Axe's Fall: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 4) by Chiah Wilder
Authors: Chiah Wilder
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step forward, Axe dragged her behind the tall fern trees and crushed her against his steel chest. With his hand tangled in her hair, he pulled her head back and covered her mouth with his. A small gasp escaped from her lips, and his tongue dove in. The kiss was deep, hard, and hot. Her body melted into his as she circled her arms around him, running her hands up and down his back. A powerful leg pried open her legs and he slipped it in-between, rubbing her pulsing mound with his knee. When she moaned, he broke away. Baylee looked at him, her eyebrows raised.
Burying his face in the space between her ear and neck, he nibbled her soft skin, whispering, “Yeah, keep telling yourself you don’t want me.” He patted her ass lightly, turned away, and waved. “Later, babe.”
Coming out from behind the ferns, Baylee watched Axe swagger to his Harley as her heart pounded against her chest. How could she act like such a hussy, and in a nice restaurant of all places? Every time she came into contact with Axe, it ended with their lips pressed together.
Taking out her compact mirror, she was horrified to see her swollen lips, flushed face, and the messy hair strands on her cheeks. Shaking her head, she ambled to the ladies room to fix herself up before returning to the office.
* * *
All through dinner, she pretended to listen to the conversation and laugh at Stan’s jokes, but her mind was on a tall, built, rugged sex god. At various times throughout the evening, she’d wished she’d taken Axe up on his offer.
Stan told another engineer joke. Right about now, Axe would be eating me out.
“That’s a good one, isn’t it, Baylee?” Logan asked, his ass-kissing at its all-time high.
She forced a laugh. “Sorry to break up all the gaiety, but I’m pretty tired. I’m going to call it a night.”
“It is getting late. I was enjoying myself so much, I lost track of the time,” Stan said.
After the bill was paid, she and Logan drove back to the hotel. Logan headed toward the bar. “Want a nightcap?” he asked.
“Nope. I didn’t sleep so well last night. I’m exhausted.”
As they stood there talking, the hairs on the back of Baylee’s neck crept up. An ominous feeling enveloped her. She glanced around quickly, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“Well, I’m going in. See you in the morning,” Logan said.
“Night,” Baylee replied.
Logan disappeared into the bar, and again, she sensed someone watching her. Trying to shrug off the uneasy feeling weaving its way through her body, she scanned the lobby again, her blood pumping fiercely. Over to the right, behind the thick marble pillar, a flash of khaki caught her eye. Someone was hiding behind the pillar. She knew it, felt it—she wasn’t imagining it. A group of people came into the lobby, chattering and laughing while they headed to the elevators. Baylee rushed to follow and blend in with them.
As they waited for the elevator, from the corner of her eye, Baylee noticed someone come from behind the pillar. She turned her head enough so she could see him. He was a tall, lean man in his late forties, wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He walked slowly toward the elevators.
Right before the door opened, one of the women in the group said, “It’s too damn early to turn in. Let’s get a drink in the bar.”
Her other companions readily agreed. Then they were gone, and Baylee, who seconds before was surrounded by people, was completely alone, exposed and vulnerable. The elevator door opened and she jumped in, pushing the number for her floor then the “close door” button frantically. Her pulse raced. The door has to close. Now.
The elevator started closing, and Baylee leaned against the cool, smoky-colored mirrored wall, letting out a relieved breath. She was safe. The door nearly shut, a hand slipped in, and it bounced open once more. The piercing gaze of the man behind the pillar locked on to hers.
“Oh,” she
Burying his face in the space between her ear and neck, he nibbled her soft skin, whispering, “Yeah, keep telling yourself you don’t want me.” He patted her ass lightly, turned away, and waved. “Later, babe.”
Coming out from behind the ferns, Baylee watched Axe swagger to his Harley as her heart pounded against her chest. How could she act like such a hussy, and in a nice restaurant of all places? Every time she came into contact with Axe, it ended with their lips pressed together.
Taking out her compact mirror, she was horrified to see her swollen lips, flushed face, and the messy hair strands on her cheeks. Shaking her head, she ambled to the ladies room to fix herself up before returning to the office.
* * *
All through dinner, she pretended to listen to the conversation and laugh at Stan’s jokes, but her mind was on a tall, built, rugged sex god. At various times throughout the evening, she’d wished she’d taken Axe up on his offer.
Stan told another engineer joke. Right about now, Axe would be eating me out.
“That’s a good one, isn’t it, Baylee?” Logan asked, his ass-kissing at its all-time high.
She forced a laugh. “Sorry to break up all the gaiety, but I’m pretty tired. I’m going to call it a night.”
“It is getting late. I was enjoying myself so much, I lost track of the time,” Stan said.
After the bill was paid, she and Logan drove back to the hotel. Logan headed toward the bar. “Want a nightcap?” he asked.
“Nope. I didn’t sleep so well last night. I’m exhausted.”
As they stood there talking, the hairs on the back of Baylee’s neck crept up. An ominous feeling enveloped her. She glanced around quickly, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“Well, I’m going in. See you in the morning,” Logan said.
“Night,” Baylee replied.
Logan disappeared into the bar, and again, she sensed someone watching her. Trying to shrug off the uneasy feeling weaving its way through her body, she scanned the lobby again, her blood pumping fiercely. Over to the right, behind the thick marble pillar, a flash of khaki caught her eye. Someone was hiding behind the pillar. She knew it, felt it—she wasn’t imagining it. A group of people came into the lobby, chattering and laughing while they headed to the elevators. Baylee rushed to follow and blend in with them.
As they waited for the elevator, from the corner of her eye, Baylee noticed someone come from behind the pillar. She turned her head enough so she could see him. He was a tall, lean man in his late forties, wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He walked slowly toward the elevators.
Right before the door opened, one of the women in the group said, “It’s too damn early to turn in. Let’s get a drink in the bar.”
Her other companions readily agreed. Then they were gone, and Baylee, who seconds before was surrounded by people, was completely alone, exposed and vulnerable. The elevator door opened and she jumped in, pushing the number for her floor then the “close door” button frantically. Her pulse raced. The door has to close. Now.
The elevator started closing, and Baylee leaned against the cool, smoky-colored mirrored wall, letting out a relieved breath. She was safe. The door nearly shut, a hand slipped in, and it bounced open once more. The piercing gaze of the man behind the pillar locked on to hers.
“Oh,” she
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