Chapter Twenty-One
Jax
I ’m not sleeping. I haven’t even tried.
I’m flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, one arm slung across my forehead, the other pressed to my bare chest like I’m trying to hold myself still from the inside out. The window’s cracked open, letting in a cool spring breeze, but it does nothing.
It’s been two hours since game night ended. Since she kissed me.
No —that’s not the word for it.
She climbed into my lap, touched my chest, and kissed me like she meant it. Like I wasn’t a threat. Like I wasn’t a second thought.
Like she wanted me.
And fuck —I’m still not okay.
Her fingers slid over my sternum, warm and gentle, and I flinched. It wasn’t hard—barely enough for anyone to see, maybe not even enough for her to notice—but I felt it anyway. That instinctive twitch that’s half muscle memory, half warning flare; something deep within telling me to brace for something that never came.
Because it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t my stepdad’s hand around my neck for talking back, or the sting of a belt across my spine for forgetting to take my boots off at the door. It wasn’t my mother saying I was too loud, too tense, too hard to love.
It wasn’t the kind of touch I’ve learned. It wasn’t the kind of touch I was raised on.
Her touch was… soft. Curious. Even a little greedy.
Frankie touched me like she wanted to learn something; as if I wasn’t a locked box or a live wire. She touched me as though she had all the time in the world to figure me out—and more than that, she touched me as though she was willing to wait even if I didn’t give it to her straight away.
That’s what messed me up.
Not the kiss, not the closeness, not even the way her hips shifted over mine like she couldn’t help it.
It was the tenderness.
I’m not used to that. Not since before my mom married the alpha who taught me silence as survival. Flinching was safer than speaking. Shrinking down made me easier to ignore. I figured out early that bruises fade faster when you don’t make a sound.
So. I stopped making them.
By sixteen, I was bigger than him. Stronger, too. I could’ve fought back, could’ve won, I reckon; but when the time came—I didn’t. I just left. Packed a bag, walked out, and never looked back.
I cut my mother off the same day. She called twice, but I haven’t heard from her since.
I sigh into the night, breath heavy as I blink up at the ceiling, and just like some twisted dream cue—I hear it.
Footsteps, down the hall.
Light at first. Hesitant and careful.
And then they stop outside my door.
My whole body tenses at the quiet creak of the handle turning, and I sit up, the covers pooling at my waist, heart suddenly hammering in my chest.
The door creaks open just enough for her to peer in, and our eyes meet in the dark.
She hesitates in the doorway, her silhouette soft in the faint hallway glow. Bare legs, a tiny ribbed tank that clings to her chest, shorts barely visible beneath the hem.
My throat goes dry.
“Hey,” she whispers. “I… can’t sleep. And I just…”
She cuts off, clears he throat, and looks around the room before focusing back on me.
“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice quiet.
I nod.
She steps fully inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click . The room shrinks with her in it.
I move over on the mattress, pulling back the covers without a word. She crosses the floor slowly—unhurried, unbothered, like this is something she’s done before.
It isn’t. At least not with me.
She slides into the bed beside me, settling close and positioning herself on her side so that she’s looking right at me.
I turn around too, facing her fully.
The dim light from the window catches her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone, the small scar above her brow. I take it all in: the pink flush to her lips, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the freckles I’ve never had the chance to count until now.
She’s so fucking beautiful it makes my chest hurt. She doesn’t belong in this room, in this bed, with someone like me; but she’s here anyway, and she’s looking at me like I’m something she wants.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says.
I hum in response. What can I say? I know the feeling.
“I kept thinking about you,” she adds.
I blink.
“I can’t stop,” she admits, voice rougher now. “Not since the kiss. Not since… you touched me.”
I shift closer, just enough to feel her breath fan across my chin. Her scent rises—sweet, warm, and hungry .
“I don’t know what it is,” she whispers. “But it’s there. Every time I look at you. Every time you look at me.”
I reach out—slow, giving her time to stop me—and let my fingers rest against the side of her face. She doesn’t flinch: in fact, she leans into it.
“I want you,” she says, and fuck, what am I supposed to say, what am I supposed to do when she’s here, in my bed, speaking to me like that?
I can’t hold myself back anymore, and I close the gap between us.
There’s no hesitation in her response. Her mouth parts beneath mine, and a soft but needy noise escapes her throat. I slide my hand into her hair, twisting at the root, tilting her just enough to deepen it. Her body moves closer, her palm bracing against my bare chest as she sighs into the kiss.
She’s warm and desperate and fuck , she’s not even trying to hold back. Her hand fists the sheet beside me and her leg slides over mine, thigh brushing my hip, pulling us closer until there’s nothing between us but skin and heat.
