He palms my head, his gaze landing on my lips for a still beat when I don’t breathe. I want him to devour me, to feel his tongue dance with mine. But he doesn’t take my mouth. He moves to my throat with a sprinkling of hot kisses and licks and bites. Then to my shoulder and breasts and back to my neck. And it all feels so good. So unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s just his mouth on my throat and his teeth on my collarbone and his hand threading my hair. His fingers squeezing my thigh and his hard length teasing my clit through layers of fabric.
But it’s more. It’s everything.
Except a kiss.
And instantly, I’m in my head, lumped with all the women he fucks—NDA, one time, no kissing. Will he ask me to sign something after? How many has he taken here? In this room? In this chair?
Why does it matter?
It shouldn’t. I’m not so different. I’ve only been in one relationship, which turned out poorly. The risk hasn’t been worth it since. But I already sense that no one will compare to Axel. And the wound of loneliness will bruise deeper in his wake.
He’s a winter campfire, roasting me from one angle while the other is chilled. I’d rather bend to distribute the warmth than lose it altogether, but the cold is lying in wait either way.
He stands abruptly, sets me on my feet in front of the chair, and shoves my face into the cushion. It’s a gentle shove, one that leaves my knees locked with my ass in the air and my core throbbing. Embarrassment flushes my cheeks as he crouches behind me.
“Only you,” he rumbles before his teeth clamp over my clit through the silky material.
A shriek of glorious agony bellows from the depths of my belly.
“Shh.” He rubs my ass, which is fully exposed beyond my thong. “We don’t want the whole family hearing those noises. Keep your face in the cushion.”
Oh, that’s why he has me like this. Well, that and the fact that I am completely at his mercy.
Worry spears me, our situation skulking like a third party between us. Even if I survive, how do I make it out of any of this without it wrecking me?
His palm meets my ass with such a swift and stinging spank that it knocks the breath out of my lungs. And yet even with the burn searing my bones, I wiggle for an encore on the other side.
He chuckles and delivers a scalding prickle to mirror the first, the smack of flesh meeting flesh resounding throughout his room. “You need to move your lines too, darling.”
“I’m not …” I trail off because he means my obstacles—anxiety about other women or the future or my family. I suppose that is the same as his lines—the age issue, my reason for being here, and my employment.
Move them. For tonight.
Two more rapid spanks to my sore tissue on each cheek remind me that I haven’t thwarted my self-imposed barriers while he growls something like, “The sight of my handprints blooming on your skin is intoxicating,” and something else aboutkeeping my flesh markedthat I can’t quite make out over my own hammering heartbeat, but then I feel his staggered breathing calm and his composure return.
“Did it register when I told you it was only you?” He licks a path along my center, his fingers singeing my goose-bumped flesh.
How the hell is anything supposed to register like this? All the blood in my body is divided between my face, my pussy, and my backside.
“Axel, I don’t … what?” My limbs are trembling, my arousal seeping out around the edges of that scrap of fabric masquerading as panties.
He bypasses it, plunging two fingers into me as he consumes every drop. He sucks and laves and pulls on the panties so they twist my clit in a pressurized vise, and stars streak my vision.
“So sweet. Like fucking dessert,” he drawls in a low roar between ravenous licks. “Must be all those goddamn cherries.”
That would make me laugh if I wasn’t so lightheaded. His scruff tickles my thighs, and his teeth nibble the tender, fiery flesh near my opening, and his choppy breaths fan me until I’ma drenched and heady mess. My bare breasts scrape the sticky leather, adding another dizzying sensation. Until I am gone.
I mumble nonsensical musings that might be unintelligible to him, but in my mind, it’s nothing butpleaseandmoreandso good. My body moves on instinct again, rotating my hips for more friction, unabashedly riding his hand and tongue and enhancing the fabric clamp around my clit.
I push my face into the chair and wail the moan of all moans.
“That’s it,” he coos. “So good for me.”
His voice is sandpaper and satin, and it glides over my skin like baby oil on a sun-soaked beach, a smooth scorching as the golden rays sear their mark.
His fingers never abandon their tantalizing rhythm. His mouth never forgoes its explorative mission. His groans of approval never cease to shoot to my core.
My orgasm rockets through me, my muscles tightening and my knees weakening until I’m balancing myself on Axel’s face and he’s clutching me with a commending growl. I shake and shudder, screaming into the leather until I’m hoarse and raw and so blissed out. It reaches places climaxes have never gone—my veins and pores and the ventricles of my heart, as if every molecule of my makeup senses a shift. His mark on me.
