Chapter 15 Sadie
Sadie
The kiss turns urgent, his mouth taking from me, heat sparking along my skin.
I feel my own fear knotted in my stomach, but it’s swallowed by something hotter, more reckless.
I want to forget everything except the weight of his hands, the press of his thighs between mine.
Axel's hand slides to my waist, steadying me, but I need more.
My mind is still racing with images of Poppy's flushed face, the sterile hospital smell, the fear that gripped my throat, and I need it all to stop.
I rise on my knees and swing one leg over his lap, straddling him in one fluid motion. His eyes widen, hands automatically steadying me as I settle against him.
"Sadie," he whispers, voice rough. "Are you sure?"
Instead of answering, I press my mouth to his, taking what I need. The kiss is deeper now, desperate. I roll my hips against him, feeling his hardness beneath me, and he groans into my mouth. His hands tighten on my waist, but he's letting me lead, letting me control this.
I break the kiss, breathing hard. "I need to check on Poppy one more time."
He nods, eyes dark with want but patient. I slip off his lap and move to Poppy's room, cracking the door just enough to see her sleeping peacefully, her breathing even. I check the baby monitor, making sure the volume is up, then return with it to the living room.
Axel hasn't moved, watching me with those intent eyes.
I walk to each window, double-checking the locks, then the front door, one, two, three clicks of the deadbolt.
My usual routine, the one that usually calms me.
But tonight, even with everything secured, I still feel like I'm vibrating out of my skin.
When I turn back to him, he's still waiting. Just watching. His calm steadiness hits me like a drug, exactly what I need to quiet the noise in my head.
I cross the room and straddle him again, my thighs bracketing his. His hands find my waist immediately, warm and solid.
"Tell me you want this," he says, voice low and rough.
His question slices through the fog, the rough edge of his voice scraping something raw inside me. I can’t look away from his eyes, the way he holds me steady like I might break and he’s not sure if he wants to stop it.
"I need this," I admit, voice barely more than a breath. The words taste desperate, shameful. I press my forehead to his, so he can’t see how much of myself I’m handing over.
I hate the admission, hate how it reveals too much, that this isn't just desire, it's desperation. That I'm using him to ground myself, to chase away the panic still lingering in my veins.
Something shifts in his eyes, recognition, understanding. His grip gentles, thumbs stroking slow circles at my hip bones.
"Okay," he murmurs, and the simple acceptance in his voice nearly breaks me. "Whatever you need."
I kiss him again, harder, trying to drown out the thoughts with sensation. His mouth opens under mine, tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes everything below my ribs tighten and ache.
I grind down, desperate for friction, for the thick line of him pressed against me. The sound that rips from his throat goes straight to my core. I want more. I want him losing control, coming undone because of me.
His hands slip beneath my sweatshirt, big and rough, pausing at the waistband like he’s daring me to stop him.
My skin prickles in the wake of his touch.
I arch against him, greedy for more, needing his hands to drag me back from the edge of panic.
Every inch he explores, I want more, want him to leave marks, want to feel him tomorrow.
"Lose the shirt," I demand, needing to see him, to feel skin on skin. I want him exposed, want him vulnerable under my hands.
He complies, lifting his arms so I can pull it over his head. I stare at his chest, broad and muscled, dusted with dark hair that narrows to a trail disappearing into his jeans. My fingers trace the lines of his collarbone, down to his pecs, feeling his heartbeat kick hard beneath my palm.
"Your turn," he says, voice thick with restraint.
I cross my arms and pull my sweatshirt off in one fluid motion. He stares at my plain bra—nothing sexy, just cotton and necessity. For a heartbeat, shame prickles my skin, but the look in his eyes turns it molten. He doesn’t care. He wants me like this, messy and unguarded, and it makes me ache.
"Fuck," he breathes, hands sliding up my ribs to cup my breasts through the fabric. "You're gorgeous."
I arch into his touch, my nipples hardening against his palms. He squeezes gently, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, and I can't help the small sound that escapes me.
His mouth finds my throat, hot and wet as he kisses down to my collarbone. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, losing myself in the sensation of his lips and hands on my skin. When he tugs the cups of my bra down, exposing my breasts to the cool air, I gasp.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs against my skin.
