Page 18 of That Girl is Trouble

“No touching, Axe,” I say again, a murmur in his ear.

He doesn’t drop his hands. Instead, his grip on my hips tightens, and he rolls me forward, once again trying to take that control from me, commanding my body to move like he wants.

And I’m letting him. Relinquishing the power I desperately cling to when I’m in this room, the power that’s always just out of reach when I’m anywhere near this fucking man.

When he moves his hands up my waist, a pulse flutters between my legs. And when he pulls me closer, the high I always chase slips away, leaving behind the same hunger I watched him fight every time I was in his bed, every time he let me brush my hands over his skin, every time I was lonely or scared and needed an outlet to just fucking let go and it was him I ran to.

Hunger is dangerous. Hunger needs to be sated. And right now, all I need to feed it is Axel fucking Donovan.

He lets out a quiet groan as he grinds me on his lap, the rise and fall of his chest quickening the faster he moves me. “Fuck Kat,” he breathes.

And god, I don’t want him to stop. I want him to move his hands higher and take off my bra. I want the pain of his teeth tugging at my nipples. I want him to push my panties aside, and I want to watch his face when he feels how wet I am for him.

I want him to show me that I’m his.

And I’ve always been his. Always. But he’s never been mine. I was too young. Just a kid. Not enough for a man like him.

But I’m not a kid anymore.

Doesn’t matter though. Axe still doesn’t belong to me. As evidenced by the crisp hundred-dollar bill tucked into my skirt. So Axe doesn’t get me—not the real me. He doesn’t get to take my power. He doesn’t wield the control here.

He gets the Kat he paid for, and the meter on her ran out the second the last song ended.

Another groan falls from his mouth as he skirts his lips over the top of my breasts.

I tip closer so his face presses tighter against my skin. “This worth it, Axe?” I ask bitterly, pulling away. “That hundred bucks? Did you get your money’s worth? Are you done with me now?”

His jaw flexes at those words. An echo of what he said to me before I left South Bay. I’m done with you, Kat.

Words I’ve sat with day in and day out for the last year. Axe was right. I was a stupid kid back then. Too often letting the fantasy of him play through my mind. The fantasy of us, where it didn’t matter that I was too young. Where I didn’t have to feel guilty about Jesse, about loving another man. Love. That was a fantasy too.

Axe’s face shifts back to cold, his sharp features pulling once more into that deep frown. His grip tightens on my waist, but instead of pulling me closer, he hoists me up and drops me next to him.

“That’s about enough, I think,” he says, hauling himself to his feet. The angry edge in his words makes my stomach flip. An angry Axe, when his voice is this calm, is never a good thing. Digging into his wallet once more, he pulls out several hundred-dollar bills and tosses them onto my lap. “Should cover another ten songs or so, yeah? Don’t fucking move until they’re done.”

“You can’t—”

“Kitty,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Keep your ass planted on that fucking couch until they’re over.”

I lift an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?”

Stepping forward, he looms over me, brings a hand to my chin, and tilts my face up. Looking at him is almost painful, because that heat is still there. Despite the anger, the frown, the disappointment marring his face, emotion swims in his eyes. Like he’s a heartbeat away from pulling me closer, kissing me, touching me. I clench my thighs together, once again fighting off the ache he induces, and those hungry eyes of his home in on the motion. They trace my legs, my stomach, my tits, before locking back with mine.

Leaning close, he says, “Fuck around and find out, Kat.”

He leaves me with that, stalking away and pushing through the curtained entrance.

And I don’t move. I sit and wait.

One song, two songs, three songs.

I only get up after the beat of that tenth song hits its final note.

7

Two Years Ago

November

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