Let's check in on #Axria in Athens ;)
P.S. Fellow Ackleholics, please note Jensen in the PG-13 gif that has been posted with this scene (Jensen Ackles -> Acksel -> Axel!) Yummy 8)
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Scene 2: Striking Golde
A.D. 2015
Waking up with Axel was always the best and the worst both at once. The best, because it felt so freaking right. The worst, because that feeling meant that everything was wrong.
She ignored this for a moment as she kept her eyes closed tight, though woken, just to focus on the smooth swell of his chest, to which her cheek was pressed, the only place her weary head had ever known true rest. To shut out all the world, to soak in just how good he smelled, and felt, how completely his heartbeat made her forget everything else. The best.
The worst. Atria forced her eyes open so as not to get lost. Her first sight was the clock at their bedside. She blinked at the bright digits, counting about... thirty-six hours since they'd started this sex marathon, after her heated arrival at his hotel room the other night.
Thirty-six. A day and a half. May as well have been a minute and a half; it always went so fast, as if time collapsed with each second that passed. Nothing that was so good and bad at once was meant to last.
A.D. 2013
Damn. If only every man's chest felt this awesome to wake up against. Then again, that would be very bad, because then she would miss the feeling after every one-night stand she had. Not that she was going to miss this feeling, Atria inwardly denied as she remained just where she lay, awake and yet not opening her eyes. Not one bit. No, not as long as she just let herself stay here and bask in it for one more minute...
"How long you been awake, babe?"
Agh! Shıt! Also - 'babe'?! She wished he had just stuck with 'bitch'. She had demanded that he call her that in bed, since that was always how she liked it - that and other similar words, or else 'Mistress' of course when the roles were reversed - but the point was that she had rules, very clear rules, against anything cuddly or cutesy in bed. And they were still in bed now, damn it. So he really should have listened.
"Hm?" Atria hummed, making a show of fluttering her long lashes, as if with her first waking blink. "What? You just woke me up."
His chest thrummed with a soft little chuckle. "Liar."
"Shut your facehole," she snapped, shifting to look up at him, then dealt his cheek a sharp, playful slap, partly because she had almost forgotten just how fυcking perfect that face of his was. If she couldn't kiss it, then she obviously had to slap it instead. And she sure as hell could never kiss this man again or else she knew she would be dead.
"Heh. 'Facehole'," he echoed with another chuckle. "That's cute."
She rolled her eyes, rolling over and slightly away from him at the same time. Unable to handle the exquisitely excruciating closeness. "Ugh. 'Cute' my ass."
His hand started wandering down toward said ass. "That's cute, too..."
"Didn't I tell you to shut it?" Atria grumbled, inching away from his touch, even though she'd never wanted anything so much. "And hey, don't you have to be at work or something? Figure you must have some high-powered job to pay for..." she waved her hand around the room in which she'd spent most of this weekend since first meeting him, only now taking in the sleek, streamlined furniture, which was all no doubt imported from abroad, the state-of-the-art finishes and fixtures, the penthouse views that stretched across New York and probably across the world, "...for all of this. Unless you were just born into it."
"As if," he muttered, golden-green gaze dark and deep as he briefly remembered a past he would rather forget. "I was born into shıt."
Oh, perfect - just what she needed, Atria bitterly mused. Now this guy was not only a criminally gorgeous god of sex, but also apparently had a fυcked up childhood that had left him with serious issues. That meant that the two of them had way too much in common. Hell forbid she should ever make the mistake of bonding over shıt with him, if - hypothetically - she were ever to allow herself to sleep with him, or even to see him, again.
Surveying his affluence-exuding master bedroom further, she realized why she hadn't noticed just how nice it was before. Because it hadn't even mattered. For thirty-six hours, the slut who had spent so much of her life gold-digging hadn't given half a shıt whether or not this guy was rich. She had happily spent a day and a half in his bed all the same. Which would be ironic, she reflected as she spotted something on the far wall labeled 'Golde', if that happened to be his last name. After all that digging, maybe she'd accidentally struck it.
