Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
Icry out again—loud, unrestrained, undone.
My legs tremble, too weak to hold me up after my third orgasm in a row.
But Jaxon, relentless in his mission to pleasure me beyond reason, sweeps me into his arms and carries me out of the elevator, leaving my pants and panties behind like forgotten casualties of lust.
We can’t stop kissing. Our mouths find each other again and again as he carries me, and I feel as light as air in his arms. He’s solid, sculpted muscle wrapped around steel—every inch of him driving me wild.
I’m touching everything I can: his neck, his jaw, his shoulders, the line of his collarbone.
But I need more. I need his skin on mine. I need all of him.
By the time we’re in his bedroom, I’m seconds from begging.
This isn’t my first time in here. I have entered without his permission this morning, snooping, of course. But everything feels different now. The room is black leather and chrome, white and black marble floors. It’s masculine, modern—and wildly erotic. A den built for sex.
Jaxon lays me across the bed and begins to strip. First his pants. Then his shirt. And when he stands before me, naked, fully revealed, I nearly combust.
“Off with your shirt,” he commands, voice hoarse.
I obey instantly.
My hands move to the clasp between my breasts.
“Leave it on,” he adds, eyes dark, low-lidded, heavy with lust.
I freeze, my fingers releasing the clasp as I raise both hands in surrender. His control only inflames me more.
“Now spread ’em,” he says roughly. “I want to see what you’ve got for me.”
I part my thighs slowly, shamelessly. I’m soaked—dripping, and I know he sees it. My body is weeping for him, begging to be filled.
Jaxon groans, his gaze devouring me. He’s hard—so hard—but he doesn’t move an inch closer. He just stands at the edge of the bed, watching me like he’s memorizing every curve, every breath.
Finally, his eyes meet mine.
“What is it?” I ask, starting to rise.
“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t move.”
I freeze.
But I’m suddenly unsure. “Is everything okay?”
He’s breathing harder now, chest rising and falling. “I just need to say this.”
He pauses. Swallows. Then—
“If I take you… you’re mine. Not fake. Not public persona. Mine—for real. Got it?”
A long ache pulls through me. My whole body pulses with the want of him. I nod—fast, hungry, desperate.
That’s all he needs.
Jaxon moves over me like a storm. My hands spread across his chest—warm, firm, perfect. His skin is satin over stone, and I melt beneath him.
Then I’m on my back, his weight heavy on top of me, grounding me, surrounding me.
And then—finally—he enters me.
He stretches me open, slowly, deliberately.
He thrusts.
I gasp.
I moan.
I am full of Jaxon Wilde.
We are no longer fake.
We are real—here, now, in every thrust, every breath, every inch of this wild, breathless, all-consuming moment.