5. Jem
Five
Jem
C onfession time: my slobbiest PJs are ugly as hell. They’re an old pair of men’s sweatpants and a faded Pepsi t-shirt from the thrift store, the fabric washed so many times that it’s gone all bobbly, and they’re so big on me that I become a shapeless morph when I put them on.
So I don’t. Put them on, I mean.
I’ve got one night with Axel, and I’m not spending it dressed like that. Sue me.
Steam fills the cubicle as I scrub myself squeaky clean under the hot shower spray, then comb out my wet hair in the tiny bathroom, before dressing myself in the clothes I brought in here with me: tiny gray jersey shorts that hug my ass, and a low cut, clingy white top. My boobs aren’t big at all, but in this top they’re almost indecent.
The mirror has fogged over, but I wipe a patch clean and stare at myself. The ends of my damp hair rest against my white top, soaking through the fabric and turning it see-through. I’m scrubbed pink, wide-eyed, chest straining against my top as it rises and falls.
Perfect.
Nodding once, I hang up my towel and toss today’s clothes in the laundry basket. No need to think too hard about what I’m trying to achieve with these clothes; no need to admit to myself what I’m hoping for here. Because Axel’s on duty right now, and he probably doesn’t see me like that anyway, so why get my hopes up, you know? Why lead myself on?
“Tragic,” I mutter to the mirror, pausing one last time to fluff up my damp hair, then I spill back out into the apartment on a cloud of soap-scented steam.
My temporary bodyguard is sprawled in the armchair, his thick thighs straining against his leather bike pants. Does he ever take those off? Is there anything beneath? His dark hair is messy from first being rained on, then squished under a helmet, then dragged along my ceiling—but somehow it still looks good. Tuggable.
A movie flickers on the TV screen, the sound turned way down: an old, grainy Western movie from before I was born. Axel’s not watching the screen. He’s dragged the armchair into a new position, one where he can see both the window and the front door, and he’s scowling between them like he’s spoiling for a fight. His broad shoulders are tense.
“Everything okay?” I ask awkwardly, tip-toeing further into the room, and Axel grunts, his gaze pinned to the front door. It’s kind of funny to see him like this: with his boots kicked off and his hair all messy, but with a knife still sheathed at his belt. Half comfortable, but fully on duty. “There’s hot chocolate in the cupboard, if you want some. Or I could fetch you a glass of water.”
Axel shakes his head, staring at the window now. “I’m good,” he mutters.
I glance at the window too, where a nearby street lamp glows through the drawn curtains. “Did you hear something out there?”
Axel’s frown gets impossibly broodier. “No.”
Oookay. My churning stomach settles a little, and I risk a few more steps toward the armchair. “Then why do you look like someone kicked your puppy?”
Finally, he looks over—and startles at my clothes. That brooding gaze turns hungry, roaming all over my body, and I feel it like a hot caress. Like a pair of bristly lips dragging down my throat.
My nipples press against the fabric of my top. Axel zooms in on them, eagle-eyed, and grips the armchair with those big, scarred hands until it creaks. His jaw works, and something rushes over me—the giddy sense of power that comes with seeing my effect on this man.
He wants me.
Maybe not forever, maybe not in more than a physical way, but the fact is undeniable: my temporary bodyguard wants my body badly. The flush rising on his cheekbones and the tendon popping in his neck give him away. Not to mention the way he shifts, wincing at his suddenly tight bike leathers.
I burst out laughing and give a little twirl. The faint sounds of gunfire and racing hooves float from the TV.
“Those aren’t slobby PJs,” Axel says, and his deep voice is strained, but there’s humor there too. He holds out a hand for me, ordering me closer with an unspoken command, and I’m more than happy to skip over to his armchair. When I get in reach, he wraps his fingers around my wrist, anchoring me there. “Where are your comfy clothes?”
I shrug. “These are comfy too.”
