Hard Core (Hard As Nails Book 3)

by Hope Conrad

  “Alyssa,” he begins.

  “No! You’ve been teasing me all night. Now I’m going to tease you. I want to fuck you with my mouth.”

  He stills and hearing those words coming from my mouth has rendered him speechless. Finally, I think. Finally, I feel a modicum of power shifting back in my direction.

  “What are you going to do, Axe?” I question as I make quick work of his zipper and reach for his cock from beneath tight fitting, black boxer briefs. “Are you really going to stop me from sucking your cock?”

  I pull his cock free from thin cotton. It’s erect and hard, with precum leaking from the tip. He’s been wanting this for a while, and I can’t believe he’s been putting off his own pleasure just because he wants to take me on a date. I stroke the entirety of his shaft in slow motion, watching him carefully as he gasps with each stroke. “You want my mouth on it?” I tilt my head sideways and lap my tongue against the underside of his cock. “You want to come in my throat?”

  “Please,” he groans, knowing it’s his turn to beg. But he’s not pleading for me to go down on him, he’s pleading for me to stop. Filled with the heady sensations of lust and power, I say, “Tell you what. I want to suck your cock. If you let me, and you manage to stop me before I make you explode, I’ll go on that damn date with you. Deal?”

  I don’t wait for his answer. Before he can say a word, I pass my thumb over the slit of his dick, and watch as his face contorts, and his throat tenses. “You’ve been a bad boy, Axel,” I coo and chuckle to myself, because I can’t believe myself. I was never this girl. Sex was always simple for me, but one thing’s remained the same—I don’t get attached. Still, I’ve always been content to lie on my back while the man does all the work. In my usual sexual experiences, I’d never talk dirty. It’s not me.

  Except it is. At least when I’m with him. He awakens something deep within me, pulling my dormant sexuality to the surface. It’s empowering. It’s riveting. It’s beyond dangerous, but I can’t bring myself to care or to stop myself.

  He attempts to turn his head away, to look out the window to regain his composure. I don’t let him. I reach for his chin and pivot his head so he’s looking right at me, and then right into my eyes as I take his cock into my mouth.

  His flesh is soft, but his cock is hard. It’s the weirdest thing in the world, but the dichotomy makes it more arousing. One hand falls to the top of my head, and then his fingers are combing through my hair. I can no longer see him, but the moans being thrown from his throat tell me all I need to know—I’m winning this game of tug of war.

  I quicken my pace, bobbing up and down on his throbbing cock while one hand twists around his shaft. When I need to take a break, to rest my jaw, I remove my mouth from his member and look up to him. I continue to maneuver my hand around his shaft, circling my thumb around his slit each time I reach the top of his cock. All the while I make him watch me.

  It’s erotic as hell, and I’m hit with the urge for him to fuck me. But I know he won’t. Not just yet. I give him an affirmative nod and a slight nibble of my teeth against my own lip before lowering myself back to him.

  “Fuck,” he cries softly as I engulf his dick completely in my mouth once more. But soon he’s had enough. He grunts, almost like he’s in pain. His breath is dry and heavy, like he needs a glass of water. He reaches for me and pushes me into a seated position and away from his cock.

  “No more,” he commands, looking at me with some sort of contempt I can’t quite read. “Not until I get my date.”

  “You’re not being serious,” I smile playfully and reach to tangle my fingers around his aching cock. Once I’ve got a firm hold on him, his body bucks into my touch, but a strong hand grips my wrist, preventing me from jerking him off.

  “I’m being very serious,” he growls. “This isn’t easy for me, to stop a beautiful girl like you from going down on me. You think I don’t want this?”

  “Then what’s the problem?” I cut him off and squeeze his shaft.

  He forces his eyes shut, almost wincing from pain as if I’m hurting him. “I want to come down your warm throat,” his lips tremble, “but not until you give me what I want.” He pauses, his eyes tangling with mine. “Not what I want,” he corrects himself. “What I need.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I question, my voice ragged and hoarse. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I want a date,” he forces the words out and tightens his grip on my wrist. It’s growing harder and harder for him to hold me back, but he wants something more than my mouth at this precise moment. He wants a date. Ugh.

