Page 92 of Axe Marks the Spot

“You know when.”

“I don’t remember saying those words.”

Frustration stacks in my throat. I’ve played our conversation from last night a million times over in my mind. While he didn’t reject me, it was the way he responded, the words he said and the silence.

“You didn’t say it directly, but it was clear to me you didn’t want what I offered,” I say.

“How so?”

I want to roll my eyes at him. Men really are blind sometimes. “Your silence told me.”

Dane leans closer and tilts my head up so the space between our lips is minimal. “Unlike my bratty sub, I will use my words if I don’t want something.”

My breath catches in my throat, and damn my body, but I feel it heat at not only his closeness but also the implication of his words. His grip on my cheek tightens, and the smell of him invades my senses. Our closeness reminds me of that day we first met, when my chest was pressed against his.

My tears have stopped, and as I stare into his dilated pupils, I take air into my lungs, pulling some of the bravery I’ve felt around him as of late into my chest. “Then use them,” I demand.

One of Dane’s dark eyebrows lifts. “Are you giving me an order, baby?”

Damn him calling me baby again. It makes me want to melt and get on my knees for him right here. Which is not what is going to happen right now.

“Yes,” I say. “Or do you have another bratty sub you want to use your words on?”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I know he has other clients, and his relationships with others is not my business.

“I shouldn’t have said that; I’m sor—”

“Lindsey,” Dane cuts me off. His hand on my cheek slips to my throat, and his palm grips it gently while his thumb presses into my fluttering pulse point. His eyes penetrate mine. They’re full of heat, a little sadness, and what I can only call lust. A lust I feel, too.

“You’re the only bratty little sub I use my words on,” he says.

For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but his lips remain over mine, the heat of his breath ghosting over my mouth. If possible, my heart beats faster as what he says sinks in. The only one. I want to clarify what that means—I think I know—but my words are lost as we stare into each other’s eyes.

“I want to be clear, Lindsey. You’ve been a very”—he traces the tip of his perfect nose over the side of mine—“very”—he continues, his lips now at my ear—“bratty girl.”

My breath escapes me, and his hand gently squeezes my throat. “You hung up on me last night, you didn’t respond to my message, and you didn’t send me your check-ins, did you?”

I shake my head, and his thumb presses into my pulse a bit harder.

“You want me to use my words, so use yours,” he orders.

“I didn’t send you my check-ins, Sir. I was upset.”

“Then you talk to me. We figure it out. But what I won’t accept is you acting out every time you don’t get what you want.”

I swallow against his hand and nod, knowing he’s right. “I felt rejected, and I acted out,” I explain.

“I wasn’t rejecting you, I was thinking.” His thumb strokes my throat, and my hips automatically press into his. I feel it then, his erection against the zipper of his jeans. My mouth goes dry, and Dane’s grip on me tightens.

“What were you thinking about?” I ask quietly.

“That this is new territory for me.”

Surprise lights in my chest, and the desire to ask him more questions about his life and work sparks in my mind, but now isn’t the time for that. “It is for me, too,” I reply instead.

His smile is soft, but there’s a mischievous look in his eye as he asks, “Do you want to know what else I was thinking?”

“Yes,” I whisper as his lips get closer to mine again.