Chapter 50
FIFTY
The sun is up, and Jaxon and I haven’t slept a wink. We still can’t keep our limbs—or mouths—to ourselves. He’s gone down on me so many times I’ve lost count. Each time, his tongue laps my clit with precision, taking me from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds.
And don’t get me started on when he finally unclipped my bra—ceremoniously, like it was some kind of sacred act—and sank both my breasts into his warm, greedy mouth. The way he used his tongue and teeth? It was like every nerve in my nipples had been lit on fire.
The man is... highly skilled.
The sheets on his bed got so soaked that after my legs gave out—again—he carried me to another room. All white. Hotel-chic. Five-star everything. That’s where we are now, tangled in each other, his lips on the bare skin of my back.
“Shit,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “I’m gonna sleep straight through the flight to Jacksonville. And the rest of the day. Without you.” There’s frustration in his voice—because this has to end soon. Two weeks apart might as well be forever.
I flip over, needing to see his face. His stupidly gorgeous face. I kiss him again, drunk on his mouth, but have to pull back before I float right into unconsciousness.
So we just lie there, eyes locked, exhausted but unwilling to close the space between sleep and goodbye.
“Can I ask you something?” he finally says.
I raise a brow, nodding.
“The other night, when I came to your door… You’d been crying, hadn’t you?”
The question hits harder than I expect. It brings it all back—the weight I’d shoved down.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“The kiss didn’t upset you?”
“No,” I breathe, kissing him softly. “It was... family shit.”
His eyes flash with concern. “What kind of family shit?”
“My father,” I say. “He’s on life support. On a breathing machine.”
Jaxon immediately props himself up like he’s ready to call someone, fix something.
I place both hands on his chest—my favorite chest—and press him gently back down. “It’s okay. I’m not close to him. Or his family.”
His brow furrows. “His family?”
I nod. “My mom died when I was six. Car accident. My dad couldn’t handle me on his own, so he remarried. She hated me. Treated me like I was a burden. And he just... let her. So yeah. We’re not close.”
Jaxon looks at me like he’s trying to rewrite the story in his head—change the ending, offer comfort with just his eyes.
For a second, I wonder if I’ve said too much. I’ve learned the hard way that not everyone wants a partner with family baggage. It makes people wonder if you’re damaged, incapable of being a good mother or wife.
Maybe he’s rethinking everything.
“Hey,” he says, gently tapping my chin. “Come back.”
I blink. I hadn’t realized I’d drifted into a spiral.
“All families have their shit,” he says softly.
I exhale, shoulders loosening. “What about yours?”
He smiles. “Three sisters. Which is why I’d never hurt a woman. Ever.”
Then his attention shifts—his eyes drift downward.
“Yes,” he murmurs with a grin.
“What?” I ask, following his gaze.
Oh.
Oh.
He’s hard again. Ridiculously so.
“I’ll take it nice and slow,” he promises, crawling over me like a man who knows exactly how to ruin a girl in the best possible way.
“Yeah,” I breathe, my legs parting automatically as he glides into me.
We’re both sex-sore, stretched thin with want—but this time is different. This isn’t about frenzy. It’s about finishing what we started—one last time.
Before the two-week drought begins.