Chapter 7 Combustion
COMBUSTION
Iwoke to the feeling of Axel's mouth on my neck.
Not soft. Not tentative. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down my throat, teeth scraping over my pulse point.
His body was a furnace against mine, hard in every sense of the word—I could feel his cock pressing against my ass, thick and insistent through the thin fabric of his boxers.
"Axel?" My voice came out rough with sleep.
"Couldn't stop thinking about you." His hand slid down my chest, my stomach, fingers tracing the lines of muscle. "Watching you sleep. Feeling you against me." He rocked his hips forward, and I bit back a groan. "I need—"
"What do you need?"
He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. In the grey morning light filtering through the window, he looked wrecked. Hungry. Desperate in a way that made my heart pound.
"You," he said. "I need you."
I kissed him before he could take it back.
He responded like a dam breaking. Hands everywhere—in my hair, down my back, gripping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I gasped into his mouth as our cocks aligned, the friction sending sparks up my spine even through layers of cotton.
"Off," I managed, tugging at his boxers. "I want to feel you."
He froze for just a second. I felt the hesitation, the old fear trying to surface. But then he exhaled—a shaky, deliberate release—and lifted his hips so I could drag the fabric down.
His cock sprang free, and I let myself look. Thick, flushed dark with need, already leaking at the tip. Bigger than I'd expected, because of course he was. Everything about Axel was larger than life.
"Your turn." His voice was strained as he hooked his fingers in my waistband. "Fair's fair."
I lifted up, let him strip me bare. His eyes traveled down my body—lingering on my abs, my hip bones, finally settling on my cock. I was hard enough to ache, curved up toward my abs, and under his gaze I felt more exposed than I ever had in my life.
"You're beautiful." The words sounded almost reverent. His hand reached out, hovered. "Can I—"
"Yes. Anything. Everything."
His fingers wrapped around me, and my hips jerked involuntarily. His grip was firm, confident—he knew what felt good, at least in theory. When he stroked experimentally, base to tip, I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning too loud.
"Like that?" He did it again, watching my face with that desperate intensity.
"Yeah." I reached for him in turn, wrapped my hand around his cock. He sucked in a breath, abs tightening. "Like this?"
"Fuck, yes."
We found a rhythm together—stroking each other, learning what made the other gasp and shudder. His thumb swiped over my head, spreading the wetness there, and I returned the favor. When I twisted my wrist on the upstroke, he groaned low and deep, a sound I wanted to record and replay forever.
But it wasn't enough. I needed more.
"Axel." I stilled my hand, waited until his glazed eyes focused on mine. "I want to taste you."
His whole body went rigid.
"Kai—"
"You don't have to do anything." I pressed a kiss to his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. "Just let me make you feel good."
"I've never—" He swallowed hard. "No one's ever—"
The admission hit me like a punch to the chest. Not even his high school boyfriend. Not even Daniels. He was thirty-two years old, and no one had ever put their mouth on him.
"Let me be your first," I murmured against his skin. "Let me show you how good it can be."
For a long moment, he didn't answer. I could feel his heart slamming against his ribs, could see the war playing out behind his eyes. The want. The fear. The old voices telling him this was wrong, unnatural, a disappointment.
Then his hand came up to cup my face, and his thumb traced my cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
"Okay," he whispered. "I trust you."
I kissed my way down his body.
Took my time with it—learning the map of his scars, the places that made him gasp, the spots where his muscles twitched under my tongue.
His abs contracted as I traced each ridge.
His breath caught when I nipped at his hip bone.
His hands grabbed tightly onto the sheets when I mouthed at the crease of his thigh, so close to where he needed me but not quite there.
"Kai—" His voice was wrecked. "Please."
I looked up at him. He was propped on his elbows, watching me with grey eyes gone nearly black. His chest heaved with each breath. His cock lay against his prominent abs, flushed and leaking, twitching as I breathed hot air across the shaft.
"Tell me what you want."
"Your mouth." He barely got the words out. "Please, I need your mouth."
I held his gaze as I lowered my head and licked a long stripe from base to tip.
He made a sound I'd never heard from him before—broken, desperate, almost pained. His head fell back, throat exposed, tendons standing out sharp. I took the head between my lips, swirled my tongue, and he cursed so viciously I would have laughed if my mouth wasn't occupied.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—"
I sank lower, taking more of him. He was big enough that I had to focus, relax my throat, breathe through my nose. His taste flooded my senses—salt, musk, Axel. His hips twitched, fighting not to thrust, and I loved him for the restraint.
"You can move." I pulled off just long enough to speak. "I can take it."
He groaned, and then his hand was in my hair—not pushing, just holding, fingers threaded through the strands. When I took him deep again, his hips rolled up to meet me, a shallow thrust that hit the back of my throat.
I set a rhythm. Up and down, tongue working the underside, hand stroking what my mouth couldn't reach. I could feel him getting close—the tension building in his thighs, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, the way his grip in my hair tightened.
"Kai—I'm going to—"
I doubled down, sucking harder, moving faster. His whole body went taut.
"Wait—stop—I can't—"
He pushed at my shoulder, and I pulled off immediately. He was trembling, cock angry red and slick with my spit, but his eyes—
His eyes were panicked.
"Hey." I moved up his body, framing his face with my hands. "Hey, look at me. What's wrong?"
"I don't—" His breath was coming too fast. Not arousal anymore—fear. "I can't—my dad said—"
"Your dad was wrong." I kept my voice steady, my touch gentle. "Whatever he said, whatever he did, he was wrong. This isn't shameful. You aren't broken."
"I feel like I'm falling apart."
"Then fall apart." I pressed my forehead to his. "I've got you."
