Chapter 11
Axel
Holy shit,I made a mistake.
All I wanted was a slice of pizza and a bottle of Gatorade. Fine, two slices of pizza. I’m fucking starving after that brutal game. Instead of food, I found a fluffle of puck bunnies in my kitchen, half dressed and clustered around the island. I almost turned around and went right back upstairs, but fuck no. This is my house. My kitchen.
My pizza.
For the past couple of weeks, the guys have held off on partying, doing their best to keep me from temptation, but tonight they deserved it. It was a tough win–one that requires celebration. Booze, chicks, loud music, and fun. All things that are on hold for me until my probation is over.
While they went to the liquor store and announced the party across social media, I showered, changed into sweats and a black tank, and figured I’d stick to the second floor.
Then I got hungry.
At first, I handled it. Smiling. Talking up the girls. Giving them enough attention to keep things cool between us, while giving each one an easy brush off. It’s a skill I learned from my father of all people. Being a minister is half man of god, half politician. Being smooth comes with the job.
I move like Moses, parting the red sea, if that sea was made up of short skirts, tight jeans, and unrelenting cleavage. When I finally get to the refrigerator, I stick my head in, letting the cold air wash over me.
A small hand rests on my lower back.
There’s only one girl I want touching me right now, and I say a quick prayer that maybe she showed up. I turn, stomach and balls tight, only to feel a surge of disappointment.
Chantelle.
She hasn’t gone full stage 5 clinger, but I can tell from the curve of her upper lip, and the low cut of her shirt, that she’s determined to finish where we left off. That’s not what puts me on edge. It’s the cup of brown liquid she’s holding out to me.
“I brought you a drink. You like whiskey, right?”
That’s when I shoot off the text.
SOS.
“Thanks,” I say, sliding my phone back in my pocket, and taking the cup. I can’t help but inhale the spicy liquor. God, it’s the scent of a thousand bad decisions and best nights ever. I miss it. “But I’m not drinking tonight.”
“Oh,” she says, giving me a pout. There’s defensiveness in there too. People get weird if you’re not drinking at parties, like it’s a statement about them and not just a choice you’ve made for yourself.
Murphy, one of the younger guys on the team, walks by and I hand him the cup. “Go crazy, brother.”
He grins, eyes darting to Chantelle. “Thanks, man.”
I have a glimmer of hope that maybe she’ll decide to go off with him, but her gaze shifts back to me.
“I thought for a minute you guys may not pull it off, but then Kirby scored,” she says, letting me know she was at the game. “I jumped to my feet so fast.”
“You should tell him. He’d love to hear it.” I gesture to my teammate doing a keg stand on the back porch. Reid is cheering him on, wearing only his boxers. The urge to strip off my tank and join them in a night of debauchery is strong. Even though I’m still pissed about missing that breakaway, the old me would have wanted to celebrate the win. The new me knows I can’t risk it. I’m so close to being off probation.
“I don’t know how you do it,” she continues, while I unscrew the cap of the sports drink bottle and take a long sip. “I’d be so scared to have those pucks coming at me so fast.”
While she talks, my eyes search the room. Maybe she’s not going to come. I check my phone and see a message. It’s not from Nadia but my Dad.
Rev: How’s the sermon? Make any progress?
Nope. Not dealing with that now. The closer we get to the break, the more often he’s going to bug me about the talk he wants me to give over the holidays.
I check again, making sure Nadia’s message didn’t get bumped. Maybe she didn’t get it? Or maybe she’s tired of holding my hand, but this wasn’t a cry wolf. This is a code red.
“Axel?”
I look down and see Chantelle gazing up at me. Fuck. “Sorry, babe, I’m sucking the fun out of the room tonight. I just came down for a snack.” I give her a tight smile, one that has worked on letting down chicks in the past. “I’m not feeling up to a party tonight.”
“We don’t have to party,” she says, fingers curling into my waistband. Her nails drag over the still healing tattoo–no pain really, but it’s tender. “We could head up to your room, finish what we started last time.”