He eyes them doubtfully, and I don’t blame him. These shorts are so tight they ride up the crack of my ass, and my top bares so much of my chest that I shiver. There’s only one reason for me to put these clothes on, and it’s right there, straining against Axel’s fly. Is his bulge as big as it seems? If it weren’t an insane thing to do, I’d try to measure it with my hands.
But with any luck, I won’t need these clothes for much longer. Not if Axel gives in to the taut hunger that’s clear in every line of his body; not if he strips me bare and does whatever he likes with me. Woozy heat fills me at the thought.
But… maybe it’s nuts to place all my trust in a man I only met a few hours ago, especially after the last guy I sort-of-dated turned out to be a complete worm. For a split second, doubt pierces me, and I tug carefully at Axel’s hold on my wrist.
He lets go immediately and settles back in the armchair—puts some distance between us, even though his gaze is still glued to my body.
I’m relieved and disappointed, all in one go.
“You got a sweatshirt or something?” Axel sucks the front of his teeth, still eyeing my dips and curves like he’s trying to commit them to memory. “Might be less… distracting.”
“Sure, I can put something on.” I don’t move, though. Not yet. Not until I’ve fully tried my luck. “But do you really need to focus when you’re guarding me in such a small room?”
Dark eyes whip up to mine. My bare toes scrunch into the threadbare rug, and my insides are so jittery right now that I can barely stand still. I want him, I want him, I want him.
“It seemed like you scared Peter pretty good earlier.”
Axel grunts in agreement, still staring like I’ve got him under some spell. His broad chest rises and falls beneath his dark red t-shirt.
“And the best way to be sure I’m safe is to keep me close, right?” I take a shaky step nearer. “ Real close.”
Axel makes a winded noise. Like I just kicked him in the gut.
And—
Can’t believe I’m saying all this. Can’t believe I’d ever be so bold.
Because I never, ever do stuff like this. Even after dating that guy , I’ve still never kissed a man in my whole life. No one’s ever tempted me close or seemed worth the hassle; no one’s ever made my heart race or my breath turn ragged.
Honestly, I thought maybe my wiring was different. When I broke up with Peter, I declared to the universe that I was done even trying.
But ever since my first glimpse of Axel this morning, ever since this big, brutal biker loomed over me in the market… there’s been an itch under my skin. A need.
I want his scarred hands on my bare skin. Want his hot breath in my ear and his teeth at my throat; want him to push my legs wide and lay claim.
“I’m on duty,” Axel says at last, but his voice is pure gravel.
“Like I said.” I wet my lips, gather all my courage, then climb carefully onto my bodyguard’s lap. “Better keep me close.”
The groan that Axel lets out—it sounds dredged from the bottom of his soul. He grabs my hips and grinds my ass down against his rock-hard bulge, bucking his own hips up to meet mine.
Yes. Thank god.
And it’s hot and strained and blurry, both of us clawing to get closer to the other, our desperate noises blending with the shoot-out in the Western movie. The itch under my skin is overwhelming now, making me whimper and writhe, and no matter how hard I cling to Axel’s body… it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.
My bodyguard grips a handful of my hair and draws my head back. I pant rapidly, watching him with hazy eyes, silently begging him to do it , whatever he’s considering, whatever he’s tempted by. Do it.
Axel growls, then lunges forward and kisses me hard.
His beard is softer than I expected, tickling my cheeks as we kiss. I plunge both hands into his messy dark hair and give as good as I get, nipping at his lower lip and sucking his tongue into my mouth.
Axel draws in a sharp breath and bucks up beneath me.
And hey, maybe I’m not experienced or polished at this, maybe I don’t have any fancy tricks or techniques, but I do have something going for me: I kiss this man like he’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. The best thing I’ve ever felt. And best of all, it’s one hundred percent true, because kissing Axel is like those dreams I get sometimes where I can fly, swooping over the city rooftops.
“Jem.” He says my name like an oath, tilting my head to one side to kiss my neck. The scrape of his teeth makes my belly flutter.
“Uh-huh?”
“This is… you feel…”
“I know.” My nails rake down the front of Axel’s chest, whispering against his t-shirt. Did I leave a mark beneath the fabric? Even a faint one? “I know, I know.”
