TROUBLE PART 2🔥🔥

After the stunt Axel pulled at the pool party, I should have stayed as far away from him as possible. I told myself that over and over again.But here I am, standing outside his house on a Saturday evening, wondering if I’ve made the worst decision of my life.

It started when he cornered me after the pool game, water dripping off his skin, his grey eyes holding mine captive.

“There’s a party at my place this weekend,” he’d said casually, leaning closer. “You should come. It’ll be... worth your time.”

I had scoffed, pretending his proximity didn’t make my heart race. “Why would I come to your party?”

He’d smirked, that infuriatingly confident tilt to his lips. “Because you’re curious about me, sweetheart. And I don’t blame you. Besides You looked like you needed a proper introduction to fun."

I’d scoffed again but didn’t outright refuse, and before I could think of a reason to say no, he’d slipped a small piece of paper into my hand with his address. “Don’t disappoint me, sweetheart.” Then he’d walked away, leaving me stunned.

Fast forward to now, and I’m standing in front of his house, questioning all my life choices.The place is eerily quiet—no music, no laughter, no signs of life. This isn’t what I pictured when he said “party.” The sleek modern house, with its clean white exterior and large glass windows, looks more like a magazine spread than a party hotspot.

I glance down at myself, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I’d put on my best—a sleek black dress that hugs my figure in all the right places, stopping just above my knees. It’s simple but elegant, paired with strappy heels and a touch of red lipstick. I wanted to look good, but now I feel overdressed, like I walked into the wrong situation entirely.Jade would kill me if he knew I was here—he’d probably call Axel “trouble” for the hundredth time. And maybe Jade was right.

I sigh, second-guessing myself, and finally decide to turn back. But just as I’m about to leave, that familiar deep, gravelly voice cuts through the silence, stopping me in my tracks.

“Where do you think you’re running off to, sweetheart?”

My heart leaps into my throat as I turn around to face him. There he is, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed,with that same maddening smirk. his grey eyes locked on me with the same intensity that has haunted my thoughts since the pool party.

He looks different tonight. Gone are the poolside antics and the wet hair. Now, he’s in a fitted black t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders and toned chest, paired with dark jeans that sit low on his hips. His hair is messily styled, like he doesn’t care but still manages to look effortlessly perfect.

His grey eyes scan me slowly, deliberately, and I’m suddenly grateful for the time I spent picking this dress. Why? I don’t even know. But the way his eyes linger makes my skin tingle.

"You said there’s a party,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my voice comes out quieter than I’d hoped. “Am I too early? Why isn’t anyone here?”

Axel steps closer, his smirk deepening. “No, you’re right on time,” he says, his voice rich and teasing. “And there’s no one else attending this party… besides you.”

My breath catches at his words, my pulse quickening as the weight of his gaze locks with mine. He’s standing so close now, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. There’s no mistaking the intention in his eyes, and it sends a thrill of both excitement and nervousness through me.

“Is this a joke?” I ask, my voice steady but laced with caution. “You invited me here alone?”

He shrugs casually, his confidence unshaken. “I told you I’d give you a proper introduction to fun, didn’t I?” His tone is low, playful, but there’s an undeniable edge to it that sends a jolt through me. “Besides, I needed your help.”

I blink, confused for a moment. Help? What could he possibly need from me? The thought feels out of place, given the way he’s been acting—like some sort of untouchable mystery. But the tension in his gaze is still there, and the way he’s watching me, expectant, only deepens the curiosity gnawing at me.

I swallow hard, trying to decide whether to just walk away and pretend this never happened or to stay and find out what exactly he meant. The sensible part of me—the part that’s still wary of getting too close to someone like Axel—is screaming to leave. But the other part of me, the one drawn to him against my better judgment, keeps me frozen in place.

“Now,” Axel’s voice cuts through my thoughts, his smirk returning. “Are you coming in, or do you need another invitation?”

He steps aside, gesturing toward the entrance of his house. My breath hitches, and despite every warning in my head, my curiosity pushes me forward. I step inside, but as I cross the threshold, something shifts—there’s a palpable sense of intent in the air, something different than the casual invitation I was expecting.

