Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Axel’s queen bed had a dark quilt pulled smoothly over the mattress. A single lamp sat on the nightstand beside a stack of books, and across from the bed, the tall window looked out onto the black iron fire escape bolted to the brick outside.
Reese started to unbutton Axel’s shirt, deciding to make the first move.
She pulled the hem loose, and he bent to let her take it over his head.
She dropped it on the chair and looked at him.
Axel was lean with taut muscle and a deep V dipping below his waistband.
He was already hard against the front of his jeans.
She dragged her palms up his sides and felt his breath stutter. But he still didn’t move.
“You can touch me,” she said.
He gripped the hem of her shirt and stopped. She nodded and raised her arms. He drew the shirt over her head slowly, giving her time to change her mind. She was left in her bra, her belly round in the lamplight, her nipples tightening under the fabric.
He looked at her silently, like he was afraid to look away. But the hunger in his quiet eyes made her pulse climb. His hand rose, but he hesitated before touching her.
She took his wrist and set his palm against the side of the bump. His hand was warm against her skin. The baby was quiet. Her heart was not.
“Lie down with me,” she said.
He turned the quilt back, and she lay down on the bed. He then climbed in beside her, his weight propped up on his elbow.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said. “For any reason.”
“I will.” She didn’t think she would need to. “Kiss me.”
He kissed her slowly, one hand on her cheek. She pulled him closer by the back of the neck. His breath hitched as she took his free hand and put it on her breast.
“Gently,” she said against his mouth.
His thumb softened at once, circling instead of pressing, and the careful drag of it across her nipple sent sparks straight between her legs. The way he did exactly as she asked turned her on more than the touch itself.
He kissed down her throat, then her collarbone, and carefully helped her out of her bra.
Then he replaced his hand with his mouth, so gentle it was almost torture, licking and lapping at one nipple and then the other until she was arching up, begging for more pressure.
When she whimpered, he gave her exactly enough.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He hummed against her skin like she’d complimented the cooking. On his way down, he trailed kisses over her bump, and she closed her eyes.
He hooked his thumbs into the waist of her jeans and waited until she lifted her hips. He then worked the denim down and off. Her underwear came with it. He settled between her thighs, easing them open, and looked up for her approval. She nodded.
He looked down and exhaled, like the sight of her wrecked him. “You’re soaked,” he said.
Then his mouth was on her. He licked her with long, flat strokes, his stubble burning sweetly against her inner thighs.
When he focused on her clit, he circled it softly until she was grinding up against his mouth, chasing more.
Every sound she made, he answered, his fingers flexing hard on her hips.
When she fisted his hair and gasped, “Right there,” the deliberate drag of his tongue sent her higher.
Her heel dug into his back. The orgasm built like a wave she could see coming and couldn’t stop. Finally, it broke over her with long, pulsing waves. She rode his mouth through it with her eyes open, safe in a bed where nothing would be taken from her.
He stopped and kissed her hips until she tilted toward him, asking for more. One finger eased into her, slow enough that she felt every inch of the slide, then a second when she rocked down onto his hand, taking them deeper.
He curled them into the spot that stole her breath and matched his mouth to the same rhythm.
The pressure wound tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable, and then the second orgasm hit her all at once, slamming through her.
Her pussy clenched hard around his fingers, his name breaking apart in her mouth.
He brought her down slowly, kissing her thigh, her hip, the side of the bump. She pulled him back up the bed and kissed him, tasting herself and blackberries, salt and sweet.
No one had ever checked in with her body and waited for her answer before. He had checked with every movement. She was in control of all of it, handled like something precious instead of something owned.
He was iron-hard against her hip. When she palmed him through his jeans, his whole body shuddered, and his forehead dropped to her shoulder. For one second, she felt his control waver. Then his hand covered hers.
“You don’t owe me anything tonight.” His voice was gravel.
“I want to.”
“I know.” He brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles. “Tonight is about you.”
“You’re sure.” She looked into his eyes and saw quiet sincerity there.
“I’m sure. You deserve to be taken care of and not have to give anything back.” He was still hard against her hip, his breathing deliberate. Then he kissed her temple. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
“Thank you.”
He left the bedroom, and she sat up, needing to use the bathroom. Reese climbed out of bed and walked into his en suite, used the toilet, washed her hands, caught her own face in the mirror and didn’t quite recognize the softness in it.
When she came back, he was already in bed, and a glass of water waited on the nightstand. She climbed in and took a long drink, set the glass back. He pulled her into him, aftershocks still flickering through her when his skin met hers.
She snuggled against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. His hand rested on the side of her bump. He turned off the lamp, and the room fell into quiet darkness. She waited for the anxiety that told her to get up and check the locks. But it never came.