He flips me around without warning; rearranges me so we’re both facing the door with my back to his chest, my legs flopped out over his thighs. His breaths are heavy in my ear.
“So fucking pretty,” Axel says, cupping between my legs without any messing around. It sends a jolt through my whole body. “You know that, Jem? You’re so fucking pretty, it’s hard to look at you. Every time I do, it’s like my chest cracks open.”
His words run together, muttered against my neck, and I whine as Axel’s palm grinds against the crotch of my shorts. His hand is so big and broad and strong, so unlike how it feels when I cup my pussy myself, and my eyes flutter when I picture the calluses there, the patches of rough skin, the way his hand might feel pressed against me, completely bare—
“And this ,” Axel grits out, squeezing my pussy even harder, practically shaking it to make his point. I’m a doll in his hands, and it’s so freaking hot I could wail. “Bet this tastes like heaven. Bet it’s all wet and sticky for me now. Isn’t it?”
The armchair creaks beneath our joined weight, and my breaths come in short, desperate pants. I nod feverishly, too worked up to speak. How long have we been rubbing on each other? One minute? Ten? Twenty?
Axel is so hot and hard against my back, the proof of his arousal digging mercilessly into my left ass cheek; he cages me against his chest with his strong, inked arms. I’m held and treasured and owned and his , and whatever he wants to do to me right now, I’ll let him.
I trust this man.
And the relief of that is so powerful, it makes my knees weak. It’s been so long since I had another person to rely on, even temporarily. Even only for one night.
“You want me to touch it? Lick it?” Axel noses the patch of skin beneath my ear, rumbling out a laugh when I squirm. His beard is tickly. “Tell me what you want, princess. I’ll make you feel good.”
But: “I don’t know ,” I wail, bucking against his hand and gasping at the friction. “I don’t know. I’ve—I’ve never—”
“But you want it?”
“ Yes. ” The word hisses out of me, and maybe I’d be embarrassed by this whole display if I had space in my brain for a single rational thought. Instead, there’s only room for Axel, and how good he feels, and how if he stops touching me now, I’ll die.
“We’ll keep it simple, then,” Axel says, pulling his palm away so he can hook both thumbs in the waistband of my shorts. I raise my ass so he can drag them down my legs, my limbs trembling with arousal. “No need to get fancy on your first time.”
There are slick patches already on the insides of my thighs. They gleam in the light from the TV screen.
Behind me, Axel curses under his breath and drops my shorts to the rug.
This time, when he cups between my legs, he grinds his palm against my bare body. We both groan as he finds how slick I am, how swollen and needy, my hips bucking as I chase his touch.
“Easy,” Axel mutters, wrapping one arm around my waist and yanking me back into his lap—back against his chest, and with his hard bulge beneath my butt. Back where I freaking belong. “You’re gonna thrash right onto the floor.”
“Feels good…”
He puffs out a laugh. “Yeah. It sure fucking does.”
We find our rhythm slowly, our bodies grinding together in the light from the TV screen. It takes a second for it to click in my brain, but once I understand the dance we’re doing… I never want to stop.
Axel grinds the heel of his palm between my legs, catching that little bundle of nerves and making my whole body sing. Meanwhile I pant and squirm and clench down on nothing, and every time my ass rubs over his bulge beneath me, my skin flushes even hotter.
“Please,” I beg, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for, exactly. Only that I need more.
Axel pauses where he’s sucking a bruise against my throat, then speaks against the reddened skin. “Okay, princess. Okay.”
My whole body jolts, electrified, as Axel’s thick middle finger traces a line up my slit. He circles my entrance, still grinding down against me with his palm.
I scrabble at the armchair, then squeeze his forearms for balance. They’re corded and warm, tattoos shifting as his muscles flex.
“Do it,” I pant, and he circles his fingertip again, teasing me. “Oh, god. Please . Do it.”
Axel bites down on my shoulder, holding me steady between his teeth as he presses inside.