  I can see, and feel, every ounce of his passion underneath my touch. It’s the biggest turn on in the world to see him struggle like this. To see a man built as strong as a tank lose all control to a girl like me. This isn’t how this scene is supposed to play out, but I never counted on wanting him this much. I wasn’t counting on wanting to taste him as he climaxes.

  “Fine,” I huff. “You can take me on a date. But I want to finish.”

  He hesitates and somehow manages to shake his head. “I said neither of us comes until you actually go out with me. Knowing you, you’ll agree to a date and weeks will go by before you admit you didn’t really mean it. I’m not going to make you come again until we actually go out.”

  “Fine! I’m not asking you to make me come. But I want to finish you, Axel. Please?”

  He stares at me, but doesn’t reject my offer.

  “Let the fuck go of me,” I command, and he actually does.

  As soon as I’m free, I begin stroking my hand up and down his shaft. And I watch him with feral eyes as he escalates toward an inevitable climax. Just when he’s about to blow, I lower my mouth around his cock.

  His fingers dig into my scalp as he comes. His cock spasms in my mouth as he shoots his warm seed against the back of my throat.

  * * *

  Later that night, I’m alone in my bed. Axel followed me home on his bike, and I was hoping I could coax him to come inside with me, but even though he’d walked me to the door, he’d admitted it would be best if he didn’t spend the night because the temptation to have me would be too strong. I’d rolled my eyes and said good night, shutting the door with a frustrated slam behind me, but then I’d leaned back against it and I hadn’t been able to help myself.

  I’d smiled.

  I couldn’t deny that when Axel wanted something, he truly went all out. And I was finally beginning to believe he wanted a future with me and more importantly, that it was something we might actually be able to have.

  But now, as I lie here in bed, I’m not quite sure. Despite Axel’s confusing presence in my life, Marley’s continuing absence and failure to call me back (Walt told me he heard she left town but I can’t quite believe she’d have left without telling me), and the fact I’m going to be taking the stage to strip soon, everything else is going fine. Better than fine. My dad’s treatments have been working. He feels good. His numbers are better. The doctors say if things continue this way, he might be able to go home next month.

  That’s gold. That’s the treasure that had strengthened my resolve to strip over the last week, and it’s brought me a certain amount of peace that’s allowed me to sleep so well the past few nights. At least, that’s what I’d told myself.

  But now, it’s been two hours since I’ve hit the light switch, and I’ve been tossing and turning. I’m tired from dance practice, and a long shift immediately after that. I’m exhausted after the song and dance with Axel in the car, but for some stupid reason, I can’t bring myself to fall asleep.

  There’s a part of me that knows the reason I can’t close my eyes; it’s because he’s not here. The logical part of me, the part of me that’s always guided my choices and my actions says that’s bullshit. I’ve never needed a man before. I don’t need one now, and I certainly won’t need a man come tomorrow or any other point in the future.

  But still, I miss his touch. Each night after we’d
fucked each other’s brains out, he’d hold me tight as I drifted off to sleep. There were never strings attached, but I always felt safe and wanted on some level.

  Now, all I feel is loneliness creeping into my being in the latest hours of the night. I feel this way now when he’s not with me, and that’s only after only knowing Axel for such a short time. What more if I actually go down that road to building a future with him?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Axel

  It’s been three miserable nights, and three intolerable days since Alyssa finally agreed to go on a date with me. Finally, it’s going to happen, and I’m riding my bike to her place so we can take her car.

  For the millionth time, I suggested she try going for a ride on my bike. Once again, she refused. I thought about pushing it, but as much as I want her on the back of my bike, want her to experience the thrill of riding something other than my cock, it wasn’t worth aggravating her to the point she’d drop our date. I’ve worked too hard for this—held back too many orgasms—to let it slip away from my cold, greedy fingers.

