41. Axel
41
AXEL
T he evening air feels different here in Brazil—heavy with moisture and rich with unfamiliar scents. I stand beside Willow in our garden, watching shadows stretch across the ground as the sun sinks behind the dense wall of trees. The forest looms ahead, wild and untamed—like me.
Willow’s fingers brush against mine, her touch sending that familiar current through my body—the one that silences the chaos in my head.
Her eyes are fixed on the darkening tree line behind the coastal home. “I’ve always had this fantasy.”
I turn to study her profile. The orange glow of the sunset paints her skin gold and highlights the curve of her lips. “What fantasy?”
Her cheeks flush. “Being chased through a forest.” She swallows hard. “And then caught. And taken.”
Excitement ripples through my mind, igniting something primal. The hunter in me recognizes the invitation.
“You want me to chase you?” I ask, my voice dropping low.
Willow shifts her weight, still staring at the trees. Her pulse pounds visibly at her throat. The little pixie’s heart always beats so fast when she’s afraid. When she’s aroused. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.
“I—” She hesitates, biting her lower lip. “Yes.” The word comes out barely audible. “I do.”
I step closer, my chest against her back. My hands find her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there. Claiming. “You should know better than to tell the wolf to chase you, little pixie.”
She shivers against me.
“How long should I give you?” I ask.
The forest waits before us. Watching. Patient. Just like me.
I watch her face intently, cataloging every expression like I always do. The way her pupils dilate. The slight part of her lips. The flush that creeps up her neck.
“Twenty seconds,” she says, her voice steady despite her quickening pulse. “And we need a safe word. Just in case.”
The monster inside me stirs at the implication. She’s giving me control but setting boundaries. Always the psychologist, even now.
“Babylon,” I offer without hesitation. A civilization known for excess and fall. Fitting.
She nods, testing the word on her tongue. “Babylon.”
I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Run, little doctor,” I whisper. “Or meet chaos personified.”
The shiver that runs through her body is exquisite. For a moment, she’s frozen, caught between the animal instinct to flee and the darker compulsion to surrender immediately. Then something clicks, and she bolts.
I watch her disappear into the tree line, blonde hair catching the dying light. I count slowly, savoring the anticipation. One... two... three...
The voices in my head grow louder, hungry and insistent with each number.
Ten... eleven... twelve...
My muscles coil tight, ready to spring. Seventeen... eighteen... nineteen...
Twenty.
I launch into the forest, the familiar rush of the hunt flooding my system. Trees blur past as I effortlessly pick up her trail. I hear the soft imprint of her footsteps on the damp earth, a broken twig, and the lingering scent of her perfume.
My senses sharpen to knife points. In prison, I was caged. Here, I’m unleashed. The forest embraces me like an old friend as I move silently between shadows.
I hear her ahead—her breathing, rapid and shallow. She’s trying to be quiet, but her city-bred instincts do not match mine. I slow my pace, stalking now rather than running.
Let her think she’s lost me. Let the anticipation build.
I circle her position, purposely stepping on twigs to heighten her fear. The snap of breaking branches sends her scrambling deeper into the forest. Perfect. I live for this: the hunt, the chase, the inevitable capture.
Quick, shallow gasps punctuate the night. I could end this game now, but where’s the fun in that? I want her heart pounding against her ribs, want the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“I can smell your fear, little doctor,” I call out, my voice echoing between the trees.
She freezes—a fatal mistake. I catch a glimpse of blonde hair glinting in a patch of moonlight. She realizes her error and bolts, but it’s too late.
I’m on her in three long strides, tackling her to the forest floor. Leaves and dirt cushion our fall as I pin her beneath me, my weight pressing her into the earth. Her chest heaves against mine.
“Caught you,” I purr, teeth grazing her neck.
“No, please,” she whimpers, struggling against my grip.
I flip her onto her stomach, one hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. With my free hand, I grab the collar of her thin blouse and rip it down the middle, the sound of tearing fabric sharp in the night air.
“Stop it,” she protests, bucking beneath me. “Let me go.”
But she doesn’t say “Babylon.” The word that would halt everything remains unspoken.
I tear away her skirt next, leaving it in shreds around her thighs. My fingers dig into her hips hard enough to leave marks.
“You like playing the victim, don’t you?” I question. “Pretending you don’t want this.”
Her lips press together to suppress a moan as my hand slides between her legs, finding her wet and ready despite her protests.
“Your body can’t lie to me,” I growl, flipping her over to face me. “Not ever.”
Her eyes meet mine, defiant even in submission. She struggles against my grip, playing her part beautifully as I pin her wrists above her head.
I tear her underwear away with a single rough motion, exposing her completely to the night air. The moonlight filters through the canopy above, painting her skin in silver and shadow. Beautiful. Mine.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes wide with anticipation. This is what I’ve always craved—not just the sex, but this raw power dynamic. The struggle. The surrender.
“You ran from me,” I growl, pressing my body against hers. “Nobody runs from me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, still playing her part perfectly.
