by Joss Wood
And that realization made him feel anything but easy.
“So tell me about your parents and why you are heading into this dark night to confront them.”
The subject immediately brought a scowl to his face. “Because they are batshit insane?”
“Because they want new, more expensive tiles on the floor or because your dad isn’t working or because they want to adopt a baby?”
“Take your pick,” Axl suggested, seeing the dull glow of lights on the horizon. They’d be in Clarksville in another ten minutes or so, and he had to decide what to do with Reagan. Would it be rude to ask her to wait for him in the pub down the road? Or should he take her with him to see his parents and park her in the sitting room while he had a come-to-Jesus talk with his parents? She already knew that the Rhodes clan was deeply dysfunctional, so seeing them in action wouldn’t be that much of a surprise to her. And when she saw the stock he came from, maybe she’d come to her senses and put some distance between them. Because, God, they could do with some distance.
Emotional distance. Physical distance not so much.
Chapter Eight
CaswallawnPR: Caswallawn International is happy to announce that they will be holding a fun obstacle run/triathlon in the near future. All funds raised will be donated to local Mercy charities. There will be a mini mud run for kids, an intermediate run/obstacle course for the reasonably fit, and twenty-four hours of hell for the elite athletes. Keep an eye on our website for further details.
BoredWife: Yeah, I might enter Cas’s race. Then again, I might also win the lottery, the odds are about the same.
KevTheFirefighter: I think the fire station should enter a team into the 24-Hell race. Anyone keen?
There were times when it was prudent to keep her mouth shut, and after witnessing Axl’s argument with his parents—the diner close to his parents’ home was closed and he wasn’t prepared to leave her in a bar or sitting in the car outside their house—Reagan felt like she’d gone six rounds with Claressa Shields and had her ass kicked.
As Axl tried to talk them out of their current craziness, his parents, and his stoned brother Skye, constantly interrupted him, taking turns to attack. His parents started off passive-aggressive: “But, Axl honey, we don’t understand how us adopting another child will affect you.”
Then they tried guilt: “This child needs a home. If we don’t take him then he will end up on the streets and that will be on you.”
Deflection: “Did you hear that Moon is pregnant again?”
Their judgmental comments had her clenching her fists. “How did we manage to produce such a coldhearted, conservative, anal child?”
Then came the downright ugly. “I’m sure you were swapped at birth, Axl. You couldn’t possibly be our child.”
She saw anger chase hurt through his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Fine, then can I please be released from funding you and my siblings, half and step?” he asked. He stood up and held out his hand, which Reagan took. She could feel the fine tremor in his fingers, and that made her incandescently angry.
She sent Axl’s parents a hard, tight smile. “I’d love to say it was nice meeting you but it really wasn’t.”
Clo looked down her nose at her. “Who are you again?”
Axl rolled his eyes and pulled her toward the kitchen door. “We’re out of here. Mom, Dad.”
“We’ve asked you a hundred times not to call us that. We don’t like labels, we are individuals,” Sid said to their departing backs.
“What you are is fucking nuts,” Axl said under his breath, allowing the screen door to the kitchen to slam closed behind them.
They were halfway to Axl’s car when the front door flew open and Skye, Axl’s dopehead brother, lumbered out of the house, rubbing his nose with his fist. “Hey, Axl, can you lend me some cash?”
“How mu—”
Oh, hell no. “Don’t you dare!” Reagan squeezed Axl’s hand. Lifting her head, she nailed Skye with her best you’ve-got-to-be-shittin’-me look. “No. Your brother is not going to lend you money, Skye.”
“Why not?” Skye whined.
Reagan felt the tension in Axl’s hand and knew that he was as interested in her answer as Skye. “Because you don’t get to insult him in one breath and ask for money the next. That’s not how this works.”
Reagan looked at Axl and saw his hesitation. “I swear, if you give him money, I will punch you in the throat!”
Axl, because he wasn’t stupid, just sent her a small smile, opened her car door, and ushered her into her seat. Best of all, he ignored Skye, who kept looking at Axl, utterly bewildered.
So, on the return trip to Mercy, Reagan sat her in her seat and stared at the road in front of them, occasionally sending small glances at Axl’s hard face.
Was he mad that she’d interfered? Embarrassed at what she’d seen? Angry because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut? Probably all three, Reagan thought, yawning. Well, tough. If he didn’t want to talk to her then he could just drive and brood. She’d just snuggle down and rest her head on the warm leather seat . . .
Reagan felt a hand on her shoulder and she pulled her eyes open. She looked around and realized that Axl had parked the car in Sawyer’s driveway. No lights were on in his gray-and-white bungalow.
Reagan looked at Axl and lifted her eyebrows.
Axl stared at the house, and she saw his hard jaw, his narrowed eyes. He was a pressure vessel about to explode and Reagan knew why she was here. She was his way to let off some steam, to step away from his anger, from the nastiness he’d found at his parents’ house. He wanted her, wanted the release that sex would bring.
Could she do it? Could she be his temporary panacea, could she live with being his safety valve? This wasn’t about love or friendship or mutual passion. This would be sex in its most primal form. It would be a physical release, nothing more.