He shuddered. I felt the moment the tension broke—not sexually, but emotionally. Something he'd been holding for twenty years cracked open, and he sagged into the mattress like a puppet with cut strings.
"I'm sorry." His voice was barely audible. "I'm so fucking sorry, I wanted—"
"Stop." I kissed him softly. "Don't apologize. Not for this. Not ever."
"I ruined it."
"You didn't ruin anything." I lay down beside him, pulled him into my arms. He went willingly, burying his face in my neck, his huge body curled around mine like I was the anchor and he was the storm. "We have time. All the time in the world."
We lay like that for a while. His breathing slowly evened out, his heart rate coming down from its panicked gallop. I stroked his back, his hair, traced soothing patterns across his skin.
"It felt incredible," he said finally, muffled against my throat. "What you were doing. I've never felt anything like it."
"Yeah?"
"I was so close. And then I just—" He exhaled harshly. "I heard his voice in my head. Telling me I was disgusting. Telling me I was going to hell."
"Your father..."
"He's been dead for six years. And he still—" His voice cracked. "He still has this power over me."
I pulled back just enough to see his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, wet at the corners. Axel Morrison, VP of the Steel Phoenixes, the man they called Reaper—crying in my arms because his father had broken something in him decades ago.
I loved him.
The realization hit me like a thunderbolt. Not just wanted him, not just cared about him—loved him. Fiercely and completely and terrifyingly.
"You know what I think?" I wiped the moisture from under his eyes with my thumbs. "I think the fact that you stopped—that you let yourself be vulnerable instead of pushing through—that's the opposite of weak. That's the bravest thing you've done since I met you."
"Doesn't feel brave."
"It never does." I kissed his forehead. "But you trusted me. You let me in. That's huge, Axel."
He was quiet for a moment. Then his hand found mine, laced our fingers together.
"I want to try again."
"We don't have to—"
"I want to." He met my eyes, and beneath the lingering vulnerability, I saw determination. "I'm not going to let him win. Not with you."
"Axel—"
He kissed me. Deep, thorough, consuming. When he pulled back, his grey eyes were clear.
"Please, Kai. Let me try again."
This time was different.
He kept his eyes open. Kept them locked on mine as I kissed my way back down his body. When I took him in my mouth, he watched—every movement, every reaction, like he was imprinting the image over whatever toxic memories his father had left behind.
"That's it," I murmured against his hip. "Stay with me. See how good this is?"
"Yes." His voice was hoarse but steady. "I see."
I took him deep again, and this time when his hips rolled, there was no panic. Just pleasure—raw and honest and long-denied. His moans filled the room, unashamed, each one a middle finger to the dead man who'd tried to beat this part of him into silence.
"I'm close," he warned. "Kai, I'm—"
I didn't stop. Hollowed my cheeks, sucked harder, worked him with my hand and my mouth until I felt his thighs tense, his breath stutter…
He came with a shout, back arching off the bed. I took everything he gave me, swallowed around him, worked him through it until he was twitching with oversensitivity. Only then did I pull off, pressing a kiss to his hip bone before crawling back up his body.
His eyes were glazed, his chest heaving. He looked demolished in the best possible way.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
I grinned. "Good?"
"Good?" He laughed—an actual laugh, surprised and joyful and free in a way I'd never heard from him. "That was—I don't have words."
"Then don't use them."
He pulled me down into a kiss. I expected gentle, grateful. Instead, he flipped us—suddenly I was on my back, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth hot and demanding on mine.
"Your turn," he growled against my lips.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." His hand wrapped around my cock, and I gasped. "Tell me how. Show me what you like."
I guided his hand, set the rhythm, whispered praise and encouragement as he learned my body the way I'd learned his. He was focused, intense, cataloging every sound I made. When I was close, when I warned him, he didn't stop—just stroked faster, harder, his grey eyes burning into mine.
"Come for me," he said. "I want to watch you fall apart."
I did. Harder than I could remember, his name on my lips, my release spilling over his fist and my abs. He worked me through it, gentled me down, then stared at his hand like he'd just discovered something miraculous.
"That was..." He trailed off, at a loss.
"Yeah." I pulled him up, tucked him against my side. "It was."
We lay tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin.
His hand traced idle patterns on my chest, over my heart. I played with his hair, still marveling at how soft it was despite the military-short cut.
"I never thought I'd have this," he said quietly. "After Daniels died, I convinced myself that part of me was broken. That I'd had my chance and wasted it."
"And now?"
"Now I'm thinking maybe I was wrong." He lifted his head, met my eyes. "Maybe it wasn't the only chance. Maybe this—you—maybe it was worth waiting for."
My heart clenched. "Axel..."
"I'm not good at this." His jaw tightened. "Words, feelings, all of it. But I need you to know—what you did for me today, what you gave me—"
"What did I give you?"
"Permission." He said the word like it was sacred. "Permission to want this. To be this. To stop punishing myself for something that was never wrong in the first place."
I pulled him down into a kiss. Soft, lingering, full of everything I wasn't ready to say out loud. "You never needed permission," I whispered against his mouth. "But I'm glad I could help you see that."
He tucked his face into my neck, and I felt him smile against my skin.
"Stay," he murmured. "Not just tonight. Not just until the Devil's Dust thing is over. Just... stay."
"I already said yes."
"I know. But I'm asking again." He pressed a kiss to my pulse point. "Stay with me, Kai. Build something with me."
I thought about the vote later today. The family I was being offered. The life I'd never imagined but suddenly couldn't live without. "Yes," I said. "For as long as you'll have me."
His arms tightened around me. Outside, the clubhouse was waking up—footsteps, voices, the smell of coffee drifting under the door.
Inside, encased in Axel’s muscular arms and possibility, I let myself believe in something I'd stopped hoping for a long time ago.
A future. A home.
A family.