1. Paxton #2
She's sprawled across the bed, one arm flung above her head, the other curled against her chest like she's holding something precious.
The moonlight spills through the curtains, painting her in silver…
her honey blonde hair fanned across the pillow, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.
I head towards her, but before I can shake her awake, I see it.
A folded slip of paper on her nightstand, my name scrawled across the front in her neat, looping handwriting.
Paxton.
My fingers twitch. I pick it up, unfolding it with deliberate slowness, like the paper might burn me if I rush.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Hi, Paxton
If you're reading this, you have my permission to wake me however you want, with your hands, mouth, or… you get it.
This permission belongs to you and only you.
If you aren't comfortable, burn this letter.
Paige.
The paper crinkles in my grip. My pulse roars in my ears, thick and heavy, like the blood in my veins has turned to lead.
She wrote this. Thought about this. Gave me—me—permission to touch her, to take her, while she's soft and warm and unaware.
The note trembles in my hand.
I should burn it.
I should walk out of this room and pretend I never saw it.
But I don't.
Instead, I fold it carefully, tucking it into my pocket like it's something sacred.
And then I turn back to the bed.
To her.
I shouldn't.
I'm going to do what a normal person would do.
The mattress dips under my weight as I sit beside her. "Paige." My voice is rough, barely above a whisper. I reach out, my calloused fingers brushing her shoulder.
Nothing.
I shake her, just a little. "Paige, wake up."
Her nose scrunches, a soft little sound escaping her lips, but her eyes stay closed. The white ribbed tank top she's wearing rides up, exposing a strip of smooth, golden skin. My fingers twitch, hovering just above her waist, the heat of her body seeping into my palm.
This is wrong.
I should leave. Should walk out that door and pretend I never saw the note.
But then she shifts, her legs parting just enough to press against my thigh. A soft sigh escapes her, her lips parting, and something primal snarls inside me.
Mine.
The word echoes in my skull, dark and possessive.
I lean down, my breath hot against her ear. "You asked for this." My hand slides beneath the hem of her tank, fingers splaying over the warm skin of her stomach.
Her skin is warm silk beneath my fingers, the kind of heat that seeps into your bones and stays there. I peel the tank top up, inch by slow inch, baring the soft curve of her stomach first, then the delicate cage of her ribs.
She doesn't stir, not even when the fabric catches on the swell of her breasts, not even when I tug it free and toss it aside.
And then they're there.
Full. Heavy. Perfect.
Her tits spill into my palms like ripe fruit, the weight of them making my mouth water. The nipples are already tight, little peaks of dusky pink, begging for teeth.
I can't help it. I lean down, my breath ghosting over one taut bud before my tongue flicks out, tasting salt and skin.
A soft moan escapes her, so quiet I almost miss it. But her back arches just a little, pressing her tit deeper into my mouth, and my cock throbs against my zipper.
Fuck.
I suck harder, rolling the other nipple between my fingers, pinching just enough to make her whimper. Her hips shift restlessly, her thighs parting just a fraction, and I can smell it… sweet, musky, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.
My hand slides down, fingers trailing over the flat plane of her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts.
She's soaked. The fabric of her panties is damp, clinging to her slit, and when I press my palm against her, she gasps, her legs falling open wider.
"Fuck," I murmur against her skin, my teeth grazing her collarbone. "So wet for me already."
I circle her clit through the fabric, slow and teasing, and her breath hitches. Her hips lift, chasing the pressure, and I grin against her neck. "That's it. Show me you want it."
I push two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and her back arches off the bed. A broken cry spills from her lips, her thighs trembling as I work her, my thumb pressing down on her clit in tight, relentless circles.
"Come for me," I growl, my voice rough. "Let me feel that tight little cunt squeeze my fingers."
She shatters.
Her body locks up, her back bowing, her nails digging into the sheets as she rides out the wave. I don't stop, milking every last tremor from her, my mouth hot on her skin, kissing and biting and licking until she's a trembling, boneless mess beneath me.
Only then do I pull away, my fingers glistening with her arousal. I bring them to my lips, tasting her… sweet, earthy before I hook my fingers into the waistband of her shorts.
She doesn't wake as I peel them down her legs, doesn't stir as I spread her thighs wide, baring her slick, swollen cunt to my gaze. I can't resist anymore.
I lean down, my tongue flicking out to taste her, and she jerks, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
"Mmm." Her voice is thick with sleep, but there's no mistaking the way her thighs tremble as I drag my tongue through her folds, lapping up every drop of her arousal.
Her taste floods my tongue, sweet, musky, intoxicating. I groan against her, my beard scraping her inner thighs as I feast, my fingers digging into her hips to hold her still.
She's trembling, her breath coming in sharp little gasps, and then?—
Her eyes flutter open.
Wide. Hazy. Confused.
"Paxton?" Her voice is a whisper, her eyes still heavy-lidded.
"You're finally awake," I murmur against her skin, my fingers sliding back inside her.
"Oh my god."