Chapter Ten
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Aria
“Aria—”
His hands claimed her waist first—big, warm, calloused from years of gripping steering wheels and shifting through gears at high speed. Then he lifted her like she weighed nothing at all.
Her legs wrapped around him on pure instinct, ankles locking at the small of his back. The thick, rigid length of him pressed hot and insistent against her centre through the thin fabric of his boxers still separating them. She gasped into his mouth as he kissed her—deep, immediate, no preamble.
His tongue stroked in, claiming hers with slow, deliberate hunger.
She met him with the same frantic need, rocking against him in small, desperate rolls of her hips, chasing the friction that already had her aching.
He groaned low in his throat—the sound vibrating through her chest—and walked them backward toward the bed without ever breaking the kiss.
She clung tighter. Fingernails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. Tongue sliding against his in wet, greedy strokes. Every step jolted fresh sparks through her core where they ground together.
He reached the edge of the mattress and lowered her slowly onto the sheets, but she didn’t let go—legs still locked around his waist, hips lifting to keep the pressure right where she needed it. He had to gently pry her thighs apart so he could stand, and the loss of contact made her whimper.
He straightened.
Looked down at her sprawled across the bed—legs parted, chest rising and falling fast, skin flushed from neck to thighs.
Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoved them down in one smooth motion.
They hit the floor.
Aria’s breath snagged in her throat.
He was thick, long, heavily aroused— the head flushed dark and glistening. A flicker of real nerves cut through the haze of want; he was bigger than she’d expected, much bigger than Min-Jae, and the sight made her pulse throb between her legs even as uncertainty tightened her stomach.
Jax caught the hesitation instantly.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough but soft. One big hand wrapped loosely around himself, stroking once—slow, deliberate, letting her see every inch—as if to reassure her. “I’ll make sure it fits. I’ll go slow. Promise.”
She swallowed hard. Nodded once. Still nervous, but the low rasp of his voice and the way he watched her—like she was something precious and devastating—eased the knot a little.
He sank to his knees on the carpet between her parted thighs, broad shoulders filling the space, hands sliding under her hips to lift her gently toward his mouth. The heat of his breath ghosted over her first, making her shiver.
She tensed. Propped herself on her elbows—braced for disappointment, muscles tight with old memories of quick, mechanical touches that never quite reached her.
Jax paused, lips brushing the soft skin just above her knee. He looked up at her, eyes dark and steady.
“Trust me?” he asked again, quieter this time.
She hesitated.
Memories of Min-Jae flickered—perfunctory licks, half-hearted flicks, always over too fast, always leaving her unsatisfied and quietly ashamed that she couldn’t finish from it. She’d learned to fake it just to move on.
“I… don’t usually like it,” she admitted, voice small. “It’s never really… done anything for me.”
Jax’s expression didn’t change—no judgment, no pity. Just patience.
“Most women love it when it’s done right,” he said simply, lips grazing higher. “And I’ve had… compliments.”
A tiny, surprised laugh escaped her despite the nerves.
He smiled—small, wicked—and continued kissing his way up her inner thigh. Slow. Deliberate. Alternating sides. Teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver. He took his time, mapping every sensitive inch with his mouth until her hips were shifting restlessly against the sheets, thighs trembling.
When he finally reached her centre, he pressed one slow, open-mouthed kiss there. Then another. Then parted her gently with his thumbs—just enough to open her fully—before flattening his tongue and licking a long, languid stripe from entrance to clit.
Aria’s hips jerked hard off the bed.
He did it again—slower—tongue broad and hot, exploring every fold with steady, unhurried pressure. He circled her clit with the flat of his tongue, then flicked the tip lightly, then drew the sensitive bud between his lips with the softest pull.
Her breath came in short, uneven pants.
He hummed against her—low, vibrating—and the sensation rolled through her like thunder.
He kept the rhythm steady at first: long, slow drags, gentle circles, soft suction.
Then he varied it—quick flutters over her clit, deliberate strokes lower, dipping just inside her entrance before returning to tease the swollen bud.
She threaded her fingers into his hair without thinking, holding him there.
He groaned in approval, the sound vibrating straight through her core.
Minutes stretched. Her body wound tighter and tighter. Every time she thought she was close, he eased off—just enough to keep her hovering—then built her back up with that same relentless attention. Licking. Sucking. Circling. Never stopping. Never hurrying.
Sweat beaded between her breasts. Her legs shook. Her hips rocked up to meet his mouth in helpless little movements.