"Yeah, the firm's pretty high-powered," he broke through her thoughts, confirming her inference about his line of work. "But I own it, so no boss is gonna bust my ass for being late. Or skipping a few days."
Skipping a few days? Was he... implying something? If he was, she'd have to kill him.
He shifted in the bed, turning toward the nightstand. "Wow."
"What?" she asked, thinking wow herself at the sight of his ass. That settled it; no way in hell she was killing that.
"Were we really going at it for, like, thirty-six hours straight?"
"Yeah, I guess." Atria shrugged, as if she weren't also impressed - which she was, of course, because they'd literally gone nonstop for a day and a half. She glanced down at the sheets. Pretty much a pornographic Pollock painting at this point, since he'd had the bright idea of bringing sundae toppings into the bedroom on Sunday. "Your bed's a mess."
"So are we," he pointed out. "Did you expect anything less?"
Figures fυckface would make her feel stupid for stating the obvious.
"Shıt," he swore under his breath as he settled onto his back again, staring at the ceiling, offering her a prime view of his chiseled profile, which was almost as striking as the view of his backside. "All I've eaten for thirty-six hours is whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and you." Of course he turned to face her at the last word. Freaking cruel.
Instead of jumping out of bed and bolting far away from his apartment like she should have, she found herself succumbing to his charms, in the silliest way she could have. "Which was the sweetest?"
He pursed his deliciously full lips for a second as if in deep thought. "Tossup between syrup and whip-"
"Liar," she snickered.
"Why'd you ask if you know the answer?"
"To hear you say it, stupid."
"Yeah? Well, how about instead of saying it..." he shifted toward her, every move of his too damn hot to be true, knowing full well that she couldn't resist him even if she wanted to, "...I show you."
The next few minutes were the mind-blowing best. And the worst, because Atria found herself freaking wishing that she knew his name, to scream it every night for the rest of her life. Which couldn't possibly be right.
Equally wrong was the fact that she wanted to return the favor, as soon as his sinfully talented mouth was finished with her - not on an impulse of sexual etiquette or whatever, which in any event she had always ignored, but rather out of her own actual desire - and that she actually enjoyed it even more. Which couldn't possibly be possible.
"Damn," he sighed afterward, entire body drained and heaving, distant gaze set on something far beyond the ceiling. "I'd so do that all over again, but I think I need some real food soon. Freaking starving."
"Me too," she breathed, absentmindedly licking her lips and savoring the lingering taste of him. Though nothing tasted better, her stomach was growling. But then she quickly realized where this might be going. Hell to the no. She cleared her throat. "I, uh - I don't do... breakfast with people. Like after one-night stands. Or two-night stands. It's against my religion."
He paused, but only for about a millisecond. The pause probably hadn't even really happened. "Right. Same here."
As if on cue, his phone started buzzing from somewhere nearby. "You should get that. It was blowing up all of yesterday," she told him.
"Shıt, was it really?" he groaned. "How'd you even hear that?"
"How'd you not?"
He shrugged, sitting up. "Guess your moans were louder than mine. Probably went deaf from you screaming in my ear all that time."
Atria would've slapped him hard for that, if he were facing her right now. But he was already out of bed, rifling through the clothes on the floor for his phone. He found it right at the end of the current ringtone. She saw his face fall as he scrolled through his missed calls.
"Shıt. It's my kid brother, and seems urgent; I better go meet him." He grabbed his nearest pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Clothes that he wouldn't mind getting soiled with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and thirty-six hours' worth of sex. And he looked equal amounts hot and cute, damn him, in a hoodie and sweats. "But hey - stay here while I'm gone, okay?"
The worst thing was that she was glad he has asked. She tried to hide that mortifying fact. "Why?"
"You really think I've had enough of you, or you of me?"
She bit her lip as he came back toward the bed, fully clothed now but no less delicious. So much so that she was practically drooling.
Or apparently actually drooling, she realized with embarrassment as his thumb reached down and gathered something wet from her lip. Smirking like the devil he was, he lifted it up to his own mouth and licked it. "I guess we'll see."
No, no, no. No one was going to see anything. She was so done here and had to be thankful to his kid brother for giving her an easy way out, since she was evidently too goddamn weak to free herself from this sexy beast when he was actually around.
