Chapter 8 #4
With every stroke of his hand, that strange golden warmth grew stronger, spreading through my body like honey, thick and sweet.
It pooled in my lower belly, in my chest, behind my eyes—making everything brighter, more intense, more real than anything I’d ever experienced.
The boundaries between us seemed to blur, as if we were bleeding into each other, becoming something new and ancient all at once.
“J-Jaxson,” I gasped, my nails probably leaving crescents in his shoulders as I held on for dear life. Sorry, not sorry about your shirt. Send me the dry cleaning bill—I’ll frame it as a souvenir. “I can’t—I’m going to—there’s something happening—like light or—I don’t—”
He made a sound—something between a growl and a groan—that shot straight to my groin, making me harder than I thought possible.
It wasn’t a human sound; it was something darker and more primitive, something that seemed to bypass my conscious mind and speak directly to some ancient part of me that I didn’t know existed until this moment.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, and God, his voice shouldn’t be allowed to sound like that. Like sin wrapped in velvet, like promises made in the dark. “Let go for me, Lan. I want to see you come apart.”
His words, the raw need in them, sent a shudder through me.
This wasn’t brotherly. This wasn’t innocent.
This was something else entirely, something that made my blood sing and my heart race.
Something that felt both terrifying and absolutely right, like a piece falling into place that I hadn’t known was missing.
What was he thinking? Did he regret this already?
Was he disgusted by how eagerly I was responding to his touch?
Was he mentally comparing my smooth skin to all the beautiful bodies he’d touched before?
The questions swirled in my mind like a neurotic tornado, but his hand never faltered, never gave me a moment to catch my breath or clear my thoughts.
Typical Jaxson—excellent multitasking even while destroying my sanity.
Jaxson prolonged each movement, drawing out the sensation until time lost all meaning.
My head fell back, then forward again, bringing our faces mere inches apart.
His breath mingled with mine, warm and coffee-scented, caressing my lips like a phantom kiss.
I could feel the heat of his breath, could smell that unique scent of his stronger than ever—pine, coffee, and something else that reminded me of thunderstorms and ancient forests.
Something strange was happening in my chest—a humming warmth that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with proximity.
It was as if some invisible thread connected us, pulled taut now that we were so close, vibrating with an energy I couldn’t name.
The sensation was utterly foreign yet weirdly familiar, like recognizing a place you’ve only seen in dreams.
My gaze dropped to his mouth, tracing the perfect curve of his bottom lip, the slight fullness that had haunted my dreams for years.
What would he taste like? Coffee and mint, probably.
Maybe something uniquely Jaxson that I’d become addicted to with just one taste.
Great, now I’m mentally composing poetry about his lips. What’s next? A sonnet about his elbow?
I swayed forward unconsciously, drawn by that mysterious force that seemed to be pulling us together.
It wasn’t just desire—it was something deeper, more primal, like gravity but selective.
Just for him. Just for me. Our noses brushed, the lightest contact sending electricity racing down my spine and intensifying that strange warmth in my chest until it felt like liquid gold was flowing through my veins instead of blood.
His breath hitched, the rhythm of his hand faltering for just a heartbeat before resuming its exquisite torture.
His eyes—darkened with just a ring of gold around the pupils—flicked down to my mouth, then back up to meet my gaze.
Something hungry and primal flashed there, making my heart stutter.
It was a look I’d never seen before—ancient and possessive, like he wanted to devour me whole.
The gold in his eyes seemed to intensify, glowing from within like embers in the darkness, reflecting something that flickered in my own chest, an answering light I couldn’t explain.
My lips parted instinctively, a silent invitation I hadn’t meant to extend.
I was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could almost taste him on my tongue already.
The pull between us was nearly physical now, like magnetism or a hook behind my navel drawing me inexorably toward him.
My entire body seemed to lean into his without my conscious direction, as if we were two halves of something meant to be whole.
Just one small movement, just an inch forward, and I could finally know if reality matched the fantasy I’d built in my head.
The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and I nearly lost what little control I had left.
My fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him imperceptibly closer as his hand continued its relentless rhythm below.
The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that felt almost supernatural in its intensity—like the atmosphere before lightning strikes, full of potential and power.
The golden warmth in my chest pulsed in time with my heartbeat, reaching out toward him like tendrils of light seeking their source.
Then reality crashed through my desire-fogged brain like a bucket of ice water.
What the hell am I doing? This was Jaxson—my stepbrother, my family, the guy who taught me how to ride a bike and helped me with my English homework when I first moved here.
This was already crossing so many lines, and a kiss would make it impossible to pretend this was just…
whatever this was. He would push me away, disgusted.
He would realize exactly how I felt about him.
I jerked back, panic flashing through me, turning my face into his neck instead.
The moment shattered, but the overwhelming pleasure of his touch remained, intensifying as his hand quickened its pace.
His other arm tightened around me, holding me close with a strength that bordered on painful, as if he sensed my retreat and refused to let me go completely.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against my hair, his voice rough with something I couldn’t name. “I’ve got you. Let go for me. Mine.”
His words vibrated through me, breaking the last of my resistance. The pressure built like a tsunami, heat coiling tighter and tighter in my core until I thought I might shatter from it. My hips moved of their own accord, chasing his touch, seeking more of that exquisite friction.
And then suddenly I was coming apart in his arms, my world exploding into a million stars.
It was definitely, absolutely, without question the best orgasm of my life.
Not that I had a vast catalog to compare it to, but still.
If there was a Yelp for orgasms, I’d be leaving a five-star review with excessive exclamation points.
But it wasn’t just physical—there was something more happening, something I couldn’t quite explain.
As pleasure crashed through me in waves, a strange warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading outward like honey through my veins.
It wasn’t the typical flush of arousal—this was deeper, more resonant, like an ember had been kindled in my core.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, I could have sworn I felt something pass between us, an energy or connection that defied explanation.
Either I’ve discovered a new form of post-orgasmic euphoria or I need to lay off the late-night sci-fi marathons.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with something dark and possessive. “So beautiful. So perfect for me.” His eyes were locked on mine, pupils blown wide with just that thin ring of amber-gold around the edges, watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
For me. The words echoed in my pleasure-hazed mind, taking root somewhere deep.
For me. As if I belonged to him. As if this wasn’t just a onetime thing, a moment of weakness, but something more.
Something lasting. Something ordained by forces beyond our understanding.
Great, now I’m thinking in romance novel clichés.
Next, I’ll be running through fields of wildflowers in slow motion.
When the storm had passed, leaving me boneless and trembling in his arms, Jaxson’s voice reached my ears, soft and soothing. “Do you feel better now?”
I nodded weakly, my body still humming with the aftershocks of what had just happened.
That strange warmth lingered in my chest, like embers after a fire, nothing I’d ever felt when taking care of things myself.
Eye contact seemed like too much effort, so I found myself suddenly fascinated by his shoulder, by the way the fabric of his shirt stretched across it, by the damp spots where my tears—or maybe my mouth—had left marks.
Plus, I was pretty sure my face was doing its best impression of a stoplight.
Did he notice how I’d almost kissed him? How desperately I’d wanted to?
And what about that strange feeling? That ember warmth in my chest that still hadn’t faded?
Had the intensity of my orgasm simply scrambled my nervous system?
Or had something truly extraordinary happened between us?
Maybe “best orgasm ever” is just my body’s way of saying thanks for outsourcing the job.
“Get dressed and then go to sleep,” he instructed, his voice strained despite his attempt at casual authority. There was nothing casual about what had just happened between us, nothing brotherly about the way his hand had moved on me, nothing innocent about the way he’d called me “mine.”