I grip her jaw, forcing her to meet my gaze. “No, you’re not. You wanted this. Wanted me to catch you. To take you. To show you exactly what happens when you provoke a monster.”
I hold her in place, feeling her struggle beneath me. It’s all for show—this game we’re playing—but the power surging through my veins is real. The forest floor is our stage, moonlight our spotlight.
“You think anyone can hear you out here?” I pin her wrists tighter above her head. “There’s no one to save you.”
“Please,” she begs, eyes wide with mock fear. “Don’t do this.”
I lean closer, my face inches from hers. “You shouldn’t have run. Running only makes a hunter want to chase.”
She turns her head away, perfectly playing the reluctant captive. I grab her chin, forcing her eyes to lock with mine. Her resistance sends electricity through my body—even knowing it’s fake, the act ignites something primal in me.
“I want to see your eyes on me when I’m saying this,” I command.
Willow tries to twist away, putting up just enough of a fight to make it interesting without using our safe word. I’ve learned to read her so well—the difference between her discomfort and this theatrical reluctance.
“No.” She pushes against my chest.
I catch both her hands in one of mine, pinning them above her head again. “Fighting only makes this worse for you,” I warn, my voice a dangerous rumble.
She struggles harder, arching her back to try and throw me off. The movement only presses her body against mine more firmly. I smile down at her, enjoying her performance.
“Let me go,” she demands.
I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear. “Never.” The word comes out like a promise and a threat rolled into one.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly. The demons in my head are quiet, focused solely on this moment, this woman beneath me, playing our dangerous game in the wilds of Brazil.
“You’re mine now,” I tell her, teeth grazing along her neck. “Caught and claimed.”
She whimpers, turning her head away as if in rejection. But I feel her pulse racing under my lips—excitement, not fear. This is what we both want. Need.
I tear her bra with one rough motion, exposing her breasts to the moonlight. Her skin glows pale against the dark forest floor, goosebumps rising in the night air.
“Stop,” she gasps, pushing against my chest. “Please.”
I capture both her hands, pinning them above her head.
“You don’t mean that,” I purr, lowering my mouth to her breast, teeth scraping against her nipple. “Your body’s betraying you.”
She writhes beneath me, trying to twist away. “I don’t want this.”
“Liar.” I bite down just hard enough to make her gasp. “If you didn’t want this, you’d say our word.”
My free hand works at my belt, unfastening it with practiced efficiency. I kick my pants down, freeing myself.
“Look at what you do to me,” I command, guiding her hand to my hardness. “Feel how much I want you.”
She tries to pull her hand away, but I hold it firmly in place. “No, I can’t?—”
I silence her with a bruising kiss, my tongue invading her mouth as I position myself between her thighs. She fights against me, but her legs part further, contradicting her protests.
“You want to be taken. Conquered. Owned.”
“No,” she whimpers, but her hips rise to meet mine.
I push into her with one hard thrust, burying myself to the hilt. She cries out, back arching off the forest floor.
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge, holding still inside her. “Say our word, and I will.”
Her eyes meet mine, and her lips part, but “Babylon” doesn’t come.
“That’s what I thought,” I growl triumphantly, beginning to move. “Your mouth says no, but your body is begging for more.”
I establish a punishing rhythm, one hand still pinning her wrists, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Marking her as mine.
“Please,” she gasps, but what she’s begging for is no longer clear.
I capture her throat with my hand, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my palm. The power is intoxicating—her life, quite literally in my grasp. I apply just enough pressure to restrict her oxygen without cutting it off completely.
“Is this what you wanted when you ran from me?” I tighten my grip slightly. “To feel completely at my mercy?”
She can’t speak, can only slightly nod, her lips parted. The sight sends a rush of dominance through me that’s better than any kill, any conquest.
I lean closer, my lips brushing against her ear. “I can feel how much you love this. Your whole body is responding to me.”
Her eyes never leave mine as I maintain my hold on her throat. There’s something profound in this moment—her willingness to place herself completely in my control, knowing what I am, what I’ve done. It’s a surrender more complete than any I’ve experienced.
I ease my grip slightly, allowing her to gasp for air. The sound is beautiful—desperate and needy.
“Mine,” I state, my fingers reclaiming that delicate column of flesh with calculated pressure. “Acknowledge it.”
“Yours,” she confesses, the admission escaping like a prayer between constricted breaths. Her hands, now free, don’t fight for liberation. Instead, her nails carve crescents into my shoulder blades, urging me closer and pulling me deeper into our shared darkness.
This intensity between us transcends anything I’ve known before. In prison, I was controlled through fear and violence. With Willow, it’s different. She submits willingly, finding freedom in her surrender.
I release her throat momentarily, watching color flood back into her face. Her chest heaves as she gulps air, eyes never leaving mine. Before she can recover fully, my hand returns to her neck, reclaiming my territory.
“No one else gets to see you like this,” I tell her, my voice low and dangerous. “No one else gets to own you this way.”
The moon catches the tear sliding down her cheek—not from pain or fear, but from the overwhelming intensity between us.