Wrapping my hand around Chantelle’s wrist, I’m prying her fingers off, when I hear, “What the fuck is going on?”
I smell her before I see her, that fresh, flowery scent that follows Nadia everywhere. I turn and see her standing just inside the kitchen, hands on her hips. She looks livid, those big brown eyes furious, and her mouth twisted in a scowl. None of that matters though. I’m stuck on the fact she’s wearing my jersey. Not a jersey. Mine. I see the frayed hem from where I got in a fight three games ago. Her hot gaze flicks from me to Chantelle. “Are you hitting on my man?”
“Your what?” Chantelle snaps.
I reach a hand out and grab Nadia by the hip, pulling her against my side. “Darlin’, thought you were never gonna show.”
She places her hand on my stomach and rises up on her toes, kissing the underside of my jaw. That simple touch is enough to make my pulse quicken and my dick get hard. “Sorry,” she says, holding up a canvas bag. “I had to get my things together.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Chantelle mutters, glaring at the two of us.
Ignoring her, I cup the back of Nadia’s neck and tilt her face upward. I see the flash of uncertainty in her eyes right before I kiss her, but that hesitation slips away when our tongues meet.
Jesus, she tastes so fucking good.
“Whatever,” Chantelle says, and in my periphery I see her flounce off, her little tennis skirt bouncing as she goes.
Licking her lips, I ask, “Is she gone?”
Nadia looks around my shoulder. “Yes.” She moves to pull away, but I hold tight.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say, running my hand down her back and nudging her out of the kitchen. I want to take her upstairs, lock the door of my bedroom, and strip every piece of clothing off of her, but Nadia answered my SOS, not a booty call.
I push her into the laundry room and kick the door shut behind us. I slide the lock, making sure no one can barge in. The room is dark other than the light coming in the window from the backyard. I stare down at her as I press her against the washer with my hips.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell her, keeping my hands on her waist. “Those girls aren’t bunnies. They’re sharks.”
“You looked like you had a handle on it,” she says, looking up at me. Her lips are wet from my kiss and all I want to do is taste her again. It dawns on me. All I want is her.
“Look, T, I’m trying to tread carefully here, which is fucking hard for someone who likes to come in hot.” Her forehead creases and I keep going. “Wearing a man’s jersey isn’t something that is taken lightly.”
She groans. “God, I told Twyler it was too much. That this is something reserved for girlfriends. I’ll take it off–”
“Like hell you will.”
I slam my mouth against hers, and she gasps from the force. I don’t give a fuck. I kiss her hard and demanding, the way I’d wanted to out in the kitchen. Not just for Chantelle. For the whole goddamn room. But most of all, for Nadia.
But first I have to make her mine.
Her fingers twist in the front of my tank, my lips skate up her jaw. “Seeing you up in the stands was one thing,” I press into her, letting her feel how much she turns me on. “But the jersey… fuck, T. The only way I want you out of that is if you’re getting all the way naked with me. Not here. Up in my room.”
Her hand presses against my chest, pushing me back. She swallows, those brown eyes holding mine. “Is that what you want?”
I take a breath, trying to come to my senses. It’s nearly impossible with my heart pounding like a drum and my dick attempting to drill its way out of my sweats. “Look,” I finally say, trying to formulate the right words. Trying not to completely fuck this up. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for when we made our pact. I’m not feeling very safe for you right now and if you want to go, you can go. We’ll head out the backdoor and I’ll walk you home.”
We’re on the edge of a sharp blade, one where we decide how this is going to move forward. Do we keep being one another’s safe spaces or do we become more?
“I don’t want to go home,” she admits.
“Thank god,” I mutter and drop another kiss on her mouth, licking my way past her lips to the warm heat inside.
“But,” she pulls back, “I also don’t know how far I’m ready to go.”
All I want is for this girl to trust me, to know that I’m not here to hurt her.