I groan, mouth dragging down her jaw to the sensitive spot under her ear.
“You sure?” I rasp.
“Yes,” she breathes, already chasing my mouth again. “ God , yes.”
We kiss again, tongues sliding, teeth nipping. Her nails dig into my chest as she presses herself flush against me, and I feel every inch of her—her thighs, her waist, her hips grinding into mine.
I’m already hard. Have been since the moment she walked in and I saw her again.
She gasps as I grip her ass, dragging her closer, grinding her into the thick line of my cock through my underwear. Her head drops forward, forehead pressing to mine, and she lets out a shaky breath.
“ Fuck ,” she whispers. “Jax, you feel— insane .”
“Just wait ‘til I’m inside you.”
She whines as her hips rock harder, chasing friction. I kiss her again and slide my hand up under the hem of her tee. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, soft and bare. My hand moves up slowly, pushing her top higher, and when my thumb brushes the underside of her breast, she gasps—sharp and real—and her body jolts.
She doesn’t stop me.
She wants this. Wants me.
The knowledge sends a shudder through my body, right to my fists.
I tug the fabric up. She lifts her arms, and I strip the tee off and toss it aside.
Fuck .
She’s perfect. All curves and heat and flushed skin, nipples already tight from the brush of cool air. My gaze drags over her chest, down her stomach, then back up again. I don’t speak. I don’t smile, I just stare —
And she stares right back, her chest heaving, mouth parted.
Her hands slide down my torso, palms pressed flat as she explores. I sit back against the pillows, legs open, arms at my sides, and I let her look at me, touch me, take control.
For now.
She pushes herself upright, and then forward until she’s straddling my waist again, positioning her hips directly over where my cock is straining against my underwear. I hiss as her hands go to my shoulders, holding tight as she grinds once, twice—testing and teasing and daring .
I grip her hips as she gasps. “ Jax —”
“I’ve got you,” I rasp.
I let her carry on for another minute before I flip her, the movement smooth and controlled. One second she’s on my lap, the next she’s pinned to the mattress beneath me, both of her delicate wrists captured in one of my hands, arms stretched tight above her head.
Her eyes go wide, and I lean in until my lips brush hers.
“If you want soft and sweet…” I shake my head, breath rough against her cheek. “That’s not me.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I don’t want soft. I don’t want sweet. I want you .”
My cock pulses, and I can’t help it: I growl—low, rough, barely even human —and kiss her again.
It’s not delicate. It’s not slow. It’s desperate , raw, and absolutely claiming. My tongue slides over hers, and she whimpers into my mouth as I roll my hips against her, letting her feel exactly how hard I am.
Her scent perfumes the air, and what’s left of my self-control snaps.
I release her wrists as my hands slide down her body—over her throat, her chest, her waist—until I reach the hem of her pajama shorts.
I look her in the eye. “These are coming off.”
“Okay,” she breathes.
“Spread your legs.”
She does so without hesitation, and I strip her slowly, savoring every new inch of bare skin. I drag her shorts down her thighs, past her knees, toss them to the floor.
She’s bare now; her thighs spread wide open, revealing the gorgeous sight of her perfect cunt, slick and flushed and practically glistening in the moonlight.
I press my fingers into the crease of her thigh and spread her wider, reveling in the scent of her curling through the air.
“Fuck,” I mutter, voice low. “You’re soaked .”
“For you,” she whispers. “It’s all for you, Jax.”
I can’t resist any longer, and I slide two fingers through her pussy, dragging them up through the mess she’s already made for me. Her whole body arches as I pinch at her clit before I drag them back down and press them inside.
Her cry is instant, and her walls grip me like she doesn’t want to let go. I work her slowly, curling my fingers until her back bows and her nails claw at the sheets.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I growl, circling my thumb firmly over her swollen clit as her thighs start to tremble. “I’m gonna ruin you.”
“ Please ,” she gasps. “Don’t stop—Jax, don’t stop—”
I fuck her with my fingers until her breath stutters, until her abdomen tenses, until she’s panting my name like a prayer—
And then I rip my hand away.
She whines; frustrated and furious, cursing under her breath. I raise my fingers to my mouth and suck them clean, my eyes fluttering to a close at the divine taste of her slick on my fingers before I shove my underwear down and fist my cock.
“You want more?” I ask, blinking down at her.
She nods frantically.
“Then say it.”
“Fuck me, Jax—please—I need you, I need you to fuck me.”
