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Chapter two

Axel

I t’s nine thirty, and my little devil still isn’t here.

I thought for sure the stomachache I feigned to stay in for the night would pay off in the form of a sexy stranger knocking on my door, or screaming in my bed with no one the wiser, but with each passing minute hope starts to fade.

Maybe I came on too strong. I tried not to, but after traveling all over the world, I know firsthand he’s one of a kind, and I couldn’t help myself.

I was lost to him the second I saw the ripple of his abs in that sexy as fuck half-shirt, something I should probably be trying to analyze since abs have never been my thing before, especially on a man, but here we are.

Truthfully, I think it was the reddish plaid skirt that first caught my attention.

I love a nice set of legs, so it makes sense I’d notice pretty ones poking out of a skirt.

The combat boots should’ve tipped me off that something was amiss, but lots of girls can pull off an edgy look that skews masculine, so I didn’t give it much thought.

Then I saw those abs. Lean and cut, but also smooth, and I swear my mouth started to water from the visual of trailing my lips over that taut skin.

That’s right about the time I realized I was actually looking at a dude, but by then my cock had already made up its mind.

It was intrigued.

Generally speaking, men aren’t my thing.

I’ve objectively looked at a few since my best friend is bi and I'm supportive, but until today I’ve never been able to do more than merely acknowledge someone is good looking.

Now, for the first time in my twenty-nine years, my dick has decided it doesn’t want to be objective.

I’m game.

I thrive on new challenges, so being out of my element isn’t a deterrent. I blame the red skirt as much as the man wearing it. Little devil.

I finger the lacy black briefs he gave me before I left, more than a little turned on by the idea of something so delicate being worn by a man.

I didn’t even know men's lingerie existed, let alone made of lace and designed to look like tiny boxers, and now I’m practically salivating over the need to see them on his sexy body, much like how I ogled him in that sexy outfit at lunch.

For the entire meal, I could hardly take my eyes off him, but the longer I watched, I realized it wasn’t just his classically good looks that had me captivated.

I mean, the swoopy blond hair and jaw that was halfway between square and pointy made for a pretty picture, but the way he seemed to float around the tables and coax smiles from each and every one of them was fucking infectious.

Slinging food and drinks is hard work, especially in the high-altitude sun, but he seemed to vibrate doing it, like it was his calling.

His passion. I get that on a visceral level.

Not the serving part—that actually sounds like a nightmare—but making a living doing what you love…

There’s no better way to live, in my opinion, and I’m drawn to people who possess that quality the same way I do.

My little devil was clearly in his element.

He had me so distracted I barely got through the meal. Fortunately, the guys thought I was merely preoccupied by the amazing ride we just finished, not salivating over a stranger that I had the inexplicable urge to acquaint myself with intimately.

If they had any idea what was going through my mind… I can barely understand it, let alone explain it, but the numbness in my chest, the way I struggled for breath… That shit’s not normal. Not for me, and not over a dude. I knew right then and there I couldn’t just walk away.

That should freak me out—wanting to claim him the way I do.

And to a degree it does, although not so much for the gender thing as for the intensity of it all, since this level of desire is completely foreign to me.

But I push the limits for a living, so backing down isn’t something I know how to do, even when venturing into virgin territory. Literally .

Rubbing the thin fabric between my fingers, the next best thing to touching him, I marvel over the fact they’re in my hands to begin with.

They aren’t the first pair of underwear I’ve been given—women like to throw their panties at guys on the podium—but they’re the first pair I ever asked for, and the only pair I plan to keep.

I glance at the clock again, cursing when I realize it’s now a quarter to ten.

Where is he? Did I go too far by touching him, threatening to slip my fingers beneath his skirt?

No, I saw the heat flare in his eyes. He wants to be in my bed as much as I want him there.

Or he did. He might have talked himself out of it in the several hours since I’ve seen him.

He clearly thinks I have a fast and loose lifestyle, so it’s possible his hesitation over that might’ve trumped his lust once I was out of sight.

Even though he looked a smidge guilty when I told him he doesn’t know me well enough to judge, which was a little harsh, that doesn’t mean he’ll give me a clean slate to start from.

