Axel caught her wrists before she got far, and for a second she thought he’d ruin the mood, pull his “not yet, baby” routine. Instead, he pressed her hands to his chest, slow and firm, until she could feel his heart, uneven but stubborn. He wasn’t a sentimental guy, but this was as close as he got.
She let her hands fall, then started again, slower. One button at a time, while she ground her hips into his, his cock getting hard under her. She felt the heat of the fire on her back and the chill of the winter night seeping through the window all at once. Her nipples peaked, and Axel smoothed his hands up her ribs, over her breasts, barely cupping them. His touch was careful, almost worshipful, which made her insane with wanting.
He pulled her down, rolled so she landed beneath him on the couch, hair falling in her face. The tree lights painted his scars green and red, gave his tattoos a sick holy-glow. She could see the ragged line above his left cheek, the one that matched her own tiny scar. He’d given it to her by accident. Their private little Christmas miracle.
Axel slid the flannel off her shoulders, kissed her collarbone, and then the silver chain, breathing her in. “Looks better on you,” he said.
“Damn right,” Darla said, and tugged him down for another kiss.
They didn’t fuck like normal people. It was always a little bit desperate, like both were sure someone would come for them at any second. But tonight, for once, no one was. So they took their time.
Axel’s tongue traced her sternum, then the curve of her breast, then lower, slow enough to make her groan and buck her hips. He pressed her thighs apart with calloused hands, kissed the inside of her knee, then bit down until she squealed and shoved at his head.
She hooked her ankles around his back, yanking him up. “I want you,” she said, voice thick and serious.
He gave her that look, the one that meant he was about to ruin her, and for a second her heart did a weird stutter-step of fear and joy.
He slid into her, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. She dug her nails into his shoulders, tried not to cry, but the feeling overwhelmed her. He kissed her then—so softly, so uncharacteristically gentle, that she let the tears come, and neither of them said a word about it.
Axel fucked her like he was making a promise, a vow. Slow at first, grinding deep, hands cradling her skull. He muttered blasphemies into her ear. The fire popped in the hearth, shooting sparks up the flue, and the tree’s lights flickered frantic Morse code onto the ceiling.
Darla clung to him, hips arching up, hair damp with sweat, her new chain sticky against her throat. It felt like forever, the slow build. Like they were trapped in a snow globe and nothing could get in. She liked it. Hated how much she liked it, but still.
He sped up, pace going ragged. Her body answered him, muscles tightening, pressure mounting, until everything in her screamed for release. She came hard, mouth open, hair wild, and he followed, gasping into her shoulder, arms shaking.
They stayed there, tangled and panting, for a long time.
When the fire died to embers, Axel draped the flannel back over her, tucking it around her with surprising care. Darla blinked at the Christmas tree, watched its fucked-up little angel spin drunkenly on the top branch. The whole place smelled like smoke and sex and peppermint schnapps.
She reached up and touched the silver chain, still warm from his skin.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” she murmured.
Axel just grunted and pulled her closer, like he’d never let go.
Darla traced the chain around her neck, the ring perfectly cold now, and stared at the empty space above the mantel where most people would hang a wreath. She wondered if her father was locked up somewhere in a state pen, plotting his next sermon for an audience of felons. She almost missed him. Not in the way that little girls missed their daddies, but like a chess player missed a worthy opponent.
Axel rolled to his side and grunted, “You thinking about him?”
She didn’t answer. She watched the snow swirl in the alley below, then turned to face him. “Did you ever believe in God?” she asked.
He wiped sweat from his brow, then wiped his hand on her ass. “I believe in what’s in front of me.” His eyes flicked down her body, then back up, daring her to call him out for being a sap.
Darla smirked. “Good answer, Mr. Martin.”
He growled, “Don’t call me that.”
She propped herself on one elbow, chain falling between her breasts. “You want to hear something funny?” Her voice wassoft, but there was a sharpness to it, like the shine on a straight razor.
Axel closed his eyes. “Probably not. But go ahead.”
“Reverend Maple’s not coming back. Life sentence. Human trafficking, drug running, racketeering, murder. You name it.”
Axel’s eyes snapped open. For a guy who’d killed more than his share, the word ‘murder’ still did something to him. “He gonna die in a cage?”
She nodded, watching him. “And you know what the best part is?” She leaned in, lips grazing his ear. “I’m taking over the church. Effective next Sunday.”
He blinked, uncomprehending. Then he laughed, a deep, broken sound that made her shiver. “You? You’re gonna run that fucking cult?”
