Chapter 3 #2
"Absolutely." I step back, put careful distance between us before I do something stupid like beg. "Midnight. Room 412. Don't make me wait."
Then I walk away, because if I don't, I'll climb him right here in the middle of this gallery full of people who know my father.
I can feel him watching me as I weave through the crowd. Can feel the weight of his gaze like a hand between my shoulder blades.
I don't look back.
Will he come?
The question haunts me for the rest of the night. I mingle, smile, make small talk with Dad's associate about paintings I don't care about. But my mind is in that hotel room, wondering if Axel will actually show up or if I just made a complete fool of myself.
He wants me. I felt it in that kiss.
But wanting and doing are two different things. And he looked so guarded, so suspicious, like he doesn't trust this. Doesn't trust me.
Stop overthinking. Either he shows up or he doesn't.
I leave the gallery early, take an Uber back to the hotel. Shower. Change into a robe. Pace.
Midnight comes and goes.
12:05.
12:10.
He's not coming.
I should have known better. Should have realized that a man like him doesn't chase girls he meets at clubs. Doesn't show up at hotel rooms based on an invitation from a stranger.
I'm reaching for my phone to text Chloe and confess my humiliation when someone knocks.
Quiet. Controlled.
My heart stops.
I open the door.
Axel's leaning against the frame, jacket gone, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that make my mouth water. He looks at me—really looks, his eyes traveling from my wet hair down to my bare feet and back up again.
"Second thoughts?" he asks.
"Are you?"
"I had second thoughts the moment I saw you. Third, fourth, fifth. Lost count somewhere around tenth." He pushes off the frame, steps inside. "Then I stopped caring."
I close the door behind him. Lock it. The click sounds too loud in the quiet room.
We stare at each other.
"We should talk," I say.
"Do you want to talk?"
"No."
"Then don't."
He crosses the space between us in two strides, and then his mouth is on mine and nothing else matters.
Holy shit.
It's not gentle. Not tentative. It's raw and hungry and demanding, his tongue sliding against mine like he's trying to devour me whole. I moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands grabbing my waist and pulling me flush against him.
I can feel him. Hard. Thick. Pressed against my stomach through his pants.
He wants me. He actually wants me.
My robe comes undone. His hands slide inside, find bare skin, and I gasp against his mouth because his touch is everything I imagined and nothing like I expected. Rough palms. Calloused fingers. The hands of a man who's done violence, who's survived things I can't imagine.
They feel perfect on my skin.
"Aurora." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse. He breaks the kiss, trails his mouth down my neck, bites the junction where my shoulder meets my throat.
I cry out, grab his shoulders to keep from falling.
"Too much?" His voice is rough, strained.
"Not enough."
He groans, pushes the robe off my shoulders. It falls to the floor, leaving me in nothing but the black lace underwear I’d put on, hoping this would happen. His eyes go dark, pupils blown wide as he takes me in.
"Fuck," he breathes.
"Is that a complaint?"
"That's a prayer." His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I nearly come apart right there. "You're so fucking beautiful."
No one's ever touched me like this. The twenty-three guys I dated, the ones who tried and failed to make me feel anything—none of them got this far. None of them made me want to beg for more.
But Axel. God. Axel makes me want to beg.
He backs me toward the bed, his mouth never leaving my skin. He's kissing, licking, biting his way down my body, and every touch sets me on fire. When he reaches my breasts, he takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks hard.
I scream in a voice that I do not recognize.
My hands fist in his hair, holding him there, and he chuckles against my skin.
"Sensitive," he murmurs.
"Quiet and keep going."
Axel groans, and I feel his teeth graze my unready, sensitive nipples. The action sends a hot sensation down to my toes, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip, my eyes rolling to the back in pleasure.
"Please—"
"Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."
"I don't—I don't know—"
"Then let me figure it out."
His hand slides down my stomach, fingers hooking into my underwear, and I lift my hips to help him slide them off. Then I'm naked. Completely bare in front of a man I met yesterday, and I should feel self-conscious, should feel something other than desperate need.
But I don't.
I just want more.
His fingers find me. Slide through wetness. He freezes.
"Ah, Aurora. You're soaked."
"Your fault," I gasp.
"Good." He circles my clit, just once, and pleasure explodes through me. "I want you dripping for me. Want you so wet you can't think straight."
"I already can't think at all."
"Then I'm doing this right."
He slides one finger inside me, and I arch off the bed. It's too much and not enough, pleasure and pressure, and a fullness I've never felt before. He watches my face as he works me, adding a second finger, pumping slowly while his thumb finds my clit.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Take it. Let me feel you."
I'm shaking. Moaning. Making sounds I didn't know I could make. His fingers are magic, finding spots inside me I didn't know existed, and when he curls them just right, I see stars.
"Axel—"
"I know, baby. I can feel you getting close." He leans down and bites my lower lip. "Come for me. Let me see what you look like when you fall apart."
"I—oh—I've never—"
He stills. "Never what?"
I can't say it. Can't admit that twenty-three guys tried and failed, that I've never had an orgasm with another person, that I'm a virgin in every way that matters.
But he sees it in my face.
"Aurora." His voice changes, gets softer, careful. "Have you ever—"
"No." The admission burns. "I've tried, I just... I couldn't."
For a second, I think he'll pull away. Think he'll decide I'm too complicated, too inexperienced, too much work.
Instead, his eyes go molten.
"Then I'm going to make your first time something you'll never forget."
His fingers start moving again, slower this time, more deliberate. His mouth finds my breast, and he sucks while his hand works between my legs, and the combination is devastating.
Pleasure builds. Coils tight in my stomach, my thighs, spreading through my whole body like fire. I'm panting, writhing, grabbing at him, at the sheets, at anything I can hang on to.
"That's it," he encourages. "Stop thinking. Just feel."
"Axel—"
"Give it to me."
His thumb presses hard on my clit, his fingers curl inside me, and I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me so hard I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except feel. Wave after wave of pleasure, my body clenching around his fingers, and he works me through it, drawing it out until I'm sobbing with the intensity.
When I finally come down, I'm trembling. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
"Holy shit," I breathe.
He's grinning. "Good?"
"I think you broke me."
"Nah. Just getting started."
He kisses me, deep and slow. His fingers are still inside me, moving gently, keeping me on edge.
"Your turn," I say against his mouth.
"No."
"What?"
He pulls his fingers out slowly, and I whimper at the loss. "Tonight's about you. About making you feel good."
"But—"
His phone rings.
We both freeze.
He swears under his breath, pulls it out. Looks at the screen. His expression hardens.
"I have to take this."
"Now?"
"Now." He stands, adjusts himself—and oh God, I can see how hard he is, straining against his pants. "Don't move."
He steps into the bathroom and closes the door. I hear his voice, low and clipped, speaking in what sounds like Russian.
I lie on the bed, naked and frustrated, and still buzzing from the orgasm. My body's alive in ways it's never been, every nerve ending singing, and I want more. Want him inside me. Want to know what it feels like to have him take me, claim me, make me his for these few stolen days.
The bathroom door opens. Axel's face is tight, controlled.
"I have to go."
"What? No—"
"I'm sorry." He's already buttoning his shirt, looking for his jacket. "Something came up."
He crosses to me, cups my face, kisses me hard enough to bruise.
Then he's gone.
The door closes.
I'm alone, naked, sexually frustrated, and more alive than I've ever been in my life.
I roll onto my side, press my thighs together, and try not to scream.