Page 92 of Jax
She collapsed back, breath coming fast and uneven, chest rising in sharp bursts. Her eyes were dazed, lips parted, body slack with release. She looked holy in the aftermath. I didn’t retreat. I kept touching her. Kept speaking softly. My mouth traced kisses along her thigh, up to her hip, then just above the imprint of the waistband that still clung faintly to her waist. When her fingers found mine, I took them without hesitation, our hands twining with ease.
She didn’t speak. Just breathed like it was something new. And maybe it was. I’d held other women. Kissed them. Broken them open in ways that were careful, safe, and restrained. But none of them had looked at me like this. Like I was the first man to ever see every part of her and not flinch.
Her pulse still flickered under the rope wrapping her wrist. Her body trembled, hair tousled from where my hands had held her too tightly in my own need. But she didn’t look fragile. Shelooked wrecked and rebuilt. Not from force. Not from power. From permission.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, voice frayed from use, trembling with something close to reverence. “Like I’m sacred.”
“You are,” I whispered, brushing my mouth across her thigh. “You just forgot.”
She made a sound, half scoff, half whimper, and her eyes closed like the truth of it might be too much to hold. But she didn’t flinch when my hands moved again. When I touched her like she was something worthy. Not of worship. Of memory. A verse I’d carry with me long after her breath was gone.
I moved up beside her on the bed and untied her wrists, letting the rope fall away, and then pulled her shirt up slowly, dragging the fabric across skin still echoing with release. She raised her arms in silence, and I slipped it off, letting it fall behind us. She didn’t try to pose or retreat. She just let me see her. Without armor. Without performance. Just herself.
“You keep looking at me like I’m going to disappear,” she said, voice low and laced with accusation.
I shook my head. “No. I’m looking at you like I’ll never get enough.”
I kissed the hollow of her throat, tasting salt and skin and a need still warm beneath the surface. Her hands found my hair, steady and sure, and I let my mouth drift to the swell of her breast. I glanced up as heat curved a smile to my lips.
“Let me worship you a little longer,” I murmured, voice low against her skin.
She tried not to smile. Failed. “Only a little?”
I dragged my teeth gently over one nipple, savoring the way she gasped and arched into me. “Greedy,” I teased.
Her breath caught, eyes half-lidded, voice rich with heat. “You like me that way.”
“You have no idea,” I growled as I sucked her back into my mouth, letting my hand drift along the curve of her waist, her hip, the trembling length of her thigh. I wanted to taste her everywhere, slow and deep, until her voice was gone and the only thing left were those soft, stunned sounds that lived in the back of her throat and made me feel like a god.
I slid my hand between her legs again, pressing between her folds, not to tease this time, but to anchor her with pressure. She whimpered, thighs parting without hesitation, her heel hooking behind my calf as if instinct alone could pull me deeper. She was soaked. Still. Even after she’d shattered twice around me.
She couldn’t speak. She just ground herself against my palm with the kind of hunger that made it hard to breathe. I kissed her neck, let my fingers move in slow, merciless circles, and rasped against her ear, “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Then show me,” she whispered, and whatever control I had left snapped clean.
I rolled her gently, guiding her until she was straddling my thigh, naked and flushed, her skin still slick with need. She gasped, bracing herself against my shoulders, then rocked forward, dragging herself across me with slow, aching intent. She wasn’t chasing pleasure blindly. She was claiming it. Turning every movement into a vow that this time, it belonged to her.
“You’re the most dangerous thing I’ve ever touched,” I said, breath caught between reverence and awe. “Not because you’re breakable, but because you let me see how strong you are when no one else gets close.”
She moaned and buried her face in my neck, whispering one wrecked phrase against my skin.Don’t stop.I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Not when she gave me this. My hand slid between us, fingers slipping down to find her already pulsing, already open. I eased two fingers inside and groaned when she clenchedaround me. Her cry tore through the quiet, hips jerking, and I caught her mouth with mine, drinking in every fractured sound she gave.
“Ride it,” I breathed. “Take what you need.”
She moved like she believed I could carry her through it, and I did. I gave her everything. My thigh. My hands. My mouth. My body as an altar. Because she didn’t need to be saved. She needed to be worshipped. And because she made surrender look like grace.
When the tremor passed, I stayed with her. Still between her thighs. Still rooted in the moment that undid her. Her breath came in soft, uneven pulls. Her legs were no longer braced or taut. She wasn’t resisting anymore. Not me. Not herself. She’d come apart without apology, and for the first time, she didn’t run from it.
I shifted slowly, helping her lay back against the sheets once more. Her eyes stayed open, dazed and wide, fixed on the ceiling like it might disappear under the truth she’d just let go. That surrender didn’t mean breaking; it meant being free.
“Stella.”
She looked at me slowly, like the name itself pulled her back into her body. I traced my fingers down her arm, grazed the inside of her wrist, and asked the only thing that mattered.
“Color?”
Her breath hitched, then settled. “Green,” she whispered. “Just… floaty.”
Relief cracked through my chest as I exhaled, low and reverent.
