2. JAXON
JAXON
Reckless Hookup
This was not the plan.
Not even close.
I came here for one drink. Maybe two. Just enough to take the edge off after sitting across from my lawyer for three hours, going over worst-case scenarios like they were inevitable.
Custody schedules. Character assessments. Stability.
You need to look solid, Jaxon. Predictable. Controlled.
Yeah. That’s going well.
I was supposed to have a drink, clear my head, go back to the hotel, and catch a flight to New York in the morning. Back to Lily. And a new job. I need my head clear for this.
My gaze drifts to Zara beside me.
She’s not what I expected to find in a place like this.
She’s a force of nature, all energy and light. I can’t look away from her.
Her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the low amber light, and her eyes—God, her eyes—are sharp and curious, like she takes everything in and turns it into something brighter.
She smiles easily. Talks easily.
Feels like sunlight in a room I’ve kept dark for too long.
And when she looks at me…God, I can’t help myself.
I want her. Now.
It’s been too long since I’ve had someone under me. Usually, I’m taking care of myself in the dark or under a spray of hot water.
It’s a cheap substitute, and my body knows it. My cock pulses, a hard, rhythmic reminder of exactly how long it’s been.
My gaze flicks past her, toward the hallway near the bathrooms.
And I make my decision.
At my obvious proposition, she doesn’t even blink.
She doesn’t seem to have a problem following a random stranger into a dim hallway. “Lead the way, Jax-just-Jax.”
I can’t resist placing a hand at the small of her back as we move through the crowd.
Her warmth seeps through the thin fabric of her shirt, and I have to fight the instinct to pull her closer, to keep her right there.
Instead, I guide her through the bodies, through the noise, into the hallway.
She looks up at me with those big green eyes, and I’m barely able to follow our conversation because I’m too busy taking her in.
She’s beautiful. There’s a strength to her, something toned beneath the softness. Her smile is devastating, all bright teeth and easy confidence.
I have to touch her. Now.
My knuckles brush along her jaw, soft, deliberate, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her skin is soft. The kind of soft you don’t expect until you feel it.
All the while, I watch her. Track every reaction.
She’s turned on. I know she is. I see it in the way she looks up at me, the quick flick of her tongue over her lips, the hitch in her breath.
Fuck.
“Breathe, Zara,” I murmur, my voice rough.
She pulls in a long, shaky breath at my reminder, and I like it—watching her come undone like this.
A crooked grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Good girl.” The words slip out, low and instinctive.
Heat flashes across her face at that, her body reacting fast, sharp, immediate. Her hand slides up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer.
Whatever restraint I had left snaps clean in half. My grin fades.
My hand moves from her jaw to the back of her neck, firmer now, my fingers threading slightly into her hair.
Her pulse jumps beneath my touch.
“Last chance,” I murmur.
Her lips part. “For what?”
“To step back.”
“Not interested.”
Yeah.
That’s what I thought.
In an instant my mouth is on hers.
The kiss is sharp and hungry, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this alive.
I want to devour her. I want to memorize the taste of her, the way she tastes like cherry lip gloss and pure, unadulterated defiance.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, and she meets me halfway with a desperation that mirrors my own.
Her fingers are frantic now, knotting in my hair, pulling me closer as if she’s trying to crawl inside my skin.
I groan into her mouth, the sound vibrating through both of our chests. It’s a low, primal noise I don't recognize as my own, but I don't care.
I break away for a split second—just enough to trail my lips down the line of her throat. I find that sensitive spot right below her ear and bite down, soft enough to tease, hard enough to leave a mark.
"Jax," she gasps, her head tossing back against the wall. The sound of my name on her lips, breathless and broken, is the final nail in the coffin.
"You're not going anywhere," I growl against her lips, my grip on her waist tightening.
"I don’t want to," she whispers back, her eyes dark with a hunger that matches my own.
Damn, she’s undoing me.
The need to bury myself in her is a physical ache, sharp and demanding.
My eyes cut to the side, catching the glint of a heavy metal door a few feet down—a maintenance closet, propped open just a crack with a stray wooden wedge.
"In here," I rasp.
I don't wait for an answer. I hook my arm around her waist and usher her through the gap, my body shielding hers until the door heavy-thuds shut behind us.
The air in the small room is warm, smelling of floor wax and industrial hum, but the darkness is absolute. It’s perfect.
I find her in the shadows, pinning her against the cool surface of a metal shelving unit. The rattle of the shelves only fuels the fire.
"Jax," she breathes, her hands finding my face, pulling me down.