“Tell me what you want, T,” I say, kissing my way down her neck. I tug the collar to expose more skin and kiss along the ridge of her collarbone. She shivers and I run my hands up her shirt, feeling her pebbled nipples underneath. “What makes you feel good? Tell me and I’ll make it happen.”
She doesn’t respond, her fingers clinging to my sides. She’s anxious and I don’t understand.
I lift her chin, but her eyes dart to the side. “Okay, what’s going on?”
She shifts, then admits, “No one’s ever asked me what I want before.”
My eyebrows raise. “No one?”
She shakes her head, cheeks blooming red. “They pretty much called me over to, you know, meet their needs.”
Fuckers.
“And those girls were hitting on you and it’s obvious you’re turned on,” her eyes drop to where my boner is trying it’s hardest to join the conversation. “I just… I don’t want to be that girl you call just for sex.”
Shit, now I’m the fucker.
“I didn’t text you for sex. I texted you because you’re the one I turn to when I need things to slow down. When I need to get my head on straight. Chantelle isn’t the one that made me feel like this.” I take her hand and place it over my erection. “That was all you, understood?”
Her response is quiet, but I hear her say, “Understood.”
“And for the record, those other guys are worthless pieces of shit who probably don’t know their way around a woman’s body.” I run my thumb over her bottom lip, puffy and swollen from our kisses. “Any man who doesn’t want to hear the sound of you falling apart when you come is a damn fool. I can’t get it out of my mind.”
“Oh god.” She drops her face into her hands. “That night never happened, remember?”
I wrap my arms around her and lift her, setting her on the washer, so I can see her face. “Sorry, but it’s imprinted. I think about it before I go to bed, and first thing when I wake up.” And a dozen more times a day, but I’m trying to win her over, not scare the hell out of her. I rest my hands on her knees. “You trust me?”
She bites down on her bottom lip and nods. “I do.”
“Then let me take care of you.” I slide my hands up her legs, over her thighs, and hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings. “Lean back and lift up a little.” Resting a hand on my shoulder for balance, she obliges and I ease both her pants and panties down her thighs. “That’a girl.”
I bend, kissing the soft skin inside her knees, making my way up her legs. Nadia isn’t one of these stick thin, thigh gap, kind of women. She’s fit from working out, but there’s still meat on her bones, and it’s hot as hell. The higher I move up, the more she starts to squirm, her thighs clamping closed.
“Settle down, T, ” I apply a little pressure, keeping her spread, and lick my lips, “let me eat your pussy.”
“Your mouth,” she says, falling back on the washer, “it’s filthy, you know that?”
“Yeah, well, welcome to sex with a preacher’s boy.” I swipe my fingers along her clit, already slippery wet. She hums at my touch, and I bend, getting a taste of her. She moans, her fingers raking through my hair as her hips rise to meet my mouth. “There we go.”
I’ve been with a lot of women, but never one that I wanted to please as much as Nadia. She deserves to feel safe. To let loose. To feel a man take care of her, without wanting something in return. I know I’ve done my job when her thighs start to tremble and her nails dig into my scalp. Her breathing grows heavy, chest rising and falling, the moan of pleasure in the back of her throat. Sucking on her clit, she shudders around me, knees clamping around my ears.
“Axel, oh my god,” she whispers.
The orgasm hits like a jolt, shuddering down her limbs. She holds onto me, clinging to my head, and damn, I can’t get enough.
Unfortunately, women get sensitive down there and as much as I hate it, she squirms away, uttering, “Wow.”
“Yeah?” I ask, giving her my hand and help her sit back up. Jesus, she looks even sexier now all flushed with an orgasm wearing my number. “Good?”
“Better than good. That was amazing.” She reaches out and runs her fingers over my mustache. “And that? Yeah, keep that.”
If it means I’ll get another chance with her, then I’m never shaving again.
“So, do you want me to…”
“Nope.” I take her hand and kiss her fingers. “That was all for you.”