Axel’s own heart has crawled its way into his throat as he waits for her to tell him the truth, that he willnevercompare.
Sunday raises up her fingers, finding his face, they trace along his jaw. “But he isnothinglike you. I love you, Axel. Every single psychotic, chaotic, impulsive part.”
Axel moves his hands from her face to her waist, and then he is crashing his lips to hers fervidly. The insecurities that he had kept at bay for as long as he could, dissolved in a matter of seconds.
That was the magic of Sunday. She held his heart and soul in the palm of her hands.
She was his literal lifeline.
His fingertips brush inside of her shirt as he grips her tightly, lifts her onto the back of his bike. Sunday’s lips move against his, as if they are challenging him, as if they are accepting him, as if they are made for him.
Her hands drift from his jaw to his pants and then she is unbuttoning them, attempting to shove them down.
“Sunday,” he warns, releasing her lips.
Her face is cast in shadows, but her piercing eyes hold his.
“Axel,” she dares him.
“Fuck!” His moves become more frantic. He raises her off the bike one-handedly to remove her shorts. Leaving her exposed, her bare pink cunt on full display.
He reaches behind her, to the storage on the bike and pulls out a condom.
She chuckles. “You literally left those everywhere,” she says in explanation.
Axel narrows his eyes at her as he kicks off his pants, as he frees his cock from his boxers, as he puts the condom on the tip.
“Put it on for me,” he demands.
Her attention is focused on his cock as her hand moves cautiously forward.
The first time he had her, he was in no rush. But right now? He is aching for her. To re-establish their connection, to put all of his worries to rest, to stamp himself deep and firmly into Sunday.
She pauses with her hand touching the condom, her eyes flash to his. “I had sex with Darius earlier today.”
“I know.” Axel flares his nostrils.
“And again, downstairs on the couch.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to make up for lost time.” He thrusts forward into her hand, the condom sliding into place. “Good job, Little Lamb.”
She bristles at the nickname, just as she always does. But that is exactly what she is, what she will always be.
He positions between her legs, his hands making their way back to her waist. He isn’t sure if the bike will be sturdy enough for this, but he’s going to try.
“I still haven’t forgiven you for being the bait.” And he hasn’t.
Sunday glares at him. “Everyone is safe and unscathed. You can’t possibly still be upset.”
He lines himself up, and thrusts hard and fast into her. “I can.”
Sunday lets out a startled moan.
She is warm. Wet. Tight. Constricting.
She strangles his cock, a vice, and his balls tighten as the pleasure nearly engulfs him. One of his hands moves to her neck, his other remaining on her waist. And then he rocks into her, the bike attempting to fall out from under them as he continues.
“Axel!” She reaches between them, rubbing her own clit.
