Chapter 15 Sadie #2
"I want you," I say again, the words half command, half plea. I grip his face between my palms, forcing him to look at me. "Stop thinking and just feel me."
For a moment, something wild flashes across his face, a glimpse of the raw need he's keeping leashed. His hands tighten on my hips, almost bruising, and he thrusts up into me hard enough to make me cry out.
"Like that?" he growls, voice deeper than I've ever heard it.
"Yes," I gasp, grinding down to meet him. "God, yes."
He thrusts harder, deeper. I bite my lip, holding back the sounds he pulls from me. I’m trembling, tension drawn tight as a wire. Every time he moves, I feel myself unraveling. I fight it, afraid to lose control, but he won’t let me hide.
Axel's hand finds my clit again, circling with just the right amount of pressure. "Come for me," he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. "Let me feel you."
The orgasm builds low in my belly, a gathering storm. I chase it desperately, riding him harder, my movements becoming erratic as I near the edge. Axel watches me with those intense eyes, his gaze never leaving my face.
"That's it," he encourages, his thumb pressing more firmly against my clit. "Let go, Sadie. I've got you."
The words push me over. I shatter around him, my body clenching and pulsing as pleasure crashes through me in waves. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, mindful of Poppy sleeping nearby, but a whimper escapes anyway.
Axel holds me through it, his strong arms keeping me steady as I tremble and shake. The orgasm seems endless, wringing me out, leaving me limp and gasping against his chest.
As I come back to myself, I realize he's still hard inside me, his body tense with unreleased need. He strokes my back gently, pressing soft kisses to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.
"You didn't come," I murmur, shifting my hips slightly.
He groans at the movement. "It's okay. This was for you."
That careful control again. Even now, buried inside me, he's holding back. I lift my head to look at him, finding his eyes dark with want but still watchful, still careful.
"I want you to come," I tell him, clenching deliberately around him. "I want to feel you lose control."
"Sadie," he warns, but I'm already moving again, setting a rhythm designed to break his restraint.
I lean close, my lips at his ear. "Fuck me like you mean it."
Something snaps in him, not completely, but enough. His hands grip my ass, lifting me slightly before bringing me down hard on his cock. The angle changes, hitting a spot deep inside that makes me gasp. He does it again and again, his movements becoming more forceful.
"Like this?" he growls, voice rough with need.
"Yes," I moan, my body already building toward a second release. "Don't stop."
He suddenly flips us, pressing me into the couch cushions, his weight a delicious pressure pinning me down. The new position lets him go deeper, harder, and I wrap my legs around his waist to take him all the way in.
"Fuck, you feel good," he groans against my neck. "So tight—so wet."
His thrusts grow more urgent, the careful rhythm faltering as he chases his own pleasure. I can tell he's close by the tension in his muscles, the way his breathing grows ragged. But even now, on the edge of release, he's holding something back, some final piece of himself he won't surrender.
It's maddening and moving all at once. I want to break through that last barrier, to have all of him, but part of me understands his need to maintain control. This is new and fragile between us, complicated by everything else in our lives.
My second orgasm catches me by surprise, crashing over me with less intensity but deeper satisfaction. I clench around him, gasping his name.
But before he finishes, a cry cuts through the apartment. Poppy's voice, thin and distressed, crackles through the baby monitor on the coffee table.
Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water. I'm instantly alert, pushing at Axel's chest. My chest tightens, torn in two. I scramble off him, still shaking. "Poppy—"
His gaze pins me, voice guttural. "Go. I’m not going anywhere." The way he says it, I feel it low in my belly. Like a promise.
I grab my discarded clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands. The transition is jarring, from the intimate heat of sex to the immediate demands of motherhood. My body still tingles with aftershocks, but my mind has already switched gears.
"Her medicine," I mutter, scanning the room for the prescription bag. "She needs another dose."
Axel, already half-dressed, picks up the bag from the counter. "Here," he says, handing it to me. "Do you want me to get some water?"
I pause, struck by his easy shift into helpfulness. No resentment at the interruption, no awkwardness. Just support.
"Please," I say, and then I move toward Poppy's room, my daughter's cries pulling me forward like a physical tether.
In the dimness of her nursery, Poppy stands in her crib, face flushed and tear-streaked. "Mama," she sobs, reaching for me with desperate hands.
"I'm here, baby," I murmur, lifting her into my arms. Her skin feels hot against mine, the fever rising again. "Mama's got you."
