Page 6

A xel didn’t want to remove his hand. For goodness’ sake, he wanted to touch her actual skin, to run his fingertips across every inch of her body. He yearned to demand she kneel before him and suck him off.

He was well aware that for the time being, it would have to remain a fantasy.

He hadn’t read her notebook. He’d been truthful.

Reading one page had been enough. His Baby Girl had anxiety, and everything scared her.

The last thing he wanted was to join that list of frightening things.

No, he had to gain her trust, to show her he would be her support, not something to flee from.

He had no idea how he was going to do that without fucking her brains out, but he had to try.

They entered the small apartment, and he reluctantly let go of her as she switched on the lights.

“It’s small,” she said apologetically. “New York is expensive and—”

“There’s no need to apologize. I lived in the city too and I was young and broke once.”

“Um ... you were?”

He laughed.

“I haven’t always been forty.” He made his way to her worn gray couch. Setting some throw pillows to one side, he sat down. “Yes, I paid my way through college and then got into, er, art consulting before I made enough money to open the bar.”

“How long has it been open?”

“A few years. I met, some ... um,” he hesitated unsure if he should tell her.

“Other shifters,” he finally said. Honesty was the best policy and there was no point in denying the truth from his mate.

His heart skipped several beats as he waited for her to say something.

He could sense her unease. Her gaze darted left and right and the vein in her neck throbbed in quick pulses.

“You must have questions,” he gently prodded her.

“I don’t want to be rude.”

“You won’t be.” He smiled encouragingly.

“What are you?” Her gaze lifted to his and dropped just as quickly. Her cheeks reddened and she hurried to busy herself picking up the contents of the coffee table.

“A lion.”

The glass she had been holding smashed into a thousand pieces.

She cursed quietly and bent over to retrieve it.

He stood and placed his palm on top of her head.

She froze. Desire coursed through him. One pull and she’d be at his crotch, one kiss away.

Not yet, you pervert. He sunk his fingers in her hair and bit back a growl of satisfaction.

Tugging lightly, he forced her to lift her head. She met his gaze, her eyes wide.

“Don’t be afraid, Baby Girl.” Slowly, he crouched so they were eye to eye. “I’m not going to hurt you, Alice. Never.” He released her hair and slid his hand down to cup her cheek. Grasping her chin, he kept her eyes pinned to his. “Tell me what is on your mind.”

She tried to shake her head, but his grip was tight. “No,” she said hoarsely.

“Tell me,” he demanded, lowering his voice an octave. Fear danced in her gentle brown eyes. “I will not judge you.” She shut her eyes, but he’d already seen tears gathering at the corners.

“You won’t?” she murmured.

“Never,” he said vehemently.

A long sigh escaped her body, and she softened in his grip. Somehow, she trusted him and it made his chest burst with pride.

“You’re the king of the jungle, and kings—lions—always have many, um, lionesses.”

“It might be so in the animal world, but we are something different. We have mates, Baby Girl, for life. No other is as alluring to us besides our mate. And then we have family.” He hesitated. “Our pack. Our pride.”

“There are more like you?”

“Yes. I have a pride.”

“Oh.”

“They are there when you need them. They have your back. We work together, but in the end, we are like any other family.”

“I see.”

“What about your family?”

She finally looked at him. He released her and she resumed picking up the pieces of glass.

“They’re nice. I love them. They’re family.”

“But?” he encouraged her to continue.

She gave him a fleeting smile and his heart almost burst from within its constraints. The animal within him purred, pleased with the progress.

“They’re critical. Nothing is good enough for them.”

“So, you’ve been brought up with the idea you should be perfect.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“No one is perfect.”

“That’s what my therapist says.” She snorted.

“But you are practically perfect for me.”

Her gaze reminded him of a trapped prey, wide-eyed and desperate. She scrambled to her feet.

“I’m going to throw this out,” she declared.

He allowed her to go to the kitchen alone.

Standing back up, he sat on the couch again and took in the petite apartment.

It was cozy, with some photos of the two girls who shared it on the wall along with a large-sized print of Henry Matisse’s, Cat With Red Fish .

He wondered if she was an art enthusiast. If she was, she’d love his place.

Patience, Axel.

They had made progress but there was no way she’d agree to go there, yet.

“Would you like something to drink?” she called from the kitchen.

“A glass of water would be nice.”

He heard her opening and closing cupboards, no doubt taking time to calm herself. Finally, she returned with two glasses of water in her hand.

“Here.” Just as she approached him, she tripped, sending part of the water splashing over him.

“I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed. She stared, obviously embarrassed and apparently unsure of what to do.

Axel chuckled. He took the glasses from her and placed them on the coffee table.

“Show me to the bathroom.”

She nodded and hurried down the hall. He followed.

“Here. I’ll get a clean towel.” He entered the blue-tiled bathroom.

His shirt was wet, but it was by no means drenched.

Nonetheless, a devious plan began to form in his mind.

His beast mewled in satisfaction. He undid the buttons on his shirt and took it off.

He didn’t need to turn around to know she had returned. Her gasp filled the space.

“Here,” she murmured. She stuck out the towel at arm’s length. He took a step forward coming into contact with the material.

“You got me wet. You should dry me.”

“What?” She stared at him but didn’t run away. Progress.

He grasped her wrist, gliding her hand across his chest. Her fingers flexed.

Her lips parted. He slid the towel across his body.

Her gaze became hooded. Her heart pounded.

Intense. Wild. It called to him. His cock hardened.

Her scent wafted up his nose. Desire spiraled through him.

The beast within him purred. More. More.

“That’s it,” he cooed.

Taking her other hand, he pressed her open palm to his pec. She didn’t resist. A low whisper of a moan escaped her lips. He growled in response. She glanced at him.

“This—”

“Is very good,” he praised her. “Continue, Baby Girl.”

Her gaze dropped again, and she focused on his chest. Slowly he released his grip on her. To his delight, she continued to caress him, almost like in a trance. He touched her shoulder, and she froze.

“Don’t stop, Baby Girl.”

“You have so many tattoos.” Her hand fell to her side.

He swore at himself for his impatience. He should have continued to let her explore at her own pace.

“Yes. They paint a picture of who I am. This one”—he pointed to the half-geometric lion below his heart—“is the symbol of my pride.”

“And that one?”

She pointed to the triskelion.

He frowned. He could lie, but what was the point?

“My tendencies in bed. BDSM.”

Her cheeks reddened so fast he thought she was going to faint.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t mean to pry.”

He grabbed her before she could run away and pulled her right against him.

Her gasp was music to his ears, but the fact she didn’t try to get away from him was solace to his soul.

He gently grasped her chin, forcing her gaze to him.

Her pupils were dilated and her lips parted.

Axel pushed the urge to kiss her to one side. Not yet.

“Have you ever tried BDSM?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

She averted her gaze. “No.”

“You’re lying, Alice. Don’t lie to me, Baby Girl.” He lowered his tone to a deep whisper. “I will always know.”