I’ve seen him shirtless before – post-workout, sweat-slick, half-dressed – but now, like this… knowing what’s coming, knowing what he wants…
It’s like seeing him for the first time.
And it doesn’t feel real.
It’s like a wicked, salacious, utterly debauched dream that I could wake from at any second – and one I want to drown in forever.
‘Axel?’
I don’t even know what I’m asking.
Just that I need his gaze. Need to know he’s sure.
Need to know that after this – baby or no baby – we’ll still beus.
He tosses his shirt aside and lifts his drink, taking a slow swig as he turns. And he’s no longer my best friend with a body carved by discipline.
He’s a man carved by sin –forsin.
All muscle and strength and power…
Built to dominate.
I drink him in: eyes too dark to read, mouth set firm, broad shoulders, tight pecs, abs I want under my nails, ink I want to trace like a map, until I reach the hard V disappearing into his low-slung jeans, and the?—
I suck in a breath.
The bulge straining against denim kills any remaining doubt: he wants this.
And God, do I want him back. My body pulses – aching, needing – my thighs already slick. And he hasn’t even kissed me. Refuses to.
‘Show me how you like to be touched, Baby Girl.’
My heart flips out, eyes shooting to his;you what now?
I don’t know what hits harder: the pet name or the command. Jesus Christ – both!
‘Remember the deal.’ He has the nerve to smirk. ‘What I want. When I want. How I want.’
He can’t be serious. I’m not shy in the bedroom – far from it – but this is different. This is Axel. My best fucking friend. He’s known me forever.
And he wants me to do it with him half a mile away.
‘Show me.’
It’s not a request. It’s a command.
He lowers himself into the chair. Legs spread. Inked forearms braced on his thighs. A glass of rum cradled between them like he’s got all the time in the world for this. For me.
‘Not shy, are you, Baby Girl?’
Baby Girl.
It pinches right behind my ribs.
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Why?’
