Chapter 13 #2
I keep my eyes closed, inhaling deeply. I cannot stop thinking of him, cannot stop imagining him, cannot stop the magnetism that he seems to exert over me despite all my attempts to resist his pull.
I shouldn’t want him like this. He’s complicated.
Dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with touch.
He unsettles me. Challenges me. Heavily dislikes me.
But maybe that’s why. Because when Axel looks at me, I don’t feel underestimated.
I feel like an equal. The idea settles low in my chest, warm and consuming.
The mattress is soft beneath me, inviting me to relax and give in to the temptation. Fuck it. Why shouldn’t I allow myself this small indulgence in private? It’s just a fantasy. I don’t want to date Axel in real life. It’s just a momentary fascination.
The images and sensations swirl, dangerous and delicious, leaving me flushed and undeniably alive in a way that nothing else has managed to make me feel in months.
I slide my hand slowly over my stomach, not rushing, just enjoying the feeling of my own caresses over the warmth of my skin.
I can feel my body responding to my touch.
I move my hand lower and imagine it’s his, larger, rougher.
An expert on women’s bodies. I imagine it is his firm thumb that is tracing lazy circles around my clit.
He watches my reaction like he’s collecting it for later.
“You’re not as composed as you pretend to be, Jo,” he says, and his voice is not hard and horrible, but low and teasing, full of knowledge. He knows exactly what he is about to do to me.
“I’m perfectly composed,” I whisper.
It’s a lie, of course. Because the truth is, I’m not and have not been ever since I set eyes on him.
It is burned into my mind the way he looked at me that first night we met.
Like he was assessing me and finding me lacking, yet beneath that dismissive expression, there was something more, a spark of pure lust. And I think of the way I keep catching his eye whenever we are in a room together.
For that to happen, he has to be looking at me too.
And sometimes, I catch him looking at me like if I showed even a flicker of interest, he’d close the distance in a single stride, press me up against the wall, and take me like a man unleashed.
Tear my clothes off me. Ravish me.
The thought sends heat curling through me, and I up the pace of my fingers around my clit.
I shift under the covers, my thighs brushing together, and the friction makes my breath catch.
My pulse pounds. I press my lips together to stop myself from crying.
All I can see is Axel standing at the end of the bed, his jacket discarded, his tie loosened, his eyes dark and unreadable.
He’s not touching me yet.
He’s just watching me with his slow-burn eyes.
I know he could make me unravel, and he knows it too. He knows he would enjoy watching how hard I try to maintain control while my body betrays me. He tilts his head slightly, a totally sexy smile playing at his lips.
“Still pretending you don’t want me?” he murmurs.
My spare hand drifts over my rib cage, my fingers curling into the fabric of my vest top instead of skin, gripping something solid so I don’t float away entirely. I arch slightly into the mattress, chasing a sensation that isn’t quite enough.
God. How can that man have this effect on me when he’s not even in the room?
I imagine his mouth at my neck, the scrape of stubble, the deliberate patience. He is not a man to be rushed. He takes his time mapping every reaction, every sound. He catalogues me the way I analyse everything at work; carefully, reverently, determined to find the hidden layers.
The thought makes me tremble, and I bite my lower lip to muffle the small, frustrated sound that escapes me.
My body feels too tight, too awake. I shift again, my hips rolling slightly against the mattress, and the pressure sends a ripple of sensation through me that makes my toes curl.
I keep rolling my hips, working them in time with my probing fingers, bringing myself dangerously close to the edge.
Axel finally moves in. He walks around the bed in three long steps and braces his hands beside my head, leaning over me. His eyes soften just a fraction, not losing their intensity, but adding something else. Heat. The need to claim. Hunger.
“Go on. Tell me to stop,” he growls.
I can’t. I don’t want to.
My breathing stutters as I let the fantasy crest – Axel climbing on top of me and filling me with his big, throbbing cock, pounding into me while calling my name.
I don’t hold myself back. I go to town on my clit, and when I come, the intensity makes my thighs tremble.
My muscles contract as the pleasure floods me, the tension releasing in waves that leave me trembling and breathless in the quiet dark.
I lay there still afterwards, my heart racing, my body tingling with the memory of my own touch, the faint musky smell of my own pleasure filling the air.
Sleep comes, the thoughts of Axel lingering like a shadow at the edge of my consciousness, a silent, insistent presence that I know will follow me into tomorrow’s work.