I rock Poppy against my chest, her little body burning through her pajamas. She whimpers, rubbing her ear against my shoulder.
"I know it hurts, baby," I whisper, reaching for the medicine Axel handed me. "This will help."
I measure the pink liquid into the dropper, coaxing it between Poppy's lips. She fights it at first, then swallows with a grimace. As I hold her, the reality of what just happened in the living room crashes over me like a wave.
What the hell is wrong with me? My daughter is in the next room, flushed and crying, and I let him touch me like I was starving, let him inside me like I could wash the fear away with his body.
The shame crawls up my throat, thick and ugly.
I’m not supposed to need this. Not supposed to want him when I should only care about her.
"I'm so sorry, sweet girl," I murmur into her curls. "Mama's so sorry."
I pace the small nursery, gently swaying Poppy until her crying subsides to hiccupping breaths. Slowly, the medicine begins to work. Her eyelids grow heavy, her little body relaxing against mine.
By the time I lay her back in the crib, she's asleep again, though her cheeks remain flushed. I stand there watching her breathe, my hand on her back, feeling each rise and fall like a miracle I don't deserve.
What is wrong with me?
I'm disgusting.
I'm careless.
I made this unsafe.
The thoughts pound through my head, relentless and familiar. I've spent every day since Poppy was born trying to be perfect, to create safety, to never let my guard down, and tonight I threw it all away for what? A moment of escape? Physical release?
When I finally return to the living room, Axel is fully dressed, standing by the window with his back to me. His shoulders are tense, spine rigid. He turns when he hears me, his expression unreadable.
"I'm sorry." The words tumble out before I'm fully in the room.
"Is she okay?" he asks, voice tight.
"I didn't mean—" I continue, unable to stop the apologies. "I shouldn't have—"
He crosses the room in three quick strides, and for a moment I think he's leaving. But instead, his hands come up to frame my face, and he kisses me, hard, desperate, like he's trying to push something into me through the contact alone.
When he pulls back, his eyes are fierce. "Stop fucking apologizing."
I blink, startled by his intensity.
His grip tightens, gaze fierce. "You’re mine to take care of, Sadie. You needed me. That’s never wrong."
Heat flares in my chest. I can’t decide if I want to run or let him say it again. My throat tightens painfully. I want to believe him, but the shame is too loud, too familiar. "My daughter was sick and I was…"
"Being human," he finishes. "Needing comfort. Connection." His hands drop to my shoulders, warm and steady. "Don't do this to yourself, Sadie."
I swallow hard, fighting the burn behind my eyes. I hate crying in front of people. Hate the vulnerability of it, the weakness.
"I should go," he says, and something in his tone shifts. He steps back, creating space between us. "It's late. You both need rest."
My chest hollows out at his words. Of course he's leaving. Why wouldn't he? I've dragged him through an urgent care visit, interrupted sex, a crying baby. I'm exactly the complicated mess he doesn't need.
"Right," I manage, wrapping my arms around myself. "Thank you for… everything tonight."
He nods, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch. I follow him to the door, watching as he checks the deadbolt, making sure it's secure before he leaves.
"Lock it behind me," he says, hand on the doorknob. "One, two, three clicks, right?"
The fact that he's noticed this detail, this piece of my safety ritual, makes something crack inside me. I nod, not trusting my voice.
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it. Anytime."
And then he's gone, the door closing between us with a soft click.
I stand frozen for a moment, then mechanically turn the locks, one, two, three, like I always do. The apartment feels emptier than before, the silence pressing in from all sides. I sink onto the couch where minutes ago we were tangled together, my body still humming with the memory of him.
I'm still wet from him. Still aching. The physical evidence of what we shared making the loss of his presence sharper.
I should feel relieved. This is what I wanted, isn't it?
To be alone with my daughter, in control of my carefully constructed world.
Alone was safe. Alone was always the goal.
No mistakes, no mess, no one to let me down.
But now the room feels too big, the silence like punishment.
I miss the weight of him beside me already.
I curl up on the couch, pulling the throw blanket over me. I'm too tired to make it to my bed, too raw to move. The baby monitor sits silent on the coffee table, its small green light blinking steadily.
Tomorrow, I'll be stronger. I'll focus on Poppy, on the café, on the impending court date. I'll rebuild my walls, higher and thicker than before. I'll remember why I can't afford distractions like Axel Slade.
But tonight, just for these quiet hours in the dark, I let myself feel the hollow ache of his absence and wonder what it might be like to let someone stay.