6. Aksel
6
AKSEL
A fter what feels like an age, Zara returns to the living room, and my jaw falls to the floor.
That dress shatters any resolve I had left. My mouth goes dry, drinking in her curves, the fabric clinging to her body in a way that makes my blood heat. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and I ache to run my fingers through those silky strands.
I take a shuddering breath as Zara settles onto the couch, trying and failing to keep my eyes off her body. The dress hugs her curves, the neckline plunging dangerously low. She crosses her legs demurely, utterly oblivious to the effect she's having on me.
"You look stunning," I force out, my voice a guttural growl. Never before has Aksel fucking Nilsen given a woman a compliment before, yet here we are.
Zara blushes, a rosy hue spreading across those high cheekbones. "Thank you," she murmurs, ducking her head shyly.
The motion draws my gaze to her tits straining against the fabric, and I dig my nails into my palms to keep from reaching out and ripping that flimsy material right off her body.
She clears her throat. "Sorry, is it too much? I can change into something more appropriate." Zara moves to stand.
"No!" The word bursts from me before I can stop it, far too forceful. Zara freezes, eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of fear. I take a calming breath through my nose. "You look perfect just as you are."
Her tongue darts out to wet those plump lips, and I track the movement hungrily. So innocent, so tempting. She settles back against the cushions, squirming under my scrutiny.
"Would you like a drink?" I offer, needing something to distract me before I pounce on her.
Zara nods, worrying her full bottom lip between her teeth. The sight of that lush mouth being abused sends a jolt straight to my cock. I grip the arm of the chair, knuckles whitening as I try to get a grip.
Moving to the small bar, I pour two glasses of the expensive scotch I keep on hand, letting the familiar ritual calm me. When I turn back with the tumblers, Zara has one knee drawn up, skimming that tantalizing hemline even higher. My steps falter, and it's a fucking fight not to drop to my knees and bury my face between those thighs.
For weeks, I'd planned her demise, intending to lure her out into the forest before stalking and then striking. A clean kill, then I could dispose of the body without a trace. But now... now those plans seem laughable.
Zara wasn't sent here to die. She was delivered to me, a gift from the gods to sate my darkest desires.
I don't know how long I can deny my body's cravings while I drink in every luscious curve, every tantalizing glimpse of skin. My mouth waters at the thought of tasting her. But for so long, I’ve avoided such proclivities for a reason. I can’t turn into my father.
Our fingers brush when I hand her the drink, and electricity crackles between us. She sucks in a sharp breath, pupils widening.
"Thank you," Zara whispers, her voice a breathless caress that has me clenching my fists to keep from grabbing her.
I give a tight nod, sinking into the chair across from her. From this angle, I can see straight down the tempting V of her neckline. It would be so easy to rip that fabric aside and bury my face between her tits.
Downing my scotch in one burning swallow, I set the glass aside with a trembling hand.
A predatory grin stretches my lips as I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees.
Zara's chest rises and falls rapidly with each panted exhale. She clears her throat. "Would you like me to make us lunch?” she asks.
The innocent question snaps me back to reality, the sound of her sweet voice cutting through the haze of lust fogging my brain. I blink slowly, tamping down the raging beast within me that demands I take her right here on this very couch.
“Lunch?” I rasp.
She nods, worrying her plump bottom lip between her teeth. The motion draws my gaze inexorably to her mouth, and I imagine those lips stretched obscenely wide around my cock.
I grind my teeth. "Yes, that would be nice."
A relieved smile curves those tempting lips, and she rises gracefully from the couch. The dress rides up as she stands, giving me a teasing glimpse of the edge of her black lacy panties, making my mouth water.
"I can whip up a quiche if you have the ingredients?" Zara offers, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
I grunt an affirmative, trying and failing to tear my eyes away from her tits, straining against the fabric with each breath. "There should be eggs and vegetables in the fridge. Flour in the cupboard, too, I think."
"Perfect!" She beams at me, all sunshine and innocence.
I can only nod, mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she turns and heads for the small kitchen. From this angle, I get a perfect view of the gentle flare of her hips into the lush curves of her ass barely contained by that sinful dress.
Sinking back against the couch, I palm the aching bulge in my pants and grit my teeth against a groan. Zara bends over to retrieve something from the fridge, that dress riding up to reveal a better glimpse of her panties.
Fucking hell, I'm going to ravage her before this day is through.
My cock throbs at the thought, straining against the denim in a way that's damn near painful. I rub my length through the rough fabric, reveling in the delicious friction.
The soft sounds of Zara puttering around in the kitchen only stoke the flames higher. My eyes slip shut as I imagine her on her knees before me, those pretty lips stretched wide as she takes me right into the back of her throat.
"So, Aksel," she says conversationally as she cracks eggs into a bowl. "What do you do for a living out here?"
I force my eyes open. "I'm a hunter," I grunt.
Those big green eyes meet mine as she stands at the counter facing me. "Really? That must be fascinating work."
A harsh laugh escapes me before I can bite it back. "If you say so."
She frowns at my tone but doesn't question it, simply returning her attention to whisking the eggs.
“And you?" I ask gruffly. "What brings a pretty thing like you to the middle of nowhere? You never said what research you're conducting in our correspondence."
A delicate flush stains her cheeks when I call her pretty. "I'm an atmospheric scientist," she explains. "I'm here to study weather patterns in the area."
My brow furrows, trying to picture this sweet, soft creature braving the harsh wilderness to get weather readings. The thought makes something dark and protective unfurl in my chest. "Seems like dangerous work."
She smiles as she chops vegetables. "I may be small, but I'm stronger than I look."
My eyes narrow as I drink in the flex of lean muscle in her arms, the determined set of her jaw. I may have underestimated this one.
"I'm sure you are," I murmur.
Zara's breath catches audibly, and her tongue darts out to wet those full lips, leaving them slick and glistening, forcing me to smother a groan.
Zara clears her throat and turns back to the counter. “Anyway, this region is fascinating from a scientific standpoint. The weather patterns are incredibly complex and not well understood."
I grunt, watching her as she works.
Get a grip, I chastise myself sternly. You're the master of your own fate, not some hormonal teen ruled by his cock.
Still, I can't tear my eyes away when Zara bends to slide the quiche into the oven. The dress rides up so far, revealing her panties, and I notice the wet patch right over her cunt. I imagine burying my face there, drinking her arousal, and making her come with my mouth.
"There, that should be ready in about thirty minutes," Zara says, straightening and brushing her hands on a towel.
The movement draws my attention to the flex of her forearms and the delicate bones of her wrists. I can almost feel that fragile skin yielding beneath my calloused grip as I pin her against the wall and?—
"Shall we have a seat? I've made a light salad to start." She gestures to the small table.
I blink, forcing my rampant lust back under control with the sheer force of will. One look at her sweet, hopeful expression, and I know there's no way I can act on these twisted urges. I don't know why I fucking care about her expression; I was supposed to murder her, for fuck's sake. Hunt her like an animal, and now look at me?
"Yeah," I manage to grate out. "Let's eat."
Zara beams at me as she takes a seat across from me. My cock can wait—for now, I'll feast on drinking in every detail of her lovely face, committing it to memory. Soon, she'll be screaming my name, writhing beneath me as I take what's mine.
But for this moment, at least, she's untouched by my darkness. Unsullied.
Not for long, little bird. Not for long.