Axel’s house is quiet. The soft hum of the city outside is muted here, as if this place exists in its own little world. The first thing I notice are the paintings. Everywhere I look, there’s a canvas hanging on the wall, leaning against the furniture, some even scattered on the floor.

But what really catches my eye are the subjects. Each painting is of a woman—nude, all of them. Some are graceful, others raw and unfiltered. The way Axel’s eyes move over the artwork—like he’s studying each one with a kind of reverence—tells me this is no simple hobby.. there's something else to it, I can't put my finger on. Not yet.

I feel the weight of the room as I take it all in, unsure whether to comment on it or simply stay silent. A little voice inside tells me I should be uncomfortable, but I’m strangely drawn to the beauty of it. The way the curves of the women’s bodies are captured with such detail, the way Axel’s style tells a story without words.

Axel watches my reaction carefully, a knowing look in his eyes as he steps behind me. “Impressive, right?” he says, his voice a little more distant now. “I’ve been working on a few pieces, but…” He trails off, his gaze flicking to one of the paintings, a striking portrait of a woman lounging nude on a velvet couch, her eyes closed in a moment of tranquility. “I need something… different. Something more authentic.”

“I’m working on a new piece,” he finally says, his voice low, almost absent. “But I need... inspiration. A muse.”

I turn toward him, my heart hammering in my chest. “A muse?” I repeat, unsure if I heard him correctly.

He looks at me then, his grey eyes sharp, assessing. “Yes. Someone... like you.” His gaze flickers over me slowly, like he’s studying every inch. “You’ve got the kind of presence that could bring this painting to life. Don’t you think?”

The way he says it, with that quiet intensity, makes my breath catch in my throat. I know exactly what he means—he’s asking me to pose. To become one of those women, vulnerable and exposed in the way only an artist’s eye can capture. A rush of warmth spreads across my skin at the thought, and I’m not sure if it’s the idea of being part of his art or the way he’s looking at me that makes me feel like I might just lose control.

"So, you want me to pose for you?” I ask, though it sounds more like a statement than a question, my voice betraying the uncertainty simmering under my confidence.

Axel nods, his expression unreadable. “If you’re willing. I think you’d make the perfect subject. For my next piece, anyway.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. Part of me wants to back away, to tell him that I’m not comfortable with this—not with him. But the other part of me... the one that’s still standing here, still intrigued, is wondering what it would be like. What it would be like to be seen by him in that way...

I hesitate for a moment, my thoughts racing, before finally nodding. “Fine,” I say quietly, the weight of my decision settling in. Axel’s smirk deepens, his lips curving with a satisfaction that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Good choice,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous drawl. Without another word, he turns and strides deeper into the house. His movements are effortless, controlled, every step pulling me further into his world. He doesn’t look back, but his hand motions for me to follow.

The hallway grows darker as we move further in, the muted sound of my footsteps blending with the electric tension crackling in the air. He leads me to a room, its walls covered with paintings, but these are nothing like the ones I saw before. These are raw, sensual, intimate—bodies entwined, lips parted, skin glowing with an almost otherworldly beauty. They are so vivid, so erotic, I feel my cheeks flush as my eyes linger too long on the curve of a thigh or the arch of a back.

Axel notices. Of course he notices.

“You like them?” His voice is rough, closer than I expect, making me jump. I whirl around to find him leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“They’re…” I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Beautiful.”

“They’re honest,” he corrects, stepping into the room, his presence filling the space. His eyes roam over me, the intensity in them making me feel exposed even though I’m still fully dressed. “Which is exactly what I need from you"

I turn my eyes back to the paintings..

These aren’t just art—they’re raw, intimate, and unapologetically sensual. Feminine curves, bare skin, aching vulnerability captured in every stroke of his brush. My cheeks flush hot, and I feel my throat tighten. The intimacy of it all is overwhelming. It’s like stepping into Axel’s mind, his desires laid bare in color and canvas.

Before I can collect myself, his voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding. “Strip.”

