16. Wrinley
Wrinley
I doubt the universe created a more frustrating person than Axel Bradley.
He pushes every single button I have, including the one that causes brain melting orgasms, apparently.
Every second he had his monster dick in my mouth, I wanted it more than my own breath.
It’s like he knew exactly what I’ve fantasized about for so long, but never thought I’d actually get.
Just thinking about what he’s carrying around between his legs has me clenching mine to find some friction and relief from the dull ache already building back up in my core.
I bet he could really fuck up some fallopian tubes with that thing.
Looking up and into his caramel eyes, I contemplate what he just told me. I don’t remember the last time I didn’t have some level of a panic attack in a car. Actually, I do remember. It was nine years ago.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“You’re welcome,” he responds, reaching to push a nest of hair behind my ear. It’s a simple gesture and one I need to forget, right the fuck now. I can’t have butterflies for my best friend’s brother.
As I turn to walk away, I hear his tell-tale footsteps behind me. “Go home, Axel.”
“I won’t be doing that, yet. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t make sure you got into your apartment safely.”
Fatigue is starting to set in so I don’t argue with him. Aside from the fact that lately, I’ve had this feeling like someone’s watching me–maybe my mystery texter–that I just can’t quite shake, I simply don’t have the energy.
I unlock my door and step in, but before I can shut the door, Axel slams his palm against the wood frame and pushes past me. “Nice place.”
“No, please… come in,” I respond with a roll of my eyes and more than a hint of sarcasm.
While he wanders around in my personal space, I duck into my bedroom to change out of this godforsaken dress.
“Tell me, Wrinley,” he calls from the other room. “Why don’t you dance anymore?”
The question hits me like a ton of wet bricks. Why does he care?
Slipping on my favorite oversized t-shirt, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Mascara still stains my cheeks and my hair is full of tangles.
I swipe a few makeup wipes across my face to get rid of the evidence and what’s left causes me to suck in a sharp breath. Lately, when I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself, I see her. My mother. She had the same hazel eyes and fair complexion as I do.
I miss you , I think to myself as a lone tear falls down my cheek.
“Hey,” I hear from the doorway. When I turn, Axel is staring right at me.
Nope.
I will not do this with him.
I wipe the tear away and right myself before turning to him. “My mom died, remember?” What I don’t say is that my love of dancing died with her.
“I know. That doesn’t answer my question, though.”
“How do you know I’m not dancing?”
He lets out a huff at my question. “Dancing is all you talked about when you were younger. Now there’s no sign of it anywhere. No pictures… no tutus… nothing.”
“Tutus? Really?” I’ve never worn a damn tutu in my life.
Staring at me, he raises an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with my response. His voice is lower when he finally speaks. “Answer the question.”
“My mom died driving me home from a dance competition,” I finally answer, my voice shaky as I admit to him what I’ve never said out loud until this very moment. “I just couldn’t make myself go back after the accident.”
His face contorts in a way that’s unfamiliar for him. It resembles… sadness. I push that thought from my mind, because Axel isn’t capable of such an intense emotion. Sympathy doesn’t pair well with broody, angry or miserable.
“You shouldn’t let your grief keep you from doing something you love, Wrinley.” The second the words leave his lips, he’s turning and walking away from me. Before I can catch up to him… he’s gone.
I’m left standing in the middle of my living room, eyes glued to the door like he’ll walk back through any moment. Do I want him to? No, of course I don’t.
Axel Bradley is the bane of my existence and the last thing I want from him is for him to walk back through that door, charge at me, pull me into his arms and hug the life out of me. No, I definitely do not want that.
I wonder how long I’ll have to tell myself that before I start believing it.
My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling me from my Axel-induced trance, and I pad over to see who could be messaging me this late.
Before I grab my phone, my eyes catch on a piece of paper sticking out of my purse.
When I pull it out, I see Axel’s name and phone number scribbled on it.
Why would he leave me his number? Before I can dive into that new mystery, my phone buzzes again.
This time I look and to my surprise, it’s him… not Axel, but Stranger Danger.
STRANGER.DANGER: Ready to play again?
Oh fuck no. This shithead doesn’t get to finger bang me and then disappear for weeks, just to show back up wanting to toy with me.
ME: Get fucked.
STRANGER.DANGER: The only one I’ll be fucking… is you. I’ll ask again. Are you ready?
That night at Gravity was definitely one to remember, and my lizard brain is telling me that this is what I’ve been wanting for so long. For someone to lay me out and fuck me until my virginity feels like a long lost memory.
But, for some reason, things feel different now.
I don’t have to dig all that deep to figure out the reason.
It’s like Axel tickled my brain with that big dick of his and fucked with its chemistry.
Now I’m not sure what I want. When he laid out his lame attempt to control me by telling me I’ll have to come to him for any of my needs , I almost choked on my damn tongue.
It’s also possible I came a little. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it definitely made me wet and that little nugget has me more than irritated with myself.
STRANGER.DANGER: I’m waiting.
ME: Sorry, no can do fancy fingers. I’m washing my hair. Maybe another time.
I should’ve said yes, just to wash away the butterflies taking up residence in my gut after tonight, but I can’t. Because the one I think I really want to have that piece of me, just walked out the door.