4. Jax
Jax
The cold mountain air bites at my face as I finish my perimeter check.
Snow crunches under my boots with every step.
The woods around the cabin stand silent except for the occasional groan of branches under fresh powder.
No tracks. No signs of movement. Just white wilderness stretching for miles.
Good. It buys us time. But time alone with Ava is becoming its own kind of danger.
I step back inside and stomp the snow from my boots.
The warmth of the cabin hits me immediately.
She sits at the counter finishing her waffles.
Those fuzzy socks swing gently as her legs dangle from the stool.
Her cheeks still carry a soft pink flush from our earlier conversation.
She looks up at me with those big bright eyes full of that quirky sparkle.
Innocent. Trusting. Too good for a man like me.
I’ve seen too much shit in this world. Blood and betrayal and the kind of evil that strips away any hope of a normal life.
Happily ever afters are for people who haven’t waded through the darkness I have.
I don’t deserve soft mornings with waffles or a woman like Ava who makes my chest tighten every time she smiles.
I sure as hell can’t push any boundaries with her.
She’s my witness. My responsibility. Nothing more.
Even if every cell in my body screams to pull her close and claim her.
"You okay out there?" she asks. Her voice carries that cute lilt that wraps around me like warm honey.
"All clear for now." I hang my jacket and move toward the living area. The space feels smaller every hour we spend in it. One bed. One couch. Her. I need to keep my hands busy and my mind on the job. "We shouldn’t just sit here waiting. I’m going to teach you some self defense moves.
Basic stuff. Enough that you can create an opening if you ever need it. "
Her eyes widen. She sets her fork down with a little clink.
"Self defense? Like. Actual fighting moves? With you? Oh wow. I’m not exactly coordinated.
I once tripped over a completely stationary ottoman in the library.
But yes. That sounds useful. And kind of exciting in a terrifying way.
Like I’m training to be a badass book ninja. "
A ghost of a smile tugs at my mouth despite myself.
She’s so damn adorable it hurts. I clear my throat and push the coffee table to the side.
The wooden legs scrape across the floor.
I shove the couch back a few feet to give us room.
The open space in front of the wood stove will work.
Firelight dances across the walls and casts a warm glow over her as she stands up.
"Come here." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. I position myself in the center of the cleared area. "First thing. Stance. Feet shoulder width apart. Knees slightly bent. You want to stay balanced."
She nods eagerly and mimics me. Her oversized cardigan sleeves slip down her arms as she shifts her weight.
Those fuzzy socks look ridiculous and perfect at the same time.
I step closer to adjust her posture. My hands hover near her shoulders but I keep them light.
Professional. Her warmth radiates through the thin fabric.
She loses the cardigan and my breath hitches.
"Good," I mutter. "Now if someone grabs you from the front like this." I demonstrate slowly. My hands close gently around her upper arms. The feel of her soft skin under my palms sends a jolt straight through me. Fuck. She’s so small. So breakable. But this isn’t the time to notice things like that. This is training.
"Use the heel of your palm and strike up under the nose. Hard. It’ll stun them long enough for you to run.
" I guide her hand through the motion without making full contact.
Her breath catches when my fingers brush hers.
Heat pools low in my gut. I focus on the lesson.
On keeping her alive. Not on how perfectly her body fits near mine.
She practices the strike a few times. Each upward thrust of her palm brings her closer. Her body sways with the movement. I swallow hard and adjust her elbow angle. "Keep your wrist straight. Power comes from your hips. Twist with it."
"Like this?" She rotates her hips in a little circle that looks more like a playful dance than combat. "I feel like I’m trying to hula hoop away the bad guys. Do you think they’d be distracted by my terrible rhythm?"
The image of her doing exactly that pulls another low sound from my throat.
I step behind her to demonstrate the full body mechanics.
My chest brushes her back. The contact is electric.
"Like this." I cover her hand with mine and guide the strike again.
Her ass presses back against me for a brief second as she follows through.
My cock thickens instantly. I bite back a growl and create space. "Better. Now try it faster."
We drill the palm strike for several minutes.
She improves with each repetition. Her cheeks grow flushed from the effort and the heat of the stove.
A fine sheen of sweat makes her skin glow in the firelight.
Every little gasp and determined huff she makes winds me tighter.
I want to praise her properly. Want to reward that focus with my mouth on hers.
Instead I circle her slowly. "Good girl. Again."
Next I move on to wrist escapes. "If they grab your wrist. Don’t pull straight back.
That plays into their strength." I wrap my fingers around her slender wrist. Her pulse flutters wildly under my thumb.
So fragile. So alive. "Rotate your hand toward their thumb. The weakest point. Yank and step away."
She tries. Her small hand twists in my grip.
The friction of skin on skin sends fire racing up my arm.
She steps back but stumbles slightly on those fuzzy socks.
I catch her elbow to steady her. "Sorry.
I warned you about the coordination thing.
My feet have a mind of their own sometimes.
Especially when a tall dark and growly marshal is holding my wrist like that. "
Her words hit me low. I release her slowly. "You’re doing fine. Focus on the rotation. Try again."