Yet she still craved him, still wanted to make love as much as he did, Reagan realized. She wanted to step out of her life, wanted to feel his hands on her skin, have her mouth on his, swept away by mindless, all-consuming passion. There would be no place for thinking in Axl’s arms, he wouldn’t allow room for that. She needed to stop thinking for a while. She wanted to turn off her washing-machine brain and lose herself in the physicality of making love to Axl.
So why were they just sitting here, looking at rain falling on a dark house?
Reagan opened her door, stepped out into the cold, and walked around the house and up toward the front door. Under the porch roof she stood and waited for Axl to catch a clue and catch up.
Axl just sat in the driver’s seat, looking at her. He made her wait a minute, maybe more, but eventually stepped out of his vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him, his long stride easily eating up the distance between them. He ran up the steps to the front door and Reagan watched, fascinated, as a raindrop rolled from his temple down the side of his face, and wondered what he’d do if she licked it right off him.
Instead of jumping him as she so wanted to do, she buried her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and tipped her head back to look into his hard face. “Sawyer not home?”
“He went to D.C. for a couple of days,” Axl replied in his smoky voice. “The house is empty.”
Reagan refused to break contact with his hot gaze. “Do you have a key?” she asked, her voice lower and sexier than she believed possible. And what a stupid question, did he have a key? Axl hadn’t needed a key to get past a lock since he was in his teens.
“I’ve got a key. You sure you want to come in?”
“Why wouldn’t I want to?”
“I’m not going to offer you cookies and milk, Reagan. You step over that door and it’s going to be hot and hard and wild and you are going to get naked very fast. If you don’t want that, you have five seconds to start walking to the car, and I’ll take you
back to the Freedman estate.”
Like hell, Reagan thought.
“Five . . .”
Reagan lifted her eyebrows as he started his countdown.
“Four . . .”
Really, he still wasn’t getting it?
“Three . . .”
These were the longest, most drawn-out seconds of her life.
“Two . . . Fuck this,” Axl muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key. He jammed the key into the lock and kicked the door open with his booted foot. Reaching for Reagan, he yanked her toward him and his strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her up and in to him.
“One,” Axl whispered before his mouth landed on hers and sucked all the air from her lungs and the room. Zero to ignition in two seconds flat, Reagan thought as his tongue pushed past her teeth to eat her mouth. It was hot, sexy, and desperate. This man who never seemed to need anyone, well, right now he needed her.
He needed her to be in this moment with him, to take and to give, to lose herself in him, and he needed to lose himself in her. Life, complications, work . . . it was all for later. In this moment, this perfect moment, nothing else mattered but the giving and the receiving of pleasure, or needing and being needed. At this moment the woman who belonged nowhere and to no one belonged with him.
Reagan boosted herself up his body, angling her head so that he could kiss her deeper. Axl needed no further encouragement and they found themselves fighting for control of their kiss, even though she knew that she had no hope of running this show. But her little spurt of defiance seemed to excite him further. Axl uttered a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat and pushed his hand into the hair at the back of her head. He gripped a hunk of hair and pulled her head back so that she was looking into hot and hard and desperately demanding eyes. “This isn’t going to be sweet and it’s not going to be pretty.”
Reagan touched her tongue to her top lip and tasted him there. “Did I ask for either?” she demanded.
“We start and you don’t get to back out,” Axl warned her.
Reagan leaned away from him, trusting him to hold her, and pulled her shirt up and over her head. She dropped the garment to the floor and lifted her hands to her breast to open the clasp between the cups of her bra. The fabric sprung apart and she watched Axl’s eyes drop to her chest, heard his sudden intake of air.
“Do I look like stopping is something I want to do?” she asked as the pink bra fell to the floor beneath them.
Axl, holding her with one arm under her butt, dragged his finger over her left breast, across her already puckered nipple. “You are so beautiful. I can’t wait to see the rest of you.”
In the dark hallway, Reagan arched as Axl dropped his head to her chest and pulled her nipple into his mouth, tugging gently with his teeth before lathing his tongue to soothe the burn. God, he knew exactly how to touch her, how to rocket her from turned on to take-me-now.
Reagan wrapped her arms around Axl’s dark head and placed her lips on his hair, inhaling the combination of shampoo and turned-on male. Axl pulled his lips off her nipple and dropped his head onto her chest, seemingly wanting to, as she did, savor this moment. She wasn’t worried that the crazy want had disappeared. She knew that it would come roaring back as soon as he touched her again. This was the quiet before the storm, them taking a few minutes to gather themselves, to face the tempest.
Reagan knew that nothing would ever be the same afterward, that she couldn’t expect to walk out on the other side with everything remaining the same.
“Reags.”
Her name was like a benediction, part plea and all desire, soft and hot against her skin. Axl lifted his head and Reagan saw his eyes and she forgot to think, breathe . . . be. All that was important, the only thing that was important, was Axl and what they were about to do for and to each other.
This was more than sex, was Reagan’s last thought before she willingly stepped into the storm. This was more . . .