"I've got you," I mutter, my hands roaming down her curves, tracing the line of her hips before hooking under her thighs.
She jumps, wrapping her legs around my waist instinctively, locking me in.
I groan, the friction of her against my fly sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through my system.
I hike her up higher, my back hitting the opposite wall for leverage, and start raining kisses along her jaw, her collarbone, anywhere I can reach.
Her head falls back, a soft, broken moan vibrating through the small space. "Please," she whispers, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
She’s desperate, and I’m right there with her. I need to forget the hearing and the stakes, but I’m going to have my fun first.
"Please what, Zara?" I tease, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble.
I let one hand slide between us, fumbling with the button of my jeans while my other hand stays firmly planted on her hip, holding her right where I want her.
I want to hear her say it.
"Touch me. Actually touch me."
That’s all the permission I need. I shove her dress the rest of the way up.
My fingers are frantic and clumsy, the need for her overriding every bit of logic I have left.
She shivers as my fingers hook into the edge of her lace underwear.
I slide my fingers beneath.
She’s slick, hot, and completely ready for me. When my thumb finds her clit, she bucks against my hand, a sharp gasp escaping her.
"That's it." I pull back just enough to see her face in the shadows. Her eyes are blown wide, dark and hazy. "Show me what you need."
"I want you inside of me."
Fuck yes. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.
I reach down, undoing my belt one-handed—the metallic clink echoing like a gunshot in the small room.
She reaches down to help, her fingers fumbling with my zipper, and then her palm is wrapping around me.
I hiss a breath through my teeth, my eyes slamming shut. "Zara—"
"I know what I want," she whispers.
She strokes me once, a firm, possessive move that nearly sends me over the edge right then. I’m thick and aching in her grip.
I fumble for my wallet, shaking a condom out with practiced efficiency.
Once I’m set, I hook my hands under her thighs, hoisting her higher against the equipment.
I don't even bother taking her underwear off; I just shove the lace aside.
I push into her in one long, heavy stroke.
She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her whole body tensing around me. I freeze, my forehead resting against her temple, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Maybe this is too much for her? She’s tight. Very tight. And I know I’m big.
"Okay?" I grit out, my muscles jumping with the effort of staying still.
"Move. Move."
I obey.
I start slow, testing the depth, finding the perfect angle that makes her head knock back against the metal.
She doesn't seem to care; she’s chasing the friction, her heels digging into my back.
"Harder," she demands, her voice a low command.
I snap my hips forward, the pace turning primal.
The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, drowned out only by her moans and my own ragged breath.
I lean in, pressing my forehead to hers, watching her. I want to see her when it happens.
"You feel incredible," I growl, the words raw. "I can't—I need—"
"Yes. Whatever you need. Yes."
I slide my hand between our bodies, my thumb finding her. The reaction is instantaneous. She’s coiling tight, her breath coming in short, sharp hitches.
"That's it, Zara," I growl, picking up the pace, my own control fraying into nothing. "Go for it. Give it all to me."
She shatters. I feel the ripples of her orgasm clenching around me, and it’s the final push I need.
I let out a guttural groan, my whole body shuddering as I follow her over the ledge, pouring everything I have into her.
We stay like that for a few seconds—minutes, maybe. I can’t tell.
I realize I’m shaking and slowly set her back down on her feet.
I feel a strange pang of loss the moment the contact breaks.
“That was…” she starts, trailing off.
“Yeah.” I turn away, pulling myself together, disposing of the condom and straightening my clothes.
When I turn back, I reach out, helping her smooth down her dress. I’ve got myself back under control, the last of the tremor fading from my body.
“Yeah,” I say again, quieter this time. “It was.”
We stand there in the dim, industrial light. We’re strangers, but for twenty minutes, we were exactly what the other needed.
"I should go," she says. "Early morning."
"The move," I remember.
"The move."
I nod. I want to say something more, but what? Stay? If you’re ever in New York, let’s have a drink sometime? No. That’s not what this is.
"Good luck with your custody hearing," she says, her voice soft.
The mention of my kid hits me like a physical weight, bringing the real world crashing back into the room. "Good luck with your new life."
We walk out of the bar separately. I watch her head toward the street, her silhouette disappearing into the night air.
I head back to my hotel, my mind already shifting to my new job as head coach for the Raptors. Coach Petrov has officially retired. No one thought it would ever happen, but it did. And now this is my shot.
Still, it’s a shame I’m never going to see her again.
There was something about her that lingers, something beyond the wild, reckless hookup we just shared.
But it’s probably better this way.
We’ll never see each other again.