The word hits me like a jolt of electricity, making me freeze. My gaze snaps from the paintings to him, his tall frame looming in the dimly lit room. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—they burn, piercing through me like they’ve already stripped me bare.

“Take off your clothes, Jennet,” he repeats, slower this time, his tone dark and edged with authority. There’s no softness in his voice, no room for hesitation. It’s not a request—it’s an order.

I stand there, rooted in place, every nerve in my body on edge. I know what this is. I knew the moment I agreed to help him what it would entail. But now, standing here, faced with the reality of it, the vulnerability of it, I feel exposed in a way I never have before.

He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate. The air around him seems to ripple with intensity, and when he speaks again, it’s even lower, almost a whisper but no less commanding. “Are you doing it? Or do you want me to do it for you?”

The question sends a shiver through me, every nerve alive and buzzing under his gaze. His words carry an unspoken challenge, a threat wrapped in velvet, and I know he’s waiting to see if I’ll break.

“I’ll do it,” I manage to say, though my voice is barely above a whisper. My hands tremble as I reach for the straps of my dress, sliding them down over my shoulders. The fabric pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my undergarments. I feel his gaze rake over me, hot and heavy, and my skin burns under the weight of it.

"Go on,” he says, his voice like a dark caress, making my stomach twist. “Take those off too.”

I hesitate, glancing at him, but his expression doesn’t waver. His brow arches slightly, daring me. My heart pounds in my chest as I reach behind me, unclasping my bra and letting it fall away, followed by the last scrap of fabric.

Now I stand before him, completely bare, the vulnerability almost suffocating—but at the same time, it’s thrilling.

Axel doesn’t move for a moment, his eyes dragging over every inch of me, his gaze more intimate than any touch. His jaw tightens, and the air between us thickens until it feels like a live wire, crackling with unspoken tension.

“Good,” he murmurs, finally breaking the silence. His voice is rougher now, as though even he isn’t immune to the moment. “Now come here.”

I step toward him, my legs trembling slightly, and he takes my hand, guiding me to a chaise lounge positioned in the center of the room. His touch is firm, steady, but there’s a current to it—a heat that sparks through me, leaving my skin tingling.

“Sit,” he commands, his voice softer now but no less authoritative. I do as he says, sinking into the soft fabric, and he begins to adjust my position, his hands brushing against my bare skin as he guides me.

He tilts my chin upward, his fingers lingering just a second too long, their warmth branding me. “Lean back,” he instructs, his tone quieter now, almost hypnotic. His hand presses lightly on my shoulder, guiding me until my body molds to the shape of the chaise. He steps back, assessing me, but then moves forward again, adjusting the angle of my legs, the curve of my arms.

Each touch is deliberate, precise, yet it feels far from clinical. His fingers skim along the length of my thigh as he positions it just so, and the contact sends a jolt through me. My breathing hitches, and I know he hears it because his lips curve into the faintest smirk. His hand brushes my lower back as he straightens me, his fingertips lingering just long enough to make my pulse race.

Axel steps back after positioning me, his touch lingering on my skin just long enough to leave a trail of heat. The tension in the air is thick, suffocating, as he takes his place in front of the canvas. His eyes rake over me one last time, sharp and unrelenting, before he picks up his brush and starts to paint.

I try to stay still, my body stiff under the weight of his gaze. Every stroke of his brush feels like a phantom touch on my skin, and the longer he works, the more the room seems to shrink around us. The scrape of the brush, the occasional shift of his stance—it’s all magnified in the heavy silence. I swear I can feel his focus, like it’s a physical thing, wrapping itself around me and refusing to let go.

Minutes stretch into an eternity. My limbs start to ache, my breathing grows shallow, my body hyper-aware of every glance he throws my way, every subtle adjustment he makes to the painting.

But I stay perfectly still, caught between wanting to see what he’s creating and being terrified of it.

The air is electric, charged with something I can’t name but feel deep in my core. When he finally lowers his brush, the sound of it hitting the table sends a jolt through me.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough, dragging my attention back to him.

I rise, my legs shaky, my heart hammering in my chest as I approach. Axel steps aside, letting me see the canvas. My breath catches, my pulse skipping as my eyes take in what he’s done.

