Page 88 of That Girl is Trouble

“Fuck,” he groans, and then his face changes. Gone is that desperation. Gone is that softness and vulnerability. He gives me a dark smile, his eyes glinting. “Pull out your tits.”

I hesitate, and he uses that opportunity to force my mouth open wider, pressing me down as far as he’ll fit. I choke, but he holds me where he wants me, despite my struggle to breathe.

“Kat,” he warns.

In response, I tug my white tank top and bra down, pulling out my breasts.

Closing his eyes, he pumps into my mouth over and over again, and just when I think he’s about to come, he pulls out and jerks his hot load all over my chest.

Axe lets out a long exhale and smirks down at me, his eyes raking over my skin coated in his spunk. He tucks his dick back into his pants. “Love what you fucking look like when you’ve got my cock in your mouth.”

I snort. “Yeah, I bet.” Looking around, I spot a roll of paper towels on the shelf behind him and motion to it. “Can you pass me those? So I can, um—”

“No.”

I cock my head. “No?”

Grabbing my hands, he pulls me to standing. Then he tugs my bra and tank top back into place. His cum immediately soaks into the fabric. He zips up my hoodie tight to my throat, covering the sticky, dripping mess he left on my skin.

“You wear that all night,” he says, and before I can argue or tell him how insane that is, he pulls me into a hard kiss.

Much like his belt, and his fucking, and the way he took my mouth, it’s punishing. Possessive. A heavenly kind of threat I can’t get enough of.

“Only my hands get to touch this,” he whispers against my lips. He finds my bare ass, and I flinch at the contact, my sore skin screaming under his touch. “No Sinners. No other men. No one else. This is mine.”

His.

Men like Axe don’t do dating. They do this. They make your heart start and stop over and over again. They make your head dizzy and your skin hot. They set your everything on fire. I may not understand exactly what this is, but I know one thing.

Axel Donovan fucking owns me. The question is how long he’ll keep me this time.

24

My heart beats frantically, pounding against my ribs as I wait for an attack. When it doesn’t come, that only makes the unease thrashing in my stomach set in harder.

I swallow it down. Five deep breaths. Now’s not the time to let my nerves guide my body.

I move my attention to my squad, and six pairs of eyes stare back at me. Well, seven, I guess, because my sister is stationed in the corner, half-drunk, wearing a bored expression with her whiskey spiked coffee gripped firmly in her hand as she’s jolted up and down from the movement of our inflatable base.

She gives me an impatient look, but I ignore her. This isn’t over until I say it is. Until we win.

“What do we do now, Ms. Kitty?” Tucker, a small boy with reddish brown hair and freckles, asks.

He can’t be older than eight, but he’s been by my side since the beginning, and right now, it’s loyalty I value most. Can’t win a war when the troops aren’t ready to die for the cause. Or at least get tossed around a little.

The community centre gymnasium has been transformed into an inflatable kingdom, with two opposing bouncy castles, an inflatable drawbridge surrounded by a bottomless pit of foam, and a surprisingly difficult obstacle course that finishes with a jump into a four-foot deep ball pit. The South Bay Christmas Market takes up the entirety of the downtown area today, and we’ve been locked in a bouncy land battle for the better part of an hour.

“Listen up, soldiers,” I say steadily, gripping a foam sword in one hand and a plastic ball in the other. We raided the ball pit, gaining an advantage with the use of projectiles, but our strategy came at great cost, and unfortunately, the enemy is now in possession of over half of our ammo stores. I can’t count how many times I’ve taken one in the face, and unfortunately, two grown-ass men have much better aim than an army of children.

I give each kid a long, serious look before speaking. “I know it looks bleak. And those men out there? Yeah, they’re bigger. They’re stronger. They have the high ground. And yes. Most of us have eaten our fair share of foam,” I say, eyeing Lucas, who’s been tossed into the pit so many times I’m starting to think the little dude enjoys it.

“Doing great,” Triss adds sarcastically. “Very inspiring.”

“But you know what we have that they don’t?” I ask, ignoring her.

“Um…” Emma says, looking around the interior of our red base, brown eyes wide as she tugs nervously on her ponytail. “Nothing?”

“No!” I shout, making them all jump. “We have each other. We outnumber them eight to two. And—”

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