The Marriage Swap

20 | 𝙵𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎

So deep, you sowed deceit in my heart

How do I ever believe again?

Love would always be a masquerade

Trust, a questionable bargain.

~ from Axel's notes

--------᪥-------

☘︎ Eᴠᴇ Kᴀᴠɪɴsᴋʏ ☘︎

Kissing Axel is like a dead star coming alive, like snuffed out embers lightning up and creating fire.

The feel of the softness of his hair, the hardness of his jaw, the intricate shape of his lips molding against mine, it was akin to a soul breathed into a dead being, water to a drought land. So, so bewitching. So, so devastating.

I gasp, stepping back, eyes wide. "I—"

Before I can let the shocked apology at my reckless action slip past, he invades my space, his scent capturing my senses like an addictive aprosodiac, dark eyes holding me captive.

Axel grabs me by the waist, flipping us around effortlessly so that my back is against the wall now. His left arm rests next to my head on the flat surface, the other going to my throat once more, feeling the thrumming pulse. I faintly recollect that his shoulder is in a gauze, that straining his arm that way was going to hurt but all rational thought escapes me when he presses down on my pulse, evoking a sharp breath out of me.

"You're not sorry, Eve. At all." He whispers, then his lips devour mine.

And boy, he could kiss.

The hand on my throat slide up to my jaw, long fingers spanning across my cheek and chin, tilting my head back as his tongue evades my mouth, sliding and rolling against mine in a way that has my toes curling, nails digging into his skin where they'd somehow found purchase against his bare chest.

I rise on my toes, snaking my hands up and into his hair again, feeling the thickness and luciousness of the locks, tugging at them, angling his head down so I could kiss him back just as ferociously. My teeth nip at his bottom lip, pulling it along but all Axel does is wrap his fist around my wet hair and tug at it while his thumb somehow manages to swipe against my rapidly beating pulse again, and I turn putty in his hold, letting go. He inches closer into me, angling my head to the side, bitting down on my bottom lip in retribution before soothing the stinging ache with a stroke of his tongue.

I'm not sure how exactly, but in the next second, I'm lifted up by my thighs with a rough grip and my legs are around his torso, my arms around his neck, my bathrobe is in a haphazard mess sliding off my shoulder at one place while exposing most of my legs on the other and for some reason oxygen seems to be difficult to inhale. . .

Axel pulls back with a groan, somehow far more composed than the breathless mess I must be resembling. For a moment, my head spins and I rest my forehead against his chest, trying to settle myself down, trying to clear the haze in my mind that is corroded by his musky scent and the minty taste of his mouth. Who knew Axel Hernandez's disciplined ass could kiss like that, taking my breath away. Literally.

There's another low groan, and I feel the dampness of something under my fingertips where they rest on the base of his neck. Sudden horror has me snapping my eyes to his wound and sure enough, blood is seeping past the gauze. Idiot Idiot Idiot.

I don't recognize the foreign panic in my tone as I try to get of off him, "Your wound–"

"It's fine." Axel interrupts, his palm spanned against my lower back stopping me from getting down on my feet. He starts walking past the balcony entrance to our room silently, with me still in his arms, while I fuss over what to do with the white bandage darkening into crimson rapidly.