Chapter 12 Jax
JAX
Waking up this morning to Sloane sliding her hand over my morning wood makes me think I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“Good morning,” she purrs against my ear, her hand wrapping around me, stroking slowly.
“Fuck,” I groan, my hips jerk up into her touch. “What are you doing?”
“What does it feel like I’m doing?” She nips at my earlobe. “I want you. Is that okay?”
Is that okay? Is she serious? “More than okay,” I manage, my brain still trying to catch up with what’s happening.
She straddles me, and I realize she’s completely naked, her body warm and soft above mine. Her hair falls around us like a curtain as she leans down to kiss me, deep and hungry.
“I’ve been awake for an hour,” she admits between kisses. “Just watching you sleep. Thinking about all the things I want to do to you.”
“An hour?” My hands find her hips, gripping tight. “You could have woken me sooner.”
“I liked watching you. You look peaceful when you sleep.” She sits up, positioning herself over me. “But now I’m done watching.”
She sinks down onto me slowly, and we both groan at the sensation. She’s so wet, so ready, and the sight of her above me, hair messy, cheeks flushed, taking what she wants, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“God, you feel good,” she breathes, starting to move. “So good.”
I let her set the pace at first, my hands roaming her body, her thighs, her hips, her breasts. But when she starts riding me faster, harder, I can’t stay passive anymore. I sit up, wrapping my arms around her, and take control.
“My turn,” I growl, flipping us so she’s on her back beneath me.
She gasps, her legs immediately wrapping around my waist. “Jax—”
“You started this,” I tell her, driving into her deep. “Now I’m finishing it.”
I set a punishing rhythm, giving her everything she needs, and she meets me thrust for thrust, her nails raking down my back. The sounds she makes—breathy moans and gasped curses—drive me insane.
“Yes,” she cries out. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
I have no intention of stopping. I reach between us, find her clit, and she comes apart immediately, screaming my name as she clenches around me. The sensation pushes me over the edge, and I follow her with a groan, burying myself deep.
We collapse together, sweaty and satisfied, and I roll onto my back, pulling her with me.
“That’s a hell of a way to wake up,” I say when I can finally speak.
She laughs, the sound light and happy. “Figured I’d return the favor. You’ve been taking such good care of me. Thought it was my turn.”
“You can wake me up like that anytime.”
“Noted.” She kisses my chest. “I’m starving, though. Can we have breakfast now?”
“You just had your way with me, and now you want me to cook?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
I grin, smacking her ass lightly. “Not even a little bit. Come on, let’s feed you.”
An hour later, we’re in the kitchen making sandwiches for lunch. Well, I’m making sandwiches. Sloane is ‘helping’ by stealing ingredients and making commentary.
“You’re very precise about your sandwich construction,” she observes as I carefully layer turkey and cheese.
“There’s a right way and a wrong way.”
“And the right way is ...?”
“Meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, condiments. In that order.”
“What if I want condiments on both slices of bread?”
I look at her like she’s suggested we burn down the cabin. “Why would you do that?”
“For even flavor distribution!”
“That’s chaos. That’s anarchy.”
She laughs, stealing a piece of turkey off my sandwich.
I catch her around the waist and pull her against me. “Touch my turkey again and I’ll have to punish you.”
Her eyes darken. “Promises, promises.”
We’re about to abandon sandwich-making entirely when my stomach growls loudly, making us both laugh.
“Food first,” Sloane says, patting my chest. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“I really like the sound of that.”
We eat our sandwiches curled up on the couch, and I ask her about her job. About what she wants to do with her life beyond the marketing firm.
“Honestly? I don’t know anymore,” she admits. “I used to have all these dreams and plans. But somewhere along the way, I just ... stopped dreaming. Stopped planning.”
She mentioned that before, and I’m curious what else he stopped her from doing. “What did you stop doing?”
She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Hiking. He thought it was too dangerous. Going to concerts, he hated crowds. Spontaneous road trips. Dyeing my hair fun colors. Wearing clothes that were too attention-seeking.” She laughs bitterly.
“I used to love trying new restaurants, but he always wanted to go to the same three places. I wanted to travel, but he said we needed to save money. I gave up so much without even realizing it.”
“Then take it back. All of it. Start living for yourself again,” I suggest.
“Is that what you do? Live for yourself?” she asks.
“I try. The farm helps. It’s my space, my project. No one can tell me what to do with it.”
“Tell me about the farm,” she says, shifting to look at me. “What’s it like?”
And so, I do. I tell her about the old farmhouse that needs work but has good bones. About the barn I’m slowly renovating. The land that stretches out for twenty acres, most of it wooded. The creek that runs through the property where I sometimes fish in the summer. The chickens.
“It sounds beautiful,” she says wistfully.
“It is. You should come see it.”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to see it,” I say it casually, but my heart is pounding.
“I want to,” she says immediately. “I want to see where you live. Meet your family. See this farm you love so much.”
The tightness in my chest eases. “Good. Because I want to show you. I want to take you on hikes through the woods. Make dinner in that old kitchen. Watch the sunset from the porch.”
“Idyllic.” She sighs.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, just holding each other, and I let myself imagine it. Sloane at the farm. Her meeting my brothers. The woman in my space, making it better just by being there.
