Page 86 of Jax
“You won’t,” he said, his mouth brushing the edge of my jaw. “You want to see how far I’ll go.”
His hand found my waist, anchoring and hot, and when his thumb slid just beneath the hem of my shirt, my knees wavered under the sudden heaviness of want. “You want to be held together,” he murmured, “without being held down.”
The truth in those words brought something raw and buried straight to the surface. Shame curled into longing, and I let him see it all. I didn’t look away. Didn’t brace. I stayed open while the silence stretched, until my voice returned in a whisper that trembled but didn’t break.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, Jax.” His name left my mouth like a promise, and something in his eyes changed. Heat and reverence catching like fire. He reached for another strip of paper, and I gave him my other wrist, watching as he secured it with more tape, then looped a third strip between both wrists, binding them together like origami handcuffs. This was never about power. It was about being wanted without question. And for the first time, I didn’t want to hide from that.
He dropped to his knees, one hand on my ankle, the other lifting paper with care. “You ever notice how quiet the world gets when someone touches you just right?” he asked, wrapping the strip like it meant more than restraint. “Like your body finally stops shouting.”
I looked down, heart pounding. “Are you always this poetic when you tie girls up with printer paper?”
He smirked as he sealed the strip. “Only the ones who pretend they don’t want to be worshipped.” Then he looked up. No teasing. Just a quiet promise.
“I’m aware,” I murmured.
“Good.” His mouth curved as he sealed another strip. He leaned in slowly, the rasp of his scruff dragging across my calf like he meant for me to remember it. Like he wanted to mark me without leaving a trace.
A noise caught in my throat, but he didn’t pull away. “You make the prettiest sounds when you don’t mean to.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to cover the whimper building behind my pride. “God, you’re arrogant.”
“No,” he said, rising with unhurried grace. “Just observant.”
He reached for the next strip and glanced at my shorts. I slid them down. He didn’t leer. Just exhaled, like I’d given him something sacred.
My shirt skimmed the tops of my thighs, but he didn’t reach beneath it. Not yet. He stepped in close, knuckles grazing skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. No one had ever touched me with reverence like this.
He ran the paper across my thigh, slow and deliberate. When he spoke again, his voice had roughened. “You’re soft here.”
“Observant again?” I asked, reaching for sass as he taped the ring in place.
His gaze lifted, eyes dark with promise. “Greedy, actually. Trying to memorize what it feels like, in case I don’t get the chance again.”
My breath caught hard enough to make me sway. He moved higher, the next strip landing just beneath the hem of my shirt. His knuckles slipped under the cotton with clinical precision, but it didn’t matter. My body lit up as if he’d struck a match along every nerve.
“Still good?” he asked, and when I nodded, he didn’t move. Just waited.
“Try again, baby.”
“Yes.” My voice cracked under the weight of it. “Still good.”
He pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist, soft and deliberate, as though sealing something invisible. “For every ring I place on you,” he murmured, heat rolling slowly off every word, “I’ll give you something back.”
Then he kissed the edge of my hip, just beside the paper, lips brushing skin like a vow. I gripped the hem of his shirt, trying to anchor myself, legs trembling beneath the gravity of him.
“Your body’s learning,” he said, mouth drifting lower. “Learning how it feels to be wanted without being used.”
The breath snagged in my chest like it belonged to someone else. “Do you always monologue during foreplay?”
That pulled a grin, wicked and warm. “Only when my partner listens better than she runs.”
I didn’t know whether I wanted to shove him or straddle him. Maybe both. He stepped back just enough for air to hit the heat he’d left behind, his gaze trailing over me like a theory he meant to study slowly. Then his voice dropped again, reverent and dark.
“You look good like this. Like a secret no one else has earned.”
“I’m half-dressed and wrapped in printer paper.”
“And still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