My slate isn’t as dirty as he may think, though.

I’m no saint, but my career is more important to me than my sex life.

I don’t exactly run around chasing pussy when I’m touring; I have more restraint and focus than that.

When the mood strikes, I’m game, but like I told my devil earlier, most times I’d prefer to ride my bike than a man.

I may have left out the part about him being the only man I’ve ever wanted to ride, but that doesn’t make the comment any less true.

That’s not a good thing for my career—regardless of gender relationships are challenging in my world—but with his lacy briefs in my hand, my day job isn’t on the top of my mind.

I bring the fabric to my nose and inhale his musky scent. It’s still there—he was leaking earlier just like I suspected—which makes me believe I wasn’t too forward. It fills me with hope that he’ll show up tonight, because those few stolen moments in the hallway were not nearly enough.

Just as I’m trying to convince myself he feels what I do, finally , the doorbell echoes throughout the house. The wave of relief that washes over me is rivaled only by the sensation of standing on the podium, trophy in hand.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” My eyes glide over him as I open the door. He’s just as stunning in the moonlight as in the bright Colorado sun; shoulders back, chin tipped up to see me, mouth slightly parted.

“I almost didn’t.” His soft murmur is a stark contrast to the way his eyes flare as they take me in.

“Why did you?” I lean against the doorframe, feigning nonchalance.

“I wanted my briefs back. ”

“I sort of want to give them back.” I rub the fabric between my fingers. “I’ve never seen a guy in lingerie, and I bet you look hot as fuck in this scrap of lace.”

He shivers slightly under my gaze. Or maybe it’s the cool evening air kissing his bare shoulders; he’s dressed as he was earlier. Just like I asked.

“You wore the skirt.” I reach for his hand with the one that isn’t holding his shorts and pull him inside.

His eyes flit to my lips as he passes me and comes to a stop in the foyer, giving me time to admire the trim abdomen that stopped me in my tracks earlier. “I didn’t see any reason to go home and change.”

“Because you knew you wouldn’t be wearing it long?” I bite my tongue to mask the smirk in my voice. I hope that didn’t scare him off.

“Because I knew I wouldn’t be staying.” He turns toward me and holds out his hand, a blank stare painted on his face. Too blank. Like he’s trying really hard to mask his expression.

Instead of giving him the briefs, I bring them to my face and inhale, noting how that makes him hold his breath like he did in the hallway at the restaurant. “These say otherwise.” I float him a wink.

His lips part on a shaky inhale.

“A pair of underwear that smell like me are hardly evidence that I want you.” He dismisses my taunt as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, which makes his biceps bulge as the half shirt rides a few inches higher.

My eyes yearn to dip lower, to drink in those rippled abs I want to map with my tongue, which my little devil must sense since he arches a brow, daring me to keep my eyes on his.

I have to bite the inside of my lip, but my gaze doesn't wander.

“There are other ways to settle this debate, if you don’t believe me.” I inhale his scent again, and I swear his eyelids flutter before the mask goes back into place.

“How?” There’s a raspy quality to his voice that makes my cock want to get in on the banter. Of course, that could also be due to the fact that I don’t usually have to work this hard to get someone in my bed, and I’m finding this challenge highly erotic.

“Let me touch you.” I take a step forward, and he takes one back, over and over again, until his back hits the wall, and I frame him between my arms, just like I did at the restaurant. Why is this little dance so satisfying?

“There’s no one here. Not a single soul to see or interrupt us.” I run my nose along his smooth jaw, smiling to myself when I hear his breathing hitch. My dick swells with desire. “Please, let me touch you.”

It's quiet for a beat, and I lose myself in the depths of his coffee brown eyes before he opens that lush little mouth to speak. “Why do you want this so bad?”

If only I could answer that.

Absent a good response, I close the gap between our bodies, pressing my chest against his. “Why do you fight it so much?” I kiss the spot where his neck meets his shoulders, feeling him shiver beneath my lips. My cock presses painfully against the zipper of my jeans.

“I don’t like the way you make me feel.” He presses his lips together as if that’s his final word, but the way his pulse beats in his neck says otherwise.