Chapter 24 #2
His lips curved into a smile that made my heart perform gymnastics routines that would qualify for the Olympics.
He sank onto the love seat with a grace that made my mouth go dry, his long legs spread slightly, one arm stretching across the back of the couch in a pose that looked casual but felt like a deliberate invitation.
“Come here,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that seemed designed specifically to make my knees weak. He patted his lap, and I swear my brain short-circuited completely.
“You want me to—” I gestured vaguely, heat flooding my face faster than a broken dam. “Like—on your—”
“Yes, Lan,” he confirmed, eyes darkening as they tracked my nervous movements. “I want you on my lap. Unless you’d prefer the bed?”
The image of me sprawled across Jaxson’s bed while he hovered over me sent another wave of heat through my body, but somehow the thought of straddling his lap, of being so close that nothing could come between us, felt more intimate, more dangerous, more everything.
“No, the, uh—this is—” English, Lan. You learned it. Use it. “This works.”
My feet carried me across the room without conscious direction from my brain, which was currently occupied with visions of all the ways this could go wrong.
I could knee him in a sensitive area. I could collapse on top of him like a ton of bricks.
I could spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
The possibilities for disaster were endless.
When I reached him, standing awkwardly between his spread legs, Jaxson’s hands settled on my hips, steadying me as he guided me forward until my knees bumped against the edge of the love seat.
“Like this,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking small circles against my hip bones through the thin fabric of my shorts. “One knee on either side of my hips.”
I followed his direction, climbing onto the love seat and settling my knees on either side of his thighs, my weight balanced awkwardly as I tried to avoid actually sitting on his lap.
The position left me slightly above him, looking down into those amber-gold eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light of his bedroom.
“Relax,” he instructed, his hands sliding from my hips to my lower back, applying gentle pressure until I settled more firmly onto his lap. “I’ve got you.”
The new position brought us close—closer than we’d been even during that heated kiss in the kitchen.
I could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell the subtle notes of his cologne mixed with something uniquely Jaxson—a scent I’d recognize blindfolded in a room full of people.
After a long day at work, it had taken on additional notes—a hint of sweat, a trace of the outside world, making it richer, more complex, more intoxicating.
“This is very…” I searched for a word that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete idiot. “Intimate.”
Jaxson’s laugh was soft, his hands never stopping their gentle exploration of my back, my sides, as if he was mapping my body through the thin layers of fabric that separated us. “That’s the point, Lan.”
His eyes dropped to where his shirt—still unbuttoned from our kitchen encounter—hung open, exposing my chest to his gaze.
I fought the urge to cross my arms, to hide myself from his scrutiny.
My body had always been a source of mild embarrassment—too small, too smooth, lacking the rugged masculinity that characterized the Sinclair brothers.
But the way Jaxson looked at me, like I was something precious and desirable…
it made me feel beautiful in a way I never had before.
“Still yes?” he asked, his voice rougher now, his eyes returning to mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
I nodded, then remembered how he’d insisted on verbal consent last time. “Yes,” I managed, the word barely more than a whisper. “Please, Jaxson.”
One of his hands came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone with surprising tenderness. “I want to take my time with you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine. “Is that okay? No rushing, no hurrying to the finish line. Just… feeling. Exploring.”
The implication made my heart race faster than Colt chasing his morning endorphin high.
Last time had been fast, intense, driven by need and curiosity.
The thought of Jaxson deliberately dragging this out, of prolonging the pleasure until I was begging for release…
it sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.
“I—yes,” I agreed, swallowing hard. “That sounds… good. Great. Terrifying but in a good way, like bungee jumping but with orgasms instead of certain death.” Christ, why do I keep talking?
His smile was equal parts tender and predatory, an impossible combination that somehow worked on him. “Kiss me, Lan.”
The command was softly spoken but unmistakable. And though a part of me wanted to refuse on principle—to maintain some illusion of control over this runaway situation—a much larger, much more insistent part needed to taste him again.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened as Jaxson’s hand slid into my hair, guiding me with subtle pressure.
His tongue traced the seam of my lips, coaxing rather than demanding, and I opened for him without hesitation.
The first slide of his tongue against mine sent a jolt of pleasure through me that had my hands clutching at his shoulders for support.
He tasted like coffee and mint and something darker, richer, that was uniquely Jaxson.
I could get drunk on this taste, could become addicted to it faster than Nico to a new video game.
His tongue explored my mouth with deliberate thoroughness, like he was committing the taste of me to memory, like this was something to be savored rather than rushed through.
The honey-sweet scent that always seemed to intensify when we touched had become overwhelming, filling the room with a fragrance that wrapped around us both like an invisible cocoon.
The golden warmth in my chest pulsed stronger with each beat of my heart, spreading through my veins until I felt like I might be glowing from within.
Jaxson’s hands moved to the open sides of his shirt that I wore, pushing it back off my shoulders without removing it completely.
The fabric pooled around my elbows, effectively trapping my arms at my sides in a way that should have made me feel vulnerable but instead sent a new wave of heat rushing through me.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against my lips, his hands returning to my sides, fingertips tracing up and down my bare skin with maddening lightness. “So smooth. So perfect.”
His mouth left mine to trail kisses along my jaw, down my neck, finding the spot where he’d marked me earlier and pressing his lips to it with possessive intent. I tilted my head to give him better access, a small, embarrassing sound escaping me as his teeth grazed my pulse point.
“The sounds you make,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and damp.
His hands continued their exploration of my torso, thumbs brushing over my nipples with a precision that suggested he’d been paying very close attention to my reactions last time. The contact sent sparks racing through me, drawing another of those sounds he claimed to love so much.
“Jaxson,” I gasped, his name falling from my lips like a plea, though what exactly I was begging for, I couldn’t have articulated if my life depended on it. More, maybe. Everything, possibly.
“I’ve got you,” he reassured, one hand sliding to the small of my back while the other dipped lower, fingers tracing the waistband of my shorts with deliberate slowness. “Trust me.”
And I did. Despite all the reasons I shouldn’t, despite all the complications and potential disasters looming on our horizon, I trusted Jaxson completely, utterly, with a depth that should have terrified me.
When his hand finally slipped beneath the elastic, wrapping around me with confident precision, I couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped me.
The sensation of his hand on me—warm, strong, slightly calloused—sent waves of pleasure racing through my body, making my head fall forward to rest against his shoulder.
“Look at me,” he instructed, his other hand coming up to tilt my chin until our eyes met. “I want to see you. All of you.”
The intensity of his gaze as his hand established a rhythm that was maddeningly slow, deliberately languid, made heat flush across my skin.
Being watched so closely while experiencing such intimate pleasure should have been mortifying.
Instead, it was intoxicating, the connection between us deepening with each shared breath, each stroke of his hand.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as my hips began to move of their own accord, seeking more friction, more pressure, more everything. “Show me what you need.”
His pace never increased, though. Each stroke was measured, deliberate, designed to build pleasure slowly rather than racing toward release. His thumb would occasionally sweep over the sensitive head, spreading the moisture gathered there before returning to that maddeningly steady rhythm.
“Jaxson,” I breathed, frustration and need making my voice break on his name. “Please.”
“Please what?” he asked, his voice rough. “Tell me what you need, Lan.”
“Faster,” I begged, beyond pride or embarrassment. “Harder. Something.”
His smile was almost tender as he leaned forward to brush his lips against mine in a kiss so gentle it made my chest ache. “Not yet,” he murmured. “I want to make this last. Want to watch you fall apart slowly, piece by piece.”