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“Then let me take care of you.” I slide my hands up her legs, over her thighs, and hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings. “Lean back and lift up a little.” Resting a hand on my shoulder for balance, she obliges and I ease both her pants and panties down her thighs. “That’a girl.”

I bend, kissing the soft skin inside her knees, making my way up her legs. Nadia isn’t one of these stick thin, thigh gap, kind of women. She’s fit from working out, but there’s still meat on herbones, and it’s hot as hell. The higher I move up, the more she starts to squirm, her thighs clamping closed.

“Settle down, T, ” I apply a little pressure, keeping her spread, and lick my lips, “let me eat your pussy.”

“Your mouth,” she says, falling back on the washer, “it’s filthy, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, welcome to sex with a preacher’s boy.” I swipe my fingers along her clit, already slippery wet. She hums at my touch, and I bend, getting a taste of her. She moans, her fingers raking through my hair as her hips rise to meet my mouth. “There we go.”

I’ve been with a lot of women, but never one that I wanted to please as much as Nadia. She deserves to feel safe. To let loose. To feel a man take care of her, without wanting something in return. I know I’ve done my job when her thighs start to tremble and her nails dig into my scalp. Her breathing grows heavy, chest rising and falling, the moan of pleasure in the back of her throat. Sucking on her clit, she shudders around me, knees clamping around my ears.

“Axel, oh my god,” she whispers.

The orgasm hits like a jolt, shuddering down her limbs. She holds onto me, clinging to my head, and damn, I can’t get enough.

Unfortunately, women get sensitive down there and as much as I hate it, she squirms away, uttering, “Wow.”

“Yeah?” I ask, giving her my hand and help her sit back up. Jesus, she looks even sexier now all flushed with an orgasm wearing my number. “Good?”

“Better than good. That was amazing.” She reaches out and runs her fingers over my mustache. “And that? Yeah, keep that.”

If it means I’ll get another chance with her, then I’m never shaving again.

“So, do you want me to…”

“Nope.” I take her hand and kiss her fingers. “That was all for you.”

12

Nadia

With every bonein my body feeling like it’s turned to liquid, we emerge from the laundry room, back into the party.

Can they tell Axel Rakestraw just gave me the best orgasm of my life? Does a woman look different after that?

I’d asked myself a similar question after my first time, when I lost my virginity to Will Holt. I was fifteen. He was twenty and one of my older brother’s best friends. Our next door neighbor that I’d had a crush on for years. His attention felt so good, and I knew he was experienced. I’d seen the girls he had come over, and they seemed so cool and confident. Like they knew some secret I was dying to know.

Axel’s fingers tighten around mine as he leads me through the kitchen, only stopping to grab a pizza box off the island. He slides me a heated look, either ignoring or unaware of the glares coming from Chantelle and the other puck bunnies. It’s not my first public walk of shame. No, that had come after Will Holt sent me home with cum still sticky between my legs. It is the first time the guy went down on me without asking for anything inreturn. It’s also the first time the man didn’t ditch me. Not yet anyway.

“Come upstairs?” he asks, his mouth close to my ear.

I nod, but call out, “Wait,” stopping to grab the canvas bag I’d left in the kitchen. I keep my eyes peeled for Reese and Twyler, but they’re probably playing quarters on the back porch or left early. Good. I don’t want to deal with either of them right now.

When we reach the stairs, he takes the bag from me. It’s heavy.

“What the hell did you bring?” he asks, moving to open it.

“You sent an SOS.” I attempt to snatch it back. “That’s my bag of tricks.”

The upstairs is quiet. I’ve never been up here before. Four doors line the walls, each closed. We pass one and I hear a muffled voice. “Christ, Sunshine, sure you can take it?” A groan follows, then, “Good girl.”

My eyes widen and Axel and I exchange a look. “Good girl?” I mouth, shocked. Those two are quieter than a church mouse back at the Teal House. “You listen to this when she sleeps over?”

“Yes,” he groans, opening the door to his room. He leads me inside, turning on the light on the bedside table. “Between their quiet, lovey-dovey sex, Reid and Darla fighting and then making up all the time, and Jefferson’s wall-fucking, it’s like drought conditions over here.”

“Poor baby,” I say, flashing him a sympathetic smile, then stop short at the state of his room. If Axel’s body is a diary of his life, his walls take it to the next level. It’s an explosion of personality.

There’s the obvious posters of sexy girls, suggestively holding hockey sticks while wearing thigh high athletic socks and knotted jerseys. But there are other pictures of players I assume are his idols, messy ink drawings that look like tattoo ideas.Over the cluttered desk is a long shelf of empty beer and liquor bottles–tokens from the last three and a half years. I spot stacks of spiral bound notebooks and can’t help but wonder what he’s writing in them.