Axel stands before me, his eyes never leaving mine as he cups my face in his hands. The heat from earlier hasn't diminished, but there's something different in the way he touches me now, a reverence, a care that makes my chest ache.
"Slow down," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "We have time."
Panic claws at my chest, every instinct screaming that this is a stolen moment, that tomorrow could rip it all away. But Axel’s grip is reassuring. His hands, his mouth, his body tell me I amsafe, here, now. For the first time in years, I let myself believe I could be his. That I want to be.
He leans in, his kiss softer than before. Deliberate. Like he's memorizing the shape of my mouth, the taste of me. His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head as if I'm something precious, something that might break.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, searching. "Do you want me, Sadie?" His voice is rough with restraint. "Tell me you want me," he demands, voice low, his hand possessive on my thigh. "I need to hear you say whom you belong to."
The vulnerability in his question steals my breath. He's giving me control even as he takes it, making sure this is my choice, my desire.
"Yes," I whisper, then stronger, "yes, I want you."
He walks me backward toward the bed, his movements controlled but barely. I can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw; he's holding back, keeping himself in check.
"I think about the taste of you," he admits, his hands finding the hem of my shirt. "Constantly. I crave it."
I lift my arms, letting him pull my shirt over my head. The cool air prickles my skin, but his gaze is so hot I barely notice.
"May I?" he asks, fingers hovering at the clasp of my bra.
I nod, unable to find words as his knuckles brush against my spine. The bra loosens, then falls away. The moonlight streaks across my body perfectly, accentuating all the things I try to hide about myself. I resist the urge to cover myself, to hide the stretch marks on my breasts from pregnancy, the extra softness around my middle that never quite firmed after Poppy.
But Axel admires me. His eyes darken further as he takes me in, his hands gentle as they trace the curve of my waist.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, bending to press a kiss to my collarbone. "Every part of you."
His mouth charts a path lower, finding the stretch marks I have spent so long hiding, and he lingers there, his tongue and rough stubble branding every line. His lips worship the evidence of my survival, every scar and curve. The heat of his breath over skin I thought no one would ever want again makes my thighs press together, needy, desperate. There is no hiding from him—only the dizzying reality of being completely laid bare and claimed.
I've always been touched with an agenda, with expectation. Elliot's hands were possessive but never appreciative, demanding but never giving. This, Axel's patient exploration, his obvious pleasure in simply touching me, is entirely new.
"You're trembling," he says, looking up at me with concern.
"I'm not used to this," I admit. "To being… seen."
Understanding softens his features. He straightens, cupping my face in his hands.
"I see you, Sadie. All of you." His thumbs brush away tears I didn't realize had fallen. "And you're safe with me. Always."
The words unlock something in my chest, a tightness I've carried for so long I forgot it was there. I reach for the buttons of his shirt with newfound boldness, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He stands perfectly still, letting me strip him, his gaze locked on mine, dark and unyielding. As his shirt falls away, lamplight cuts over the hard lines of his chest and the veins at his bicep. My pulse stutters, mouth goes dry. I want to run my tongue over every inch, bury my face in that clean, masculine heat, mark him the way he’s marking me. My hands tremble with hunger I can’t hide.
My hands explore him with growing confidence, tracing the contours of muscle and bone. When I reach for his belt, his breath hitches, his control visibly slipping.
"Lie back," he says, his voice low but firm.
I do as he asks, settling against my pillows as he kneels to remove my sweatpants. His fingers hook in the waistband of my underwear, looking up for permission before sliding them down my legs.
And then I'm naked before him, completely exposed. I fight the urge to cover myself, to hide from his intense gaze.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. He kisses my ankle, then slowly works his way up my calf, my knee, my thigh. "Spread open for me to devour?"
I can't answer, can barely breathe as his mouth moves higher, his hands spreading my thighs wider. When his lips brush the crease where my leg meets my hip, so close to where I'm aching for him, a whimper escapes me.
"Tell me what you need," he murmurs against my skin.
"You," I manage, my voice breaking. "Just you."
