical logic I’ve ever heard, but somehow it makes perfect sense.” He hands me the mug, drawing my eyes to the corded muscle in his forearms, honed from years on the bike. “You sure you’re good?”
“I will be.” I offer a weak smile.
His gaze is thoughtful as he seems to replay my words in his head a few times. Then he nods and steps forward, taking my coffee and setting it on the counter with one hand while he grabs the back of my head with the other and rests his forehead on mine.
“Go be the angel they need,” he whispers.
“I thought I was the devil?”
“Not today.” The sudden press of his lips against mine is so tender I feel it in my chest.
Soft.
Simple.
Reassuring.
Axel’s fingers flex in my hair as he tilts his head to the side, swiping his tongue along the seam of my lips. My mouth parts on a shaky gasp, giving him just enough room to dip inside for a faint touch before he pulls away.
“Bye.” He spins out of reach and heads out the door, never looking back to notice my fingers tracing my lips.
Holy shit!He kissed me. A super-sweet, super-hot kiss, that almost felt like a goodbye even though as our first it should’ve been more like hello, I think. Wait—no. That can’t be right. By some unspoken agreement we’ve stayed away from kissing, like we both know it’s way too intimate for what we’re doing. So why would he start now? And why goodbye when he’s still here for at least another week? This is just a fling, no need for gestures like that. No need for any gestures at all.
I can’t deny liking the possessive way he pulled me in though. And the way he took care of me last night, just holding me during the movie since I was incapable of doing anything else. And my laundry.My laundry!What kind of person does that?
Alright, it’s possible I misjudged him during our first meeting. Yeah, he was brazen and borderline conceited in a totally backward, reckless, one-night-stand kind of way that turned me on. But I thought a quick romp would be the end of it. I honestly didn’t expect to see him after that, and even when I agreed to more, I thought it would be all about the sex. What he did last night, holding me instead of seducing me, almost makes me wish he wasn’t just passing through.
I crush my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to clear that thought. I know what can happen when you rely on the wrong person. They take what they need, use you up, and cast you aside when they’re done. My first instinct was that Axel is the wrong type of person, and one night of sweet gestures doesn’t change anything.
My mom had years of sweet gestures, and my dad still ghosted her, so I can’t let one night cloud my judgment. I can’t let that fool me into thinking Axel’s any better, or that he’d be any different than my own father. After all, if my own blood can let me down, what's to stop a random guy from doing it, even if that random guy has his sweet moments.
I can’t let myself depend on anyone else. They all let you down eventually.
Chapter eight
Axel
Ihead straight for the shower after Jace picks me up, hoping the water will help clear my head. Instead, it just makes things foggier.
Not only did my cock stay in my pants last night, I didn’t sleep in a familiar bed, yet I still woke up feeling whole. Refreshed, with Lennon wrapped in my arms like I was clinging to a goddamn teddy bear.What is happening?
I don’t share my bed for anything more than sex. I don’t cuddle. And I damn sure don’t share personal details about my dad. So why did I do all of that with Lennon? Is it because he was hurting or because I like him? I’m starting to think it might be the latter.
His stubbornness amuses me, and I respect the hell out of how hard he works. So yeah, I guess there’s a lot to like about him. Maybe that’s why, when I saw the vulnerable side of him, I had this overwhelming urge to take the pain away. I can’t see myself doing that for someone I only want to fuck, so maybe I want to—I don’t know—be friends? Is that even possible when he’s still someone I want to fuck?
From the moment I laid eyes on my hellcat, he spoke to me on a carnal level. I’ve never felt pulled like that to anyone before, let alone a man, and no joke the sex is the best I’ve ever had, and I’m getting sortof hooked on it if my semi is any indication. But I think his personality contributes to that.
He’s fiery, and a little fearless. Independent. Unapologetically himself. I mean, the guy rocks a skirt, and don’t even get me started on the lacy briefs. Both are things a lot of people might find too feminine on a guy, but despite his attire he’s the epitome of masculinity, all hard angles and planes. Plus, he gives zero fucks about what other people see and just does what he wants. I admire the hell outta that, especially since I sometimes feel like I’m living for my sponsors and supporters rather than for myself. Plus, it’s captivating to watch him just being him.
And now I’m hard. Again.
Stroking myself slowly, I picture Lennon’s coy smirk, which never fails to spike my arousal. I swear the man likes this game of chase we have going on, even if he won’t admit it, although I’m not sure what to do about it. Where things go from here.
I’ve never been the pursuer. I’m used to women fawning over me because of what I am; the titles I win and the money I make. They have this image in their head of being my trophy, and I might indulge that for a night, but I’ve never allowed it to go beyond that lest they get the wrong impression.
Lennon is the exact opposite. He doesn’t want anything from me, except maybe my dick, and ironically, that seems to make me want to give him more.
My time.