  When I pick her up, I refuse to tell her where we’re going. I hate surprises, and everyone I know knows that. But I only hate them when they’re happening to me, not when I’m launching them onto others. She seems aggravated that I won’t tell her, grumbling about how controlling I am, but I find her grumbling cute.

  Everything about her that isn’t sexy is cute.

  She’s this perfect package wrapped in a perfect body. She’s just damn near perfection in any way I could ever count.

  The surprise is spoiled when I turn onto Warner, a four-way street with towering buildings on either side. On this particular night, there’s a carnival in full swing, with the road blocked off on both ends.

  She slumps backward in her seat and elicits an audible groan.

  “What’s the matter?” I elbow her. “Don’t like carnivals?”

  “Not particularly,” she sighs and turns to me with a forced smile. “I mean, I love them.”

  “You don’t need to lie to me,” I say as I pull the car into an empty spot next to the curb of an off-street. I switch the ignition off and throw my arm behind the passenger headrest. “We can go somewhere else.”

  “Nah.” She waves my concern off. “As long as there’s a beer garden, I’ll be good.”

  “There’s nothing sexier than a girl who drinks beer.”

  “It’s not my favorite.” Her lips fold into a grimace. “But something tells me I’m going to need it, and in a time like this, I can’t be too picky, can I?”

  “Seriously,” I say, “we can go somewhere else.” Truth be told, I thought she’d love it here, but given how she feels about my bike, maybe I shouldn’t have. I actually can relate. I’m not a huge fan of carnival rides since I have a thing about heights. But I’m not about to tell her that.

  “It’s fine.” She places her palm on my thigh, assuring me. “I haven’t been to a carnival since I was a teenager.”

  “So… like a year ago?” I joke playfully, to which she elbows me in the chest. “Ow,” I yell.

  “You deserved it.” She pops the door open and climbs out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

  I make haste to join her at the edge of the curb and reach to take her hand in mine. To my surprise, she doesn’t resist and our fingers fold together.

  Progress, I think, pleased.

  Definite progress.

  * * *

  We stand beside the edge of the rope of the beer garden, each babying a bottle of beer in our hands. I’m on my third beer, and she’s only half-way downed her first.

  “You really don’t like beer, huh?”

  She tilts the bottle against her lips and takes a short sip. When she’s finished, she wipes beer from her lips and forces a smile. “It’s pretty gross.”

  “Okay, that’s it.” I chug the rest of my bottle, toss it into the trash and take her hand. “I’m taking you to dinner.”

  “No,” she resists and breaks away from my hold on her. She raises her bottle back to her lips and chugs the remainder of the beer. Each gulp is visible in her throat. Her eyes wince the closer she gets to the bottom, and just when I think she’s about to pass out or spit the beer out of her mouth, she finishes the bottle and tosses it into the trash. “Now, let’s go ride the Ferris Wheel.”

  She turns to leave, but I don’t follow her. The Ferris Wheel? She’s afraid of my bike, yet she wants to ride that death trap—the one damn ride that inspires insidious fear in my soul.

  She turns back to me. “Are you coming?”

  I sigh and nod. “Sure. The Ferris Wheel it is.”

  A minute later, we stand in line behind about fifteen other couples as we await our turn on the ride. We don’t really talk as the carnie loads two people in at a time.

  I reach over to her and caress my hand along the small of her back, and she steps into my side. My anxiety over the ride has me regretting more and more with each passing second that I brought her here instead of taking her somewhere fancy. Yet the way she leans into my touch now makes it all worth it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alyssa

  My eyes go wide the higher the ride climbs. We come to a stop at the worst possible place—at the very top—as the last riders are loaded onto the ride. The ride creaks, and our seat shakes. When I look over at Axel, it looks as if he’s about to lose all the beer he just imbibed. He’s as pale as a peeled potato.

