by C. M. Owens
“A hotel? Trying to get lucky?” I quip.
He huffs out a small laugh as he undoes one of the saddlebags and pulls out a backpack I didn’t know was in there. With a curious eyebrow arch, I watch as he tosses the backpack on one shoulder and clutches the helmet with his other.
“I figured you could use some time out of the warehouse, but you’re not safe just anywhere. I’d take you to my house, but it’s not any safer right now with all this shit going on with Herrin.” He gestures toward the hotel without looking at it. “So this is our only option.”
A grin spreads over my lips as I waggle my eyebrows.
“So you’re angling for sex and a blowjob.”
He rolls his eyes, walking by me.
“Never had one of those,” he says conversationally.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Your jokes are seriously terrible. You need to stop trying to make them.”
He looks over his shoulder at me as I follow, and his brow furrows. “I wasn’t joking.”
I actually stop walking just because it takes all my concentration to focus on the nonsense he just said. And was serious about.
He pauses at the door, seeing I’ve stopped walking.
“Coming?” he asks, still acting as though what he said was no big deal.
“You’ve seriously never had one?” I blurt out.
Bored expression on his face, he walks back to me, waving off the guy at the door who is holding it open for us.
“Not sure why that’s so surprising to you,” he says gruffly. “A random party girl took my virginity just to steal money from the club. The status quo has been the occasional club whore since then and an immediate STI test in case the condom failed. The girls might get theirs, but that doesn’t mean I’m ever their first choice. In case you haven’t noticed, what I lack in appearance, I do not make up for in charm. The last thing they want to do is get their faces that close to the worst of my scars—on my legs—and suck cock. And I don’t ask for it. Sex works to take the edge off, and that’s all it was ever about.”
He studies my expression, his lips thinning.
“I’m going to stop telling you shit if you start showing pity. I like the fact you don’t pity me, so don’t—”
“It’s surprise,” I interrupt. “Not pity. I’m not just to take the edge off, am I?
My eyes narrow expectantly as my hands go to my hips.
He smirks. “There hasn’t been an edge since that first night. We both know that.”
He turns and walks away, and I grin at his back as I skip behind him, following him through the door.
“I’m sort of happy about the fact I’ll be the first girl to suck your dick,” I state bluntly, loving the way he always seems stumped by the things I say.
However…I forget we’re in a snazzy hotel lobby when I toss that line out. Loudly.
An elegantly dressed woman gasps, staring at me in horror, before dropping her fancy store bag to the ground. Several other eyes are also staring at me like they can’t believe I just said that.
Axle simply looks at me with zero expression on his sexy face. “Pretty sure the entire hotel didn’t need to be informed of that,” he tells me blandly, not rattled by me anymore, apparently.
He walks on to check us in, while I ignore the woman still gawking at me with reddened cheeks puffed out on her face.
Sheesh. Talk about sucking dick and people act like you just made a terrorist threat.
I sidle up next to Axle just as he gets the key cards to our room, and I follow his lead to the elevator. Much to her dismay, the red-faced woman joins us on the elevator, practically hugging the other side across from us like dick-sucking might be contagious.
I grin up at Axle, who merely rolls his eyes at me. The hand not holding his helmet reaches over and squeezes my ass as he draws me to be in front of him.
I’m a little surprised when he bends and starts kissing me, both of us ignoring the indignant gasp from our elevator companion. Our lips don’t part until the elevator doors ding with arrival, and Axle draws back, glancing over at the woman.
“Enjoy the rest of your ride,” he drawls, and the poor woman turns about three more shades of red as she scoots to the back of the elevator when she finally stares directly at his face and the scars there.
Unaffected, Axle turns and struts out, clasping my hand along the way, and I grin back at her and wink.
He guides us to a room, releases my hand to dig out the card and open the door, and we both drop our helmets just inside the door as soon as we’re inside.
He drops the backpack that I can only assume is carrying an extra change of clothes, and I go straight to the room service menu.
“I take it you’re hungry,” he says, sounding amused.
“Room. Service. You have no idea how obsessed I am with someone bringing me food, and I actually collect those tiny little condiment bottles. They’re just so damn cute,” I tell him without looking up.
Well, I finally look up when he doesn’t say anything back.
He’s just watching me, eyebrows up in confusion.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Just when I think you can’t surprise me any more, you prove me wrong.”
“My tiny condiment bottle collection stuns you more than me being excited about popping your oral cherry?”
With a completely serious expression, he retorts, “I think you’re still just trying to sit on my face.”
My grin grows, and when his smile starts to spread like it’s contagious, he turns his back and starts unzipping the backpack.
“Timing is still off, but that joke was almost funny,” I say, laughing to myself as I resume reading the menu.
I know all the things Axle likes to eat—steak being one of them—so I call in my order, using one of my burner credit cards as payment.
When I finish, Axle is climbing up on the bed, dropping to his back as one of his arms snakes around my waist with comfortable familiarity.