We run through the escape again and again. Left wrist. Right wrist. I switch grips, changing the pressure, forcing her to adjust. Each time, she breaks free and steps back into position, her body brushing mine in the process.
The repetition should make it easier to focus. Instead, it does the opposite.
My control frays a little more with every pass.
My cock stays hard, impossible to ignore. I force my attention back to the lesson. Back to her stance. Her footing. The mechanics of the move.
Anywhere but the way she feels against me.
"Choke hold from behind next." I move behind her.
"This one is common in close quarters. Wrap your arm around my forearm like this.
" I place her hands where they need to be.
My front presses fully to her back now. The curve of her ass nestles perfectly against me.
Fuck. I can feel the heat of her through our clothes.
My arm rests lightly across her throat for demonstration.
Not squeezing. Just enough to show the threat.
Her breath hitches. The sound goes straight to my groin.
"Drop your chin. Tuck it. Then use both hands to pull my arm down.
Step out and elbow to the ribs or face." I guide her through the motions.
Her elbows are sharp and determined. One connects lightly with my side on purpose.
She giggles. "Did I get you? Tell me I at least bruised a rib.
I want to feel like a fierce library warrior. "
"You did good." My voice comes out rugged. I step away before I do something stupid like spin her around and kiss that smile off her face. "Again. Slower this time so you feel the mechanics."
We run the choke defense multiple times.
Each repetition brings more contact. Her back to my chest. Her hips brushing mine.
Her hair tickling my jaw. Sweat dampens the back of her neck.
I want to lean in and lick it. Want to taste the sweetness of her fear turning to strength.
My hands ache to slide down her sides and pull her tighter.
I keep them strictly instructional. Professional. Even as my body burns for her.
After the choke work I teach her elbow strikes. "Elbows are your best friend in close range. Harder than fists. Less chance of breaking your hand." I demonstrate on the air then position her. "Throw from the core. Drive it back like you mean it."
She practices with cute little grunts. "Take that you imaginary cartel goon. And that. This is surprisingly cathartic. I might start elbowing people at the library next time someone returns a book with coffee stains."
Her quirkiness pulls at something deep in my chest. I adjust her stance again.
Hands on her hips to square them. The touch is necessary.
The way my fingers spread over her curves is not.
Heat surges through me. My cock throbs insistently.
I imagine bending her over right here. Gripping those hips and sinking into her from behind while she gasps my name.
I force the image away and step back. "Solid. Now knees. Lift and drive upward. Groin target if it’s life or death. "
The knee-strike drill puts us face to face.
She raises her leg, careful and controlled, but the movement brings her closer than before. Close enough that I catch myself noticing things I shouldn't. The flush in her cheeks. The quick rise and fall of her chest.
Her balance falters for a split second.
Instinct takes over. My hands land on her waist, steadying her before she can stumble.
The contact lingers.
Neither of us moves right away.
Her breath comes a little faster now. Her lips part as she looks up at me, and something shifts in the space between us. The room suddenly feels smaller. Quieter.
Every second stretches taut.
I should step back.
Instead, I find myself holding on a moment longer than necessary.
I clear my throat and step back.
We combine the moves into short sequences. Palm strike into wrist escape. Choke defense into elbow and knee. I call out scenarios. She responds with growing confidence. Each successful execution makes her light up. "I feel like I could take on a whole room of bad guys now."
Sweat glistens on her collarbone. Her tank top clings in places that outline her breasts. I circle her. Correcting her form. Touching her arms. Her back. Her hips. Every contact builds the pressure inside me. My control is iron but it bends under this kind of heat.
She tries a full combination. Her foot slips on the wooden floor from the fuzzy socks.
I catch her before she falls. My arm bands around her waist. She lands against my chest with a soft oof.
Her hands press flat over my heart. For a second neither of us moves.
Her breath warms my shirt. I feel every curve of her body molded to mine.
My cock hardens fully. Throbbing. Demanding.
I want to lift her. Carry her to that one bed.
Strip away every layer between us and sink deep until she forgets the cartel exists.
Instead I set her gently on her feet and step away. My hands drop to my sides. "Careful. We’ll work on balance next."
She tucks that stray hair behind her ear. Her cheeks flush deeper. "That was. Intense. In a good way. You’re really good at this. Teaching, I mean. And protecting. I feel a little less helpless already. Thank you, Jax." Her voice goes shy at the end.
I nod once. Turning toward the window so she can’t see how badly I want her. The snow falls steadily outside. Sealing us in tighter. "You’re not helpless. And I’ll keep teaching you. Every day if we need to. But right now you should rest. Drink some water."
She hesitates like she wants to say more. I feel her eyes on my back. The pull between us crackles like the fire in the stove. Strong. Immediate. Dangerous. I can’t cross that line. Not when her life depends on me staying sharp. Not when I know I can’t give her the kind of forever she deserves.
I move the coffee table back into place. The scrape of wood fills the silence. My body still hums with unspent tension. Every muscle tight. Every instinct roaring to claim her anyway. I shove it all down. Lock it tight.
This is about keeping her alive. Nothing else.
Even if every second in this cabin tests every ounce of control I have left.