Axl dropped her to the floor with a terse command to get naked. Reagan didn’t hesitate to comply. She just kicked off her shoes and shimmied her pants down her hips. She stayed anchored in the moment by watching Axl shrug out of his jacket and pull his shirt and jersey over his head by grabbing the fabric behind his heck and yanking it up and over his head. Reagan immediately placed her hands on his wide chest, testing the crispiness of the light dusting of dark hair on his chest, the happy trail disappearing beneath the band of his jeans. She reached for the top button on his jeans at the same time he did, and Axl batted her hands away, flipping open the flaps with each button he undid. His erection strained his underwear, pulling the cotton tight, delineating his smooth head, the veins on his cock. Reagan couldn’t wait. She needed that heat in her hands, needed to feel exactly how masculine he really was. She pulled down his designer underwear and wrapped her hands around his cock, closing her eyes when he jumped in her hands. As Axl fumbled to push his jeans and underwear off, she swiped her thumb across his head, feeling the bead of moisture that suggested that he was ready to rock and roll.
Axl pulled her hands away from him and held them behind her back, forcing her almost-naked body into his, her breast brushing his chest. “If you keep touching me, this isn’t going to last.”
Reagan rubbed her thighs together, feeling the heat and moisture between her legs, wishing that he’d touch her. “We can do slow and sexy later. Right now, I need you inside me.”
Axl groaned and rested his forehead against hers. “If we do it that way, I can’t guarantee it’ll be good for you.”
“I’m on the edge already and you haven’t even touched me yet. Trust me, I’ll be okay,” Reagan muttered. “Got protection?”
“Yeah. Stand there and touch yourself.”
“What?”
“Open your legs.” Axl took her hand and guided it between her legs and dragged his index fingers, and hers, up her wet folds to that special knot of nerves. She groaned and Axl’s eyes darkened, if that were possible.
“Yeah, you’re ready,” Axl growled. “But keep doing that while I find a condom.”
As she played with herself, without embarrassment, Axl dropped to his haunches, pulling his jacket onto his lap. He pulled out his cell phone, tossed it onto his jeans, and found his wallet, flipping it open. Two foil packets appeared in his hand and he ripped one packet off with his teeth, allowing the other to flutter to the floor. Reagan, impatient, snatched the foil from his hand, withdrew the latex, and rolled it down his cock and continued her caress so that she was cupping his balls. He retaliated by sliding his hands between her legs and pushing one, then two fingers into her, and Reagan felt her eyes roll back in her head.
God, she was going to come, on his fingers in the middle of the hallway. She felt that first pulse and groaned as Axl pulled out of her. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to wait, and then you’re going to come around my cock.”
“Now, now, now,” Reagan chanted as she launched herself at him, trying to climb him like a vine.
“Not against the front door, not this time.” Axl pulled her to the stairs. He dropped down, sat down, and pulled Reagan down onto his lap. He spread her legs so that she was sitting astride him, and Reagan instinctively dragged herself along his length, rubbing herself against his hardness.
Yes! This. Him. Now.
Axl placed both hands on her waist and forcibly lifted her, and when he dropped her, his aim was true and he entered her in one fluid, dynamic stroke. Reagan shouted and ground down on him. Within seconds they found their rhythm. She dropped as he lifted his hips, and the pleasure intensified until all she felt was a bright white light rushing toward her. She dimly heard Axl muttering hard, sexy words in her ear, encouraging her, but all she could want to do was to lose herself in that silver-gold light. Axl shifted his hips and slightly changed the angle of penetration, and Reagan screamed as the light envel
oped her, tossing her into a ride that was sheer exhilaration and utter abandon.
In his arms, his face in her neck and as close as two people could be joined, she was lost and found, filled with energy and deeply satisfied.
Sitting on Axl on a stair in a dark hallway in someone else’s house, Reagan felt, for the first time in forever, complete. Like she belonged.
***
Axl, still inside her, brushed her tousled hair back from her forehead and looked toward the window where early-morning light tried to peek around the heavy cream drapes. It was morning and his one night with Reagan was over.
It could only be a one-night stand. Neither of them wanted it to be more, neither of them could cope with more. He was her boss, her trainer, and he was responsible for her. Last night had been an aberration, a way for them to step out of their roles and to be someone else, or not be anyone at all for a little while. But it wasn’t real and it was over.
But it had been, bar none and by far, the best night of his life. Reagan, reserved and sometimes a little abrasive, was a talented lover, as demanding as he was. Between them there’d been no modesty. She’d been forthright and honest, quick to tell him what she liked and didn’t like him doing. Reagan had also been—praise be!—as keen on exploring his body as he had been on hers. There had been no getting-to-know-you or want-to-impress-you sex. It had been down and dirty, and it had been more like I-want-to-know-how-far-I can-push-you sex.
More like the type of sex people had when they had known each other a while and were really comfortable in bed together. Weird, and astonishing, for their first night together.
She was definitely skilled, and that made him wonder how often she did this, who she practiced with. The thought lacerated his heart and he felt acid in the back of his throat. He was a twenty-first-century guy and he knew what women were entitled to enjoy sex with whoever caught their fancy, but the thought of Reagan touching another man the way she did him made him feel bleak.