“The guys are working on your cars today. My part is already done, but I’ll help out with theirs when we get back tomorrow,” he says as I turn to face him, lying down and pillowing my head on his arm.
“Do you think I ordered enough food?” I ask, not wanting to discuss anything outside our bubble right now.
No motorcycle club and no Blackbird can exist in this little bubble. Just for today.
He arches an eyebrow as he looks down at me. “I think you ordered enough food for ten people.”
I laugh under my breath. “You get more tiny condiment bottles the more food you order.”
His laughter catches him off guard, and he turns his face away as his chest shakes with the effort it takes to stop laughing.
His attention comes back to me, eyes sparkling with amusement. It’s nice to see him out of the clubhouse and not wound up so tightly. He’s relaxed here, not having to put up any shield or keep his surly reputation intact.
I kiss a path along his jaw as he lazily runs his fingers through my hair.
“Thank you for this,” I finally say when I’m close to his ear.
He just makes some noise because he obviously can’t act like he appreciates the gratitude. Grinning, I kiss his cheek sweetly, and his hand tightens on my hip.
Axle isn’t used to sweet gestures, hence the reason I do them as often as possible. I’m not used to sweet gestures either, and this is probably one of the sweetest.
It’s a little annoying to spend all your time in one room or with a bunch of bikers, never having a moment alone with each other. And I need a day off from my reality as well.
He’s successfully suspended reality.
I climb over him and across the bed to go open the curtains. His room in the clubhouse has no window, so I soak in the sunlight while I can.
After a few minutes of me just standing there, smiling out at the city view, Axle moves in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“We could always dance right now and take this over-the-top with romantics,” I offer with a smirk.
He groans from behind me. “You’re going to make me feel stupid for this if you keep on.”
I, of course, just grin.
At least until he starts swaying behind me, his hold causing me to sway in time to whatever music he may or may not be hearing inside his head. Then my heart does a little kick in my chest.
After a few minutes of songless swaying, I turn in his arms, and his lips come down on mine in a soft, devastatingly sweet kiss that contrasts so much with his usually harsh nature.
I’m a little high on him by the time he pulls back, his eyes flicking between mine as he just stares at me. I love it when it feels like he’s trying to get inside my head.
“I was thinking that was damn sweet from someone so hard-natured,” I tell him, smiling a little shyly when he cocks his head. “You’re wondering what I’m thinking,” I explain.
He brushes his thumb over my lips before kissing me again, pushing me back against the window as his mouth claims mine with that same unexpected softness.
I like him hard and rough, but I also like him soft and yielding. It’s a nice change of pace, because it feels like it means something more when I get this side of him.
No one else does get this side of him.
I’ve witnessed it for over a month now.
I get the man no one else sees. The guy who holds me all night and staves off the nightmares. The guy who kisses me softly when he doesn’t do anything soft.
The guy who watches me because he’s constantly trying to figure me out.
The guy who watches no one else.
When I clutch his shirt in my hands and start pushing it up his body, he breaks the kiss and bends, giving me the chance to remove it and toss it aside. He quickly returns the favor, whipping my shirt off before his lips come back to mine, and he starts backing me toward the bed.
Just as we get laid down and he comes down on top of me, I shove at his chest. He rolls over, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion, until I start undoing his jeans, staring him in the pale eyes the entire time.
He lifts his hips, and I work his pants down his body, tugging his boxers down with them. When I get him fully naked and I barely graze his very hard cock with my hand, I smile up at him as I move between his legs.
He stares down the length of his body at me, his face blank but his breathing a little fast.
With careful movements, I lean over, brushing my lips across the worst leg. He stiffens as I start kissing along the scar, and his jaw tics as he stares at me.
I move my lips up slowly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, and start kissing around his pelvis, grinning again when his cock jumps and thuds against my neck.
“I know you don’t like showing emotion, but you’re going to grin big and goofy when I finish with you. Just let it happen, Axle,” I say with my grin returning.
He arches an unconvinced eyebrow at me. “Had plenty of orgasms before, Maya. I think I can control myself.”
Funny guy. And so naïve.
“But you’ve never had a blowjob,” I point out, wagging my eyebrows a little.
He fights a grin, determined to stay straight-faced.
“Can’t be that big of a difference.”
I smile to myself. “It’s probably not, but there’s something incredible about getting a new experience and an orgasm all in one breath that makes it impossible not to grin goofy.”
“I’m sure I can—” His words cut off when a breath hisses from his lips when I decide to suck as much of him into my mouth as possible, surprising him.
Grinning around a very large mouthful—attractive imagery, huh?—I start working my way up and down, feeling my smile fade away with each curse or pant of air he releases.
His hands go to my hair when I tease him a few times, swirling my tongue across the tip. But when I hollow out my cheeks and start working for real, his grip on my hair grows painful.
His entire body is rigid, like he’s fighting not to thrust up—thank fuck. I work him harder, using my hand on all the extra that won’t fit into my mouth. No deep-throating skills here.