It’s me. But not just me. The Jennet on the canvas isn’t posed stiffly or awkwardly. She’s alive—powerful, sensual, and utterly consumed by the moment. And then I see him. Axel, painted in the shadows behind me, his hands gripping my hips, his body pressed against mine in a way that’s impossible to ignore. His lips are at my neck, his expression dark and possessive, and the heat in the image sends a flush racing up my neck.

I can’t speak. My chest tightens as I stare at it, overwhelmed by how raw, how intimate it is. It feels like he’s laid us bare, every unspoken tension between us spilling out onto the canvas.

Axel moves closer, his hand brushing my arm. The touch is light, but it feels like fire on my skin. “Do you like it?” he asks, his voice low, vibrating through me.

I swallow hard, my lips parting, but no words come out. I nod instead, my gaze flicking up to meet his. His smirk is back, slow and wicked, as he takes the canvas off the easel and sets it aside.

“Good,” he says simply, before turning back to me. His hands are on me in an instant, gripping my waist and pulling me closer. There’s no hesitation, no question—just pure, unfiltered heat. His touch isn’t gentle; it’s demanding, claiming, like he’s waited too long and refuses to hold back any longer.

My breath hitches as his hands roam, trailing fire down my sides, over my hips, and back up again. “You want to know what it feels like, don’t you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “What it’s like to be touched the way I painted you.”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. The way my body reacts, the way my pulse races, gives him everything he needs to know. He shifts closer, his breath warm against my neck, his hands sliding up to cup my face.

Axel tilts my head back, forcing my gaze to lock with his. His eyes are darker now, filled with something dangerous and electric. “You’re not just a muse anymore,” he growls, his voice rough, almost feral. “You’re mine now".

He picks up a clean brush, his movements slow and deliberate. The soft bristles drag across my collarbone, leaving a trail of cool, wet paint in their wake. The sensation sends a shiver down my spine, my body arching involuntarily under his touch.

Axel smirks, his eyes locked on mine as he dips the brush again, this time dragging it along the curve of my shoulder, down the length of my arm. It’s intimate, invasive, and it feels like a claim—a slow, deliberate possession.

“Every inch of you,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl, “is mine to create. To ruin. To own.”

The words send a jolt of heat through me, my body trembling as the brush moves lower, painting lines along my ribs, tracing the curve of my waist. His free hand follows, not with paint, but with the rough warmth of his skin, his fingers leaving invisible marks that burn just as much.

The brush dips lower, his movements slower now, teasing. My breathing is ragged, my chest rising and falling as the room tilts around us, reality slipping further and further away. O can't stop the moan that escape my lips..

I’m aware of nothing but the weight of his gaze, the heat of his touch, the sound of his breath mingling with mine.

Finally, Axel drops the brush, the clatter echoing in the charged silence. His hand replaces it, dragging along the same path the paint had taken, his fingers leaving streaks of color in their wake.

“You’re not just my muse,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re my masterpiece.”

And then he kisses me. It’s not soft or slow—it’s raw, searing, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long. His lips crush against mine, his hands tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer, eliminating any space between us. It’s overwhelming, the intensity of it, the way he devours me like I’m the only thing that matters.

The chaise lounge behind me catches the back of my legs, and I fall back onto it, Axel following without missing a beat. His hands are everywhere, tracing every curve of my body like he’s memorizing me, claiming me. His lips leave mine, trailing down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that sends a shiver racing through me.

Every touch, every kiss, every bite feels like a spark igniting something deep inside me. The world outside disappears, leaving just us, the heat between us consuming everything in its path.

As the night deepens, the lines between creation and reality blur. Axel isn’t just painting me anymore—he’s unraveling me, breaking me open and putting me back together in a way only he can. And I don’t stop him. I don’t want to.

The night becomes a blur of heat, color, and intensity, the lines between us dissolving until there’s nothing left but sensation. Axel is everywhere—his hands, his mouth, his voice—and I’m lost in it, in him, in the fire that’s been building between us from the moment we met.

The painting wasn’t the end—it was the beginning..

THE END -