As soon as the door closed behind him, she quickly washed up, gathered her stuff, and... fυck. Her dress was literally torn to shreds. If she was going anywhere, she'd have to borrow some sort of clothing from him - walking the streets stark naked seemed a bit extreme even by Atria's standards.
Fumbling through his closet - trying not to get high on the intoxicating manly scent suffusing everything he owned - she finally found a cheap-looking T-shirt that was large enough to function as a dress, for her. Whatever she took from him today would have to be somewhat disposable, since he was most definitely never going to see it again.
She threw it on and headed out, stopping in one of the rooms to grab a scrap of paper and a pen to scrawl a note to him. Meant to only mention the shirt, at first, but then... the words sort of kept coming: 'Had to take one of your shirts. Sorry. It looked pretty cheap so I hope you won't miss it. And thanks for the 3600~~~ orgasms. Best 36 hours of my life. Never happening again. If you try to find me you'll regret it. Have a great life - you'll be better off staying out of mine. I promise.'
Just like the shirt she had taken, Atria knew that she was cheap shıt, so no matter how epic their time intertwined might have been, she hoped he wouldn't miss it. At least not as much as she already did.
The pen was still in her hand, tip poised against the paper. Why? What else could she possibly have to say? Her eyes then rose from the note to find that she was standing in front of a mirror. And happened to notice that the T-shirt was printed with an image of the Eiffel Tower. Not that it mattered, but it made her think of something for some reason, made her add another line: 'P.S. Here's some breakfast as a parting gift.'
Though she rarely ever cooked, there were a few things that Atria could whip up, from the limited time she had spent in the kitchens of previous sugar daddies. One of these things happened to be crepes. A recipe she'd learned while briefly shacking up with some guy whose mother had owned a creperie in Paris.
She found everything she needed in the well-stocked pantry of this fancy penthouse kitchen, luckily, and soon enough the crepes were done. There was also lots more whipped cream and chocolate syrup in his fridge, she noticed - cursing herself for being freaking jealous at the thought of him having a sexy sundae Sunday with anyone else - which might've been part of the reason that she slathered his crepes with the stuff, to use it up. Either way, the end result looked scrumptious.
By the time she had finished, barely half an hour had passed since he'd left. So she was sure that she was safe. Whatever was up with his little brother, there was no way that it could've been addressed so fast, she reassured herself. So with that, she began on her way out and...
...walked straight into him. Ugh. She should've known even just from last night, the moment they'd met, that the man was fast like that. A fυcking animal.
"Hey," he greeted her, a wildly gorgeous smile lighting up his face, clearly glad that she had stayed. Eyed the table behind her. "Are those crepes?"
She tried to play it cool. And this time, not to drool. "Yeah."
"With whipped cream and chocolate syrup," he noted.
Atria shifted uneasily. Her gaze then fell to the paper bag in his hands, from which she could pick up a fragrance of floury, sugary goodness, not too different from the aroma wafting through the kitchen. "What's in the bag?"
He set the bag aside and pulled out a to-go box, let her see what was inside.
She stared. "Crepes. With whipped cream and chocolate syrup."
"Looks like we got the same great taste," he remarked with a wink.
"I told you I don't do breakfast with people."
He gestured at the kitchen table. "Then what's that?"
"That's just... for you," she stated. It was true. "I was heading out."
"And this-" he replied, effortlessly blocking her way toward the door and holding out the crepes he'd bought for her, "-is just for you. Figured if you ended up staying, you'd deserve a little something."
Atria blinked. "Well, I don't deserve it." She didn't deserve anything.
"Yes you do," he insisted, seeming to mean it, which was bullshıt.
"Why are you doing this?" Why did he have to so torturously exist?!
"Because I want to. Because I want you."
She would die before saying how badly she wanted him, too. But maybe she didn't have to. Maybe instead of saying anything, she could just...
Before she could say or do anything, though, he had moved past her toward the table, having glimpsed the note that she had left. Raised his gaze to meet hers once he'd read it. "Maybe I will regret this, but I really don't give a shıt."
