Page 61 of Switch

“You feel so fucking good,” I groan, picking up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper. “Like you were made for me.”

She gasps, nails dragging down my back.

“Jax—”

“I got you, baby,” I murmur against her skin. “I got you.”

Her body tightens, legs trembling, eyes locking onto mine as she tumbles over the edge. Fuck, she’s perfect. I don’t last long after that. I bury myself deep, groaning as I follow her, coming hard, claiming every inch of her.

For a moment, neither of us move, our bodies tangled, our breathing ragged. Then I press a kiss to her temple, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her thigh. She sighs, content, her body melting against mine.

TWENTY-TWO

BELLA

The smellof bacon pulls me out of my sleep. Then coffee. Then something sweet—pancakes? My stomach grumbles, but my head pounds in response, reminding me of the very questionable amount of drinks I had last night.

I groan, rolling over, only to wince when my legs protest. Yep. Definitely overdid it last night.

That’s when I see it—a glass of water and two pain relievers sitting on the nightstand, like some kind of post-drunk care package.

Jax.

I grab the water, swallow the pills, and force myself to sit up, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. My whole body aches, and my voice is probably gone from singing, screaming, and, well… everything else.

I drag myself out of bed, legs heavy as I shuffle toward the bathroom. One look in the mirror stops me cold.

“Oh, no.”

My hair is a disaster—a full-on tangled mess, like I got into a fight with a wind tunnel and lost. Mascara smudges under myeyes, my lips are swollen, and there’s a very visible beard burn on my neck.

Fantastic.

I pull my hair into a messy bun, splash cold water on my face, and scrub off the remnants of last night’s makeup. Once I look somewhat presentable, I finally make my way toward the kitchen, following the sound of clinking dishes and low music.

And then I see him.

Jax.

Standing at the stove, barefoot, shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweats that hang dangerously low on his hips. One hand grips a coffee cup while the other flips bacon in the pan. Tattoos flex with every movement, the morning light hitting just right, and I actually pause for a second, debating if I should just crawl back into bed and drag him with me.

He looks up, catches me staring, and grins.

“Well, look who finally crawled out of bed.” He takes a slow sip of coffee, eyes gleaming with amusement. “How’s our reigning Queen ofPerditiondoing this morning?”

I blink. Queen of Perdition?

Jax smirks. “Queen of bar dances, tequila shots, and making half the damn club forget their own names.”

My stomach drops. “Oh God.”

“Oh God, Jax, actually,” he corrects, setting down his mug. “Because that’s what you were saying last night.”

I groan and cover my face. “Nope. I refuse to acknowledge any of this.”

Jax leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “Oh, we’re acknowledging it, baby. You put on a damn show last night. Strutted around like you owned the place. Drove me so fucking crazy I had to throw you over my shoulder just to get you out of there before I lost my damn mind.”

I peek at him through my fingers, fully mortified. “I hate you.”

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