  “This?” I question. “This right here is what scares you?”

  “Pshh.” He scoffs, a ridiculous display of overacting. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “It’s okay to be afraid sometimes,” I point out and gaze into the distance. “It makes you more relatable.”

  He shifts in his seat, arching his back against the side railing. Our seat begins to rock, and an ominous breeze blows through my hair. I grip my hands tight around the safety bar.

  “Am I not relatable?”

  I purse my lips together, searching my mind for an appropriate answer, but alas, I don’t have one. “I don’t know anything about you.”

  “That’s what this is about,” he points out. “I want to get to know you, and I want you to get to know me.”

  “Right.” I nod. “So far, what do you know about me?”

  “You’re beautiful,” he spits out without having to think for even a split second. “You’re graceful. You’re smart as hell and have a heart of gold. You’re terrified of motorcycles for some reason, which I’m sure is stupid—”

  “It’s not stupid.”

  “Maybe not.” He shrugs, and continues. “You’re mysterious. For some reason, you always have the freshest breath in the morning.”

  “That’s because I get up and rinse with mouthwash before you wake up.”

  He presses his finger to my lips, and for whatever reason, I’m not offended nor do I swat his hand away. “Sometimes, you’re funny as hell, but most of the time, you’re sexy as hell. You make me want to do insane things to you, and it’s been incredibly hard holding back.”

  “You don’t need to hold back,” I say softly and angle myself against the side railing, causing the seat to rock again. This time, I don’t give the rocking much notice, or let the fear settle in. The ride begins moving, and we begin an endless cycle, where the ride lures us into a massive circle. “You don’t need to do anything.”

  “I do.” He smacks his lips together and reaches to comb a finger through my hair. “Tell me, what do you know about me?”

  “You’re sexy,” I say sheepishly and bow my head, almost embarrassed.

  “I know,” he says with a cocky grin and angles his palm against my chin. “But please continue.”

  This is awkward, certainly one of the most awkward conversations I’ve ever participated in. Almost as awkward as the first time my father gave me the talk about the birds and the bees. And the second time. And the third time.

  “You’re protective,” I continue. “You have a big heart unde
rneath the hard exterior, and for whatever reason, you want more than sex with me.”

  He pets his thumb against my cheek. “You can’t imagine what I see in you.”

  “You love your motorcycle, and sometimes, I think I want to jump on because maybe it’d be thrilling.”

  “Ah-ha!” He throws himself back against the seat with glee that knows no bounds. Except his glee is short lived, because the seat begins to rock, and his cheeks flush pale again. “Sorry,” he groans. “I got excited.”

  “I’m not getting on your bike,” I break the bad news to him with a warm smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s just this huge fear of mine.”

  “You can’t get over your fears if you don’t ever face them.”

  “Who says I want to get over them?”

  “I can tell by the look on your face, and by the words you just said.” He scoots closer to me, and throws his arm behind my head. “Fears are completely irrational, if you really think about it.”

  “Says the guy who’s afraid of heights.”

  “You know what the difference is? I’m up here facing my fears.”

  “Damn.” I push my tongue into my cheek. “You got me there.”

  “So, what do you say?” he questions, and there’s hope swirling in his eyes.

  Poor guy. “Absolutely not.”

  * * *

  Axel digs into his back pocket to fetch his wallet, even after I specifically told him that no, I don’t want a stuffed bear bigger than the backseat of my car.

  As we already established, he’s not one to take orders from me. He pretty much does what he pleases, when he pleases. It’s an almost charming quality, his absolute stubbornness.

  He hands the carnie a ten-dollar bill, which will be good enough for three tosses of the ball against a scientifically stacked triangle of suspiciously heavy looking cups.

  He swears he’s the champ at this game, but I find it hard to believe anyone could be a champ at something that is so obviously rigged. But hey, it’s his money and I’m not about to tell him how to spend it. I have next to no faith in him winning whatsoever, and I’d actually prefer if he didn’t win.