Chapter 37
My eighteenth birthday is on track to be the best one yet.
After our talk, Axel and I had the perfect morning together.
He made us brunch. Like, actual brunch. Something called Eggs Benedict, which I’d never tried before but instantly loved.
I wasn’t expecting any gifts after getting spoiled at Christmas, but he surprised me with the full Gossip Girl collection.
“Just in case it ever gets taken off streaming,” he said, like it wasn’t the most thoughtful thing ever.
The rest of the morning passes in a haze of laughter and lazy cuddles, the two of us curled up on the couch, watching episode after episode. We’re finally into the last season.
Axel leans against one arm of the couch, long legs stretched out, and I’m tucked between them, my back to his chest. His fingers play absently with my hair, twisting and untwisting the strands. Every time he brushes the nape of my neck, goosebumps ripple down my arms.
I should be watching the screen. But… he’s very distracting.
Then the show shifts. Onscreen, two characters are tangled together, all roaming hands, greedy mouths, bodies moving in sync.
I feel the exact moment the energy between us changes.
Axel’s breathing deepens. His chest rises a little faster.
His fingers still. And me? I’m already a live wire.
Every place we’re touching suddenly feels like too much and not enough.
I shift, thighs pressing together, desperate for any friction.
His hand slides to my stomach, pinning me in place. Then, he moves. A slow, deliberate grind against my backside. And I feel him. All of him.
I suck in a breath, sharp and shaky.
“Princess,” he murmurs, voice rough and barely restrained, “let me touch you.”
My pulse stutters. My answer is immediate. “Yes.”
He exhales long and low. His mouth brushes my shoulder, warm and grounding.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
His hand trails lower, fingers playing with the waistband of my shorts like he’s savoring every second. He pops the button, teases the zipper down. The anticipation kills me.
When he slips his hand beneath the fabric, I’m already soaked.
“Watch the screen,” he orders, his lips brushing my ear. “Watch them.”
I try. I really do. But every nerve ending is lighting up beneath his touch. His fingers find and circle my clit and with slow, deliberate focus. He listens for every shift in my breathing, watches for every twitch of muscle.
My back arches instinctively. “Please.”
He hums, satisfied by the desperation in my voice. “Take these off,” he orders, giving my shorts a gentle tug. “Then sit back down.”
I don’t hesitate. I shimmy out of them, heart hammering, nerves strung tight. When I return to my spot, sliding between his legs, his hand is already there, between my thighs, confident, bold, maddeningly slow.
Every stroke feels like a flame licking across my skin. And when he finds that perfect rhythm… the one that makes my hips jerk and my breath catch… he locks in with ruthless focus. Circling. Pressing. Teasing.
I squirm against him, moaning softly, grinding back like I can’t help myself. Because I can’t. The pressure builds like a tidal wave, gathering power and weight, and then I crash into it, coming hard against his fingers with a sharp, breathless cry.
Before my legs have stopped shaking, he slips a finger inside me. Then another.
My head drops back against his shoulder with a broken sound, body instinctively curling around the sensation. He moves with purpose, each thrust of his fingers deep and deliberate. Curling. Stroking. Claiming.
“God,” I gasp. “That feels—”
“Perfect,” he finishes for me, his voice rough with restraint, thick with need.
I cling to his arm, nails digging in. The pressure returns, sharp and immediate, like I’ve been wound too tight for too long. My second orgasm builds fast, hot and unforgiving, and when it hits… I shatter. Again.
He holds me through it, his other arm wrapped tight around my middle, grounding me, his mouth brushing my temple with soft, quiet praise.
And then, when I’m limp and dazed and trying to remember how to breathe…
“Upstairs,” he growls. “Now.”
That’s all the warning I get before I’m sprinting up the stairs, heart thundering for reasons that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with him. Axel is right behind me, and the second we’re in my room, he kicks the door shut and crushes his mouth to mine.
There’s no teasing this time. No indecision. Just heat and need and frantic hands tearing at clothes. My shirt. His jeans. My bra. His shirt. Fabric hits the floor in a trail of chaos, but I don’t care.
He backs me toward the bed, his hands cupping my face like I’m something precious even as we stumble, breathless, through the intensity. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I fall, and he comes down with me.
“Say stop,” he breathes, voice rough. “And I will.”
I nod, wide-eyed, breathless. “I won’t.”
His mouth covers mine again, slower now, deeper. Like he’s memorizing the moment. Then he drags his cock through my slick heat, coating himself, lining up at my entrance. He watches me, staring straight into the darkest part of me, as he slowly presses in.
Inch by inch.
His pupils blow wide with every breath, and when he bottoms out, our moans tangle together, guttural and raw.
And then… he moves.
Each movement is a promise. Each brush of skin, a question.
Still okay? Still with me?
Yes. Always yes.
He starts slow, testing, learning my body. But when he finds his rhythm? The one that has my toes curling and my lips parting in broken cries? The air between us combusts.
His name spills from me like prayer. Like surrender.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times, even though it’s brand new.
Messy. Honest. Real. He grinds himself perfectly against my clit with every push, hitting that same devastating spot he teased with his fingers just minutes ago.
It’s too much. Not enough. I break again, fast and fierce.
“Axel,” I gasp, my nails clawing into his back.
He groans into my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “Princess,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “you have no idea what you do to me. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m not gonna last much longer.”
So, I squeeze again. Just because I can.
Axel grunts. “Fuck it. There’s always round two.”
And then, he lets go. His thrusts turn punishing, relentless. Like he’s chasing something only I can give him. His forehead presses to mine, and when he finally comes, groaning my name, I feel it echo all the way to my soul.
We collapse together, tangled and breathless, skin damp. His thumb brushes my cheek. My leg hooks around his waist.
This wasn’t just sex. It was cathartic.
“Still good?” he murmurs, voice low and tender.
I laugh softly, my body humming. “Better than good.”
I curl deeper into his side, skin to skin, and press a kiss to his chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For being patient. For making it… everything.”
His lips find the top of my head.
“Princess,” he says, his voice a promise, “you made it unforgettable.”