I line up and push myself inside—all the way. Our combined slick makes it easier for me to move, and her hands fly to my shoulders and dig in. I keep my eyes on her face, watching as her mouth drops open and her eyes roll as I stretch her slow and deep and thick against my cock.
“You feel that?” I breathe into her ear.
“Yes—oh my god—yes—”
“Then take it. ”
I fuck her.
Deep. Steady. Merciless.
Her hips jerk up to meet me, helpless and greedy, even as her cries bounce off the walls of my room. I brace one hand by her head and grip her thigh with the other, keeping her exactly where I want her—open, trembling, taking every inch I give her. She’s perfectly positioned, and completely mine; her fingernails dragging across my skin, her head tipped back against the pillow.
“Jax—Jax—Jax—”
That’s all I hear. That, and the slap of skin, the wet drag of her cunt, the breathless sounds of an omega being fucked stupid by the quiet one.
I lean over her, close enough to watch the tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Not from pain, but from pressure. From how much she wants this, and from how much she’s getting it.
“You wanted more,” I growl, voice low and steady. “So take it.”
I move impossibly harder, more deliberate, each snap and thrust of my hips deep and punishing against her pretty little cunt. Her walls pulse around me, squeezing tight, her breath catching with every shift and grind. The sound of the wet slide of our bodies fills the room, her scent blooming thick in the air—sweet, sharp, dizzying.
I breathe it in like it’s oxygen.
Her hands claw at my back, one leg hooking tight around my hip, trying to pull me deeper. I don’t stop. I don’t ask if she can take it—I already know she can.
She’s mine, and I’m giving her what she needs.
“Jax, please— don’t stop —”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her body shudders as I press my mouth to her throat, to her pulse, and let her feel every inch of me—every inch of this bond still snapping into place.
And when she comes, it’s not gentle: it’s full-body. Eyes-closed, nails-digging-in. She arches her back and clamps down so tight around my cock that I nearly lose control right then and there.
I hold on, rocking through the spasms of her release until I can’t hold back anymore.
I drop my forehead to hers. “You need to tell me again.”
She opens her eyes, dazed and wrecked and perfect. “What?”
“Tell me who you need.”
“You,” she breathes. “ You , Jax.”
She whimpers beneath me—breathless, shaking, completely wrecked—and when her mouth finds mine again, it’s not shy, it’s desperate . Tongue and teeth, slick and messy, her hands gripping my jaw tightly.
“Jax,” she pants, voice shaking, “please… I want it. I want you. I want you to claim me.”
Everything inside me stills.
Her body’s trembling, scent spiking high and hot in the air between us. My knot is thick at the base of my cock and swelling with instinct, need , a drive I’ve kept leashed my entire fucking life.
“You sure?” I rasp, jaw tight.
My forehead is pressed to hers, and I need to hear her say it again—just once more.
“ Yes ,” she whispers, hissing impatiently. “God, please, I need it. I need you to make me yours.”
I exhale once, sharp through my nose—
And then I snap.
The bond hits so hard I almost see stars. I bare my teeth and drive into her, deep and hard and full, knot pushing at the edge, pressing past resistance until I’m fully buried inside her. Her back bows, her cry torn from her throat as I press my open mouth to the curve of her neck and sink my teeth in deep.
Her taste explodes across my tongue.
Her blood. Her scent.
Her.
She gasps, then shudders, and the bond slams into place. A rush of heat and instinct tears through me, primal and feral and endless.
I don’t stop moving. I can’t.
I fuck her through it, the claiming, the sealing of something bigger than either of us.
“You’re mine now,” I growl into her skin, voice wrecked, raw, possessed. “Say it.”
My knot starts to swell, and she wraps her legs around me tighter, pulling me in. I growl in response and slam into her again and again and again, fuelled by the way that she cries out, by the words stuttering between her gasps.
“I’m yours—Jax— fuck, I’m yours.”
I can’t take it anymore, can’t hold back for a second longer. My knot locks fully, my hips grinding deep, and I feel her pulse around me as she shatters again—tight and hot and soaked around me, scent blooming so sweet it knocks the air from my lungs.
She breaks, and I follow.
We don’t speak for a long time.
She’s knotted, claimed, and still moving through it; still grinding slow and deep as her body quakes under mine.
I hold her while we come down, her skin flushed and dewy against mine, her fingers curling lazily in my hair. She doesn’t let go—not even a little.
Eventually, I lift my head and look down at her.
“Still want more?” I ask, voice low.
Her mouth curves as she blinks up at me.
“From you? ” she murmurs, brushing her fingers along my jaw. “Always.”
And fuck me—
This omega is going to ruin me.