"Yes," I breathe, threading my fingers through his hair. "Don't stop."
He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, and the pleasure shoots straight between my legs. I grind down against him, seeking friction, needing more. His hands slide to my ass, guiding my movements as I rock against the hard ridge in his jeans.
The friction is maddening, so close to what I need but not enough. I reach between us, fumbling with his belt, suddenly desperate to feel him. He helps me, deftly unfastening his jeans while I work on mine.
"I need you inside me," I pant against his mouth, shoving at my jeans. The denim catches on my hips as I struggle to undress without breaking contact.
Axel's hands close over mine, steadying me. "Slow down," he murmurs, his voice a rumble against my skin. "We've got time."
"I don't want slow," I tell him, frustration bleeding into my voice. My body is an electric current, overcharged and dangerous. "I need this now."
His eyes darken, but I catch it, that flicker of restraint, the careful way he's holding himself back. It sends a spike of something hot and desperate through me. I don't want his control. I want him undone.
I manage to kick off my jeans, left only in my simple cotton panties, and reach between us to stroke him through his boxers. His breath hisses between clenched teeth, hips jerking up involuntarily.
"Sadie," he warns, voice strained.
"Stop thinking," I whisper, slipping my hand beneath the waistband to wrap my fingers around his cock. He's thick and hard, skin velvet-soft over steel. The feeling of him pulsing in my palm makes my core clench with need.
Axel's head falls back, a groan tearing from his throat as I stroke him. The sound sends a rush of power through me. This is what I need, to feel him lose himself because of me. To know I can make someone as solid as Axel Slade come apart.
"Protection," he manages, his voice wrecked. "In my wallet."
I retrieve it with shaking hands, then shove his boxers down his thighs. He springs free, thick and flushed, and my mouth waters at the sight. I tear the condom open with my teeth and roll it down his length, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as I take my time.
His hands slide up my thighs to hook in my panties, but I'm too impatient. I push them aside, positioning myself over him, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance. I'm soaked, have been since his first touch, my body ready and aching.
"Wait," he says, hands gripping my hips to hold me steady. "Let me touch you first. Make sure you're ready."
"I am ready," I insist, grinding against him. "Feel me."
I guide his fingers between my legs, letting him feel how wet I am for him. His eyes go nearly black, but still I sense his restraint, the way he's holding back, measuring each touch, careful not to push too far.
It drives me crazy. I don't want careful. I don't want measured. I want to be consumed.
"Stop being so good," I breathe, sinking down onto him in one swift motion.
The stretch is exquisite, bordering on too much. I gasp, clutching his shoulders as my body adjusts to his size. Axel freezes beneath me, muscles rigid with the effort not to move.
"Jesus Christ," he groans, hands tightening on my hips. "You feel fucking incredible."
I rock experimentally, taking him deeper, and we both moan. The fullness is overwhelming, not just physically but emotionally. It's been so long since I've let anyone this close, since I've allowed myself to be this vulnerable.
"Move," Axel urges, his voice tight with restraint. "Take what you need, Sadie."
I move on him, hips rolling, fighting the urge to take everything I want.
It’s reckless, this hunger, but I can’t stop.
I want to climb out of my skin, let him fill every empty, aching part of me.
I’m half-wild, desperate, afraid if I let go I’ll break apart.
Each downstroke sends pleasure curling up my spine, his thickness hitting places inside me that make my thighs quake.
His hands guide my hips, helping me find the perfect angle, but his movements are still too controlled, too careful.
"Let go," I urge, digging my nails into his shoulders. "I'm not going to break."
Something flashes in his eyes, hunger, need, a primal possessiveness that makes my core clench around him. But then he blinks, and it's gone, replaced by that careful restraint again.
"I want to make this good for you," he says, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit.
The touch sends a jolt through me, pleasure sharp and immediate. "It is good," I gasp, bearing down harder. "But I want you. All of you. Not just the parts you think I can handle."
He groans, hips bucking up into me with more force but still not enough. I can feel him holding back, keeping some essential part of himself in check. It frustrates me even as it touches something deep and wounded inside my chest. He's being so careful with me, and I both love and hate him for it.