His stomach muscles ripple underneath me as my head bobs, and I know it’s happening about two seconds too late.
I’m also not a swallower.
Unfortunately, I’m sort of forced to when my blowjob virgin shoots a little too forcefully into my mouth.
Only because I see his eyes crossing when they open, and I feel his body loosening and turning limp beneath me, do I decide to swallow without a fuss. I’d hate to steal his thunder right now.
His entire body trembles as I move my mouth off him, smiling as his grin starts to form and grow across his face.
His eyes narrow on me even as that stupid grin gets wider, and he covers it quickly with his arm across his mouth.
“No! You can’t hide it from me,” I say around a laugh, tugging at his arm.
He laughs, but fights me, not letting me see the smile on his lips that I can see in his eyes. When I start making some ground on prying that arm off, he spins, putting his face into the pillow, laughing a little harder when I curse him and straddle his back, trying to flip him over again.
“Damn it, Axle, I want to see that smile. I earned it!” I say, still laughing like an idiot.
He shakes his head, face still buried in the pillow, which only makes me laugh that much harder until I have zero strength due to all the laughter.
A squeal flies out of me when he suddenly flips, and I end up crashing to my back as he comes down on top of me. I’m still laughing painfully hard as he gazes down at me, amusement flickering in his eyes as a more respectable grin plays on his lips.
Jackass wouldn’t let me enjoy the goofy grin.
As his expression turns serious and my laughter tapers off, he says, “Now I really will let you sit on my face.”
With that, I burst out laughing again, and his grin spreads.
“Much better timing,” I murmur, still grinning when he starts kissing me. I don’t break the kiss until there’s a knock at the door, accompanied with the promise of tiny condiment bottles.
Then I’m bolting off him, pulling my shirt on as I go, and leaving Axle to wrap up in a sheet or flash the waiter when I swing open the door.
I’m still smiling like an idiot the entire time I tip the guy.
I can’t remember ever feeling this wrapped up in anyone. And I really like it.
CHAPTER 22
AXLE
“One more,” Maya says, hovering over me and pretending she can spot me if I struggle with this set.
She couldn’t even lift the ten-pound bar.
Obviously I’m not relying on her to keep me from getting crushed under the two-hundred pounds I’m benching.
Not that I tell her that, since she’s delusional enough to think her adrenaline will kick in and she’ll turn into Wonder Woman if the time calls for it.
Never thought I’d roll with so much weird shit.
But I like her weird shit.
She’d be easier to resist if she wasn’t so damn bizarre. It makes her who she is.
“One more,” she says for the twenty-eighth time as I continue on.
Rolling my eyes, I push the bar up, straining a little, and place it back in the holder as Maya frowns down at me.
“I said one more,” she states firmly.
We spent an extra night in the hotel, and I decided it was fine to bring her to the hotel gym with me, thinking she could run on the treadmill or something. Instead, she’s been annoying the piss out of me and acting like she’s my relentless trainer.
Should have seen that coming.
“You say one more every single time,” I answer, feeling winded. “Sort of makes it impossible to do just one more.”
“But that’s the point of exercise. It’s called torture for a reason.”
I snort, unable to help myself. “Tortur
e is too dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Nope. You think you’re almost done, then realize you have another. And another. And another. Then the next day you’re walking like you had bow-legged sex for fifteen hours, yet orgasms were never achieved. Good things bring orgasms. Bad things bring pain. Therefore, it’s obvious exercise and torture are first cousins, at the very least.”
When I move to the free weights, she follows me, making a show of checking me out, since I abandoned the shirt early on. We’re the only two in here, so it’s not like anyone is having to see my body besides her. And she doesn’t mind looking at it.
“What if we had sex on the treadmill? Like, I could sit down on the top part, and you could run and thrust to—”
“Do you ever listen to the shit coming out of your mouth, or do you just talk until you get bored with talking?” I ask her, trying not to smile.
Never had to fight so hard not to smile as I do when I’m around her.
She grins at me. “Or we could totally do it on the pull-up thingy. I could hang there with my legs around your waist and you could—”
I cut her off when I kiss her, needing her to stop talking before I do something that will get us tossed in jail. Her damn mouth is constantly tempting me.
She sighs as I back up, smirking at how that always seems to subdue her.
Her eyes brighten like an idea lightbulb just went off behind them.
In case you haven’t noticed, she can’t be subdued for long.
“Gym selfie!” she says, confusing the hell out of me.
She turns before I can ask what the hell she’s talking about, and she leans back while bringing up her phone, snapping a picture of the two of us.
“What the hell?” I ask on an exasperated exhale.
She just grins.
“If I could post pics to social media, I totally would right now. We could look like one of those sickeningly sweet gym couples, and you could do, like, sit-ups with me on your back or something.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, so I resume working out, letting her continue to ramble all the while. We currently have an entire bag full of tiny condiment bottles for her to take back with us.