“The storms really calmed down,” she observes, looking out the window.
“Want to go outside? We could walk around the property, get some fresh air.”
“Really?”
“Why not? I promise not to leave you out there to freeze this time.”
She laughs and swats my chest. “You’d better not.”
She’s bundled up in every layer we can find, stepping out into a transformed world. The snow has stopped completely, and weak sunlight breaks through the clouds, making everything sparkle.
“It’s beautiful,” Sloane breathes, her face lit up with wonder.
“Yeah, it is.” But I’m not looking at the snow. I’m looking at her.
We walk around the cabin first, and I show her where I fixed the generator shed and the propane tank, pointing out all the work I had to do in the storm. She listens intently, asking questions, genuinely interested.
“You saved us,” she says quietly.
“Just doing what needed to be done.”
“Yeah, like going out in a blizzard in the middle of the night to fix a generator shed.”
“Someone had to do it.”
“You could have woken me. I would have helped.”
“I know. And I should have. But you looked so peaceful sleeping there, and I just ...” I shrug. “I wanted to keep you safe. Protected.”
She reaches up and cups my face, her gloved hands gentle. “You’re a good man, Jax Reid.”
“I’m really not. I’m selfish as hell. Because standing here with you, I’m thinking about all the ways I can convince you to stay. All the arguments I can make for why you should give this, give us a real shot.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” she says softly. “I already want to try.”
“Even though it’s scary?” I ask.
“Especially because it’s scary. Because if I’m not scared, it means I’m not risking anything. And you’re worth the risk.”
I kiss her, right there in the snow, pouring everything I feel into it. When we pull apart, we’re both smiling.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “Let me show you the rest of the property.”
I lead her along a path I clear through the snow, pointing out landmarks. The small shed where they store extra firewood. The covered area where summer guests can sit and enjoy the view. The fire pit that’s completely buried under snow.
“In the summer, this place must be amazing,” she says.
“It is. Completely different vibe. All green and alive. The creek down there …” I point toward a line of trees, “… you can hear it running all the time. It’s peaceful.”
“Do you come up here often? For work, I mean?”
“A few times a year. Check on the remote cabins, make sure everything’s in order. Sometimes we do training exercises in the winter.” I squeeze her hand. “Never expected to find someone like you, though.”
“Someone stranded and pathetic?” she jokes.
“Someone beautiful and brave who makes me want to be better.”
She stops walking and turns to face me. “You make me want to be better, too. Before I lost myself.”
“You’re already that person, Sloane. You just forgot for a while. But she’s still there.” I touch her chest, right over her heart. “Right here.”
Tears well up in her eyes, but she’s smiling. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“I don’t. I’m just saying what’s true.”
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and I feel something shift between us. Deepen. This isn’t just about attraction, chemistry, or convenience. This is something real. Something that could last. If we let it.
“We should head back,” I say reluctantly. “Before we actually do freeze out here.”
“Okay. But, Jax?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For this. For showing me around. For making me feel like I belong here with you.”
“You do belong,” I tell her firmly. “Here, at the farm, anywhere I am. You belong with me.”
Her breath catches, and then she kisses me again, urgent and needy despite the cold. When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless.
“Inside,” she says. “Now. I need you.”
“Again?” I ask, not that I’m complaining.
“Again.”
I don’t need to be told twice. We practically run back to the cabin, shedding layers as soon as we’re through the door. But by the time we reach the bedroom, the urgency has shifted into something softer. Sweeter.
We make love slowly, taking our time, and it feels different than before. More certain. Like we’re not just enjoying each other anymore. Like we’re building something that will last beyond this cabin, beyond this storm.
Later, much later, we’re back on the couch, warm and sated, playing another round of Monopoly. She’s beating me this time, which I’m pretending to be upset about but secretly love.
“You’re a Monopoly shark,” I accuse when she buys Mayfair.
“I learned from the best.” She grins. “You taught me all your strategies.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Too late now. Prepare to be destroyed.”
We play for another hour, trash-talking and laughing, and it’s so easy. So normal. Like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days. When she finally bankrupts me, she does a little victory dance that’s so dorky and adorable I have to kiss her.
“Sore loser,” she teases.
“Gracious winner,” I counter.
We’re arguing about who has to make dinner when the light starts to fade outside. The storm has fully passed, leaving behind a pristine white landscape and a clear sky that’s starting to show stars.
“It’s over,” Sloane says quietly, looking out the window. “The storm.”
“Yeah.” I pull her closer. “Which means the roads will probably be clear by tomorrow.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t want to leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave either,” I say in agreement.
“But we have to. Eventually.”
“Eventually,” I agree. “But not tonight. Tonight, you’re still here. You’re still mine.”
She turns to look at me, her eyes searching. “Yours?”
“If you want to be.”
“I do,” she whispers. “God help me, I do.”
I kiss her then, slow and deep, and let myself believe that this will work.
That when the roads clear and reality comes crashing back in, we’ll figure it out together.
Because the alternative is letting her go, never seeing her again, and that isn’t something I can accept.
Tomorrow can bring whatever it wants. Tonight, she’s here and she’s mine.