"You should," she warned him, meaning it and wishing he would. "I sure as hell do."
He crumpled the note in his fist and came toward her again. "Tell me you want to leave, that you honestly want to, and I'll let you."
When he came close, like this, she couldn't tell him anything. Let alone a lie, when her entire soul and body were laid bare beneath the molten golden-green heat of his eyes...
Then her own eyes strayed over his shoulder to the clock on the wall behind him, and she jumped on the excuse it could provide. "Oh, look - it's 12:01," she blurted, brushing past him into the kitchen. "We don't have to break our no-breakfast religion. Time for lunch; thank all the fυcking gods, I'm starving."
Regardless of the time, this was all still monumentally not right, Atria reminded herself as they sat at his table and ended up sharing the two sets of crepes, which made everything even more effed up.
"Which is better?" she stupidly asked him at one point.
"Why ask when you know the answer?" he teased through another mouthful of the crepes that she had made him. "Mmm. Best crepes I ever had in the States. But I gotta say they make them better in this one place..."
"You mean Paris? Or is that just an excuse to stare at my tits."
He smiled, nodding at both, ogling the Eiffel Tower on her shirt.
And as he did, she saw something in his gaze that freaked her the absolute fυck out. "Are you thinking some crazy stupid shıt?"
His ravishing eyes simply blinked. Which wasn't helping things.
"Look, whatever... this is," she indicated the idiocy of their present crepe situation, "we are never going to Paris together. Ever."
"Who said anything about going together?" he answered with a playfully raised brow, rendering her speechless now, with those words and then with the forkful of syrup-and-whip-smothered crepe that he fondly shoved in her face, followed by a deep French kiss to get a taste. "Guess you did. Now who's looking crazy stupid."
And she knew she did. But in this moment as she leant in toward him for another deeper, longer kiss, regretting everything and nothing all at once, she really didn't give a shıt.
A.D. 2015
"How long you been awake, babe?"
Ugh, times like this she hated him almost as she loved him - which she... didn't, so that wasn't really saying much of anything. "Depends," she replied. "If I said you just woke me up, would you know I was lying?"
He smiled as she shifted to look up at him. "Like always."
Something about that smile - aside from being hot enough to set her soul on fire - briefly made her wonder whether she could say the same of him, if ever he should lie to her... but she dismissed it. Didn't matter. "So, what's the deal with work? Boss just ditched the firm to take a Eurotrip?"
"Yep. One of the many perks of being boss. Get to skip out whenever I want just to fly halfway across the world for some crazy hot sex."
"Mmm," she purred, running her fingers in a long, sultry line from his rippling abs to his firm, sculpted chest. "I like your perks. Don't ever quit this line of work."
His breathing hastened at her touch, only the slightest bit, but even so she didn't miss it. "Wouldn't dream of it, babe."
"And quit calling me that," she spat. "You flew here for some crazy hot sex, and that's all either of us is going to get, out of... this. Got it?"
"Yeah, of course. After everything that's happened, what else did you think I would ever want you for?" he murmured the words, in his sex voice as her hand wandered back downwards, as if they were obvious, clearly not meaning to hurt. Which made it sort of worse, for her. "Just raw sex between two irredeemable monsters."
"Mm-hmm," she concurred, not really meaning it, hating herself for everything she felt.
"I'll just be your next sugar daddy," he went on. "Like all the other moneybags you've drained. No difference. And if you ever start feeling that I'm not like the others again, thinking that crazy stupid way, then..."
"Then I'll just get the fυck out."
He paused, but only for about a millisecond. The pause probably hadn't even really happened. "Right."
"Good."
"Great."
And to spite every damned thing she felt, every damned word she'd heard, every goddamned thing Axel Golde did to her, she just descended and lost everything in his scent and his taste. Times like this were the best and the worst, because she completely lost sight of the difference between good and bad, and between love and hate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hope all of my dear #Axria fans enjoyed this scene as much as I loved writing it!! This couple is sort of my own guilty pleasure as an author, hehe...
Next scene, we'll visit Clotho in B.C., and maybe learn a little more about Lachesis's plan...
** And if you liked this one, please don't forget to vote! :) **