“Jax—please—”
He answered by focusing harder—drawing her clit between his lips with insistent pressure, tongue flicking fast and firm.
The orgasm built like a slow-rising wave—deeper, fuller than anything she’d ever felt.
It crested without warning, crashing through her in long, rolling pulses.
She cried out—sharp, broken—back arching off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as she came undone.
He didn’t stop. Kept his mouth on her through every shudder, every aftershock, tongue gentle now but still moving, drawing it out until she was gasping, oversensitive, weakly tugging at his hair.
Only then did he lift his head. Lips shiny. Chin wet. Smug little smile curling his mouth.
“Told you,” he rasped, voice wrecked.
She stared at him, dazed. Chest heaving. Legs still trembling.
No one had ever taken that long with her. No one had ever made her come like that—slow, thorough, devastating.
He reached for the bedside drawer—condom packet crinkling. He tore it open with his teeth, rolled it on with practiced ease, stroking himself once, twice, eyes locked on hers as he watched her catch her breath.
Then he settled between her thighs again. Braced on one forearm above her. The blunt, thick head of him nudged her entrance, sliding through her slickness, teasing without pushing in yet.
“Still with me?” he asked quietly, voice gravel-rough.
She nodded. Reached up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his lower lip—still slick from her. “Yeah.”
He kissed her then—slow, deep, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She moaned into his mouth, hips lifting instinctively toward him.
Only when she was arching, needy, did he start to push in.
Slow. So slow.
The stretch was intense—almost too much at first. She sucked in a breath, fingers tightening on his shoulders, nails biting skin.
He paused halfway, forehead pressed to hers. “Breathe.”
She did. Exhaled shakily. Nodded.
He sank deeper—inch by careful inch—watching her face the whole time.
When he was fully seated, hips flush against hers, they both groaned.
The fullness was overwhelming. Perfect. He stayed buried inside her, unmoving, letting her adjust, letting her feel every thick inch of him stretching her open.
After a long moment she rocked her hips—small, testing movements.
He groaned, low and ragged. “Fuck, Aria… you feel so good.”
That was all the encouragement she needed.
She rocked again—harder this time. He matched her. Slow, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. Long withdrawals followed by deep, deliberate slides back in. Each one made her gasp. Each one built the heat higher.
The burn eased into pure, liquid pleasure. Sharp-edged. Addictive.
“More,” she whispered against his mouth.
He gave it to her.
The pace built gradually—deeper, firmer. Skin slapping softly against skin, breath mingling. She hooked her legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him in tighter with every thrust.
He shifted his weight. Caught one of her thighs in a firm grip. Lifted it high, hooking her knee over his shoulder.
The new angle changed everything.
He sank impossibly deeper. Hit a spot inside her that made her see white. Each thrust now pressed right where she needed it most.
She cried out—half surprise, half bliss. “There—god, right there—”
He moved harder. Relentless now. Controlled power in every roll of his hips. The bed creaked under them. Sweat slicked their skin. Her hands roamed—nails raking down his back, then gripping his hips to urge him deeper.
The coil inside her tightened again—impossibly fast after the first orgasm, but stronger. Building from deep inside, radiating outward.
“Jax—oh god—I’m—”
“Come for me,” he growled against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. “Let me feel you.”
The words tipped her over.
The second orgasm ripped through her—fiercer than the first. Her body tightened around him in rhythmic waves, trembling as pleasure crashed over her. She scratched down his back—hard enough to leave marks. She didn’t care. Her cry was loud, raw, unrestrained.
He kept moving through it—drawing it out, chasing every last shudder—until his own rhythm faltered. Hips stuttering. A low, guttural groan buried in her shoulder as he followed her over the edge, pulsing deep inside her, body locked tight against hers.
They collapsed together.
Sweaty. Panting. Tangled.
He stayed inside her for long minutes, breathing hard against her throat, softening slowly.
Finally he eased out carefully and pulled her against his chest without a word.
She curled into him—head tucked under his chin, leg thrown over his hip, still trembling faintly from aftershocks.
Exhausted.
Amazed.
Shocked, honestly.
She’d never come twice in one night. Never like that. Never felt so completely taken apart and put back together.
His heartbeat thumped steady under her cheek.
She felt his lips brush the top of her head—soft, almost reverent.
“Sleep,” he murmured, voice soft now, tender in a way that made her chest ache.
She did.
For the first time in months, the anger was gone.
Replaced by something warm. Dangerous. Unnamed.
But she was too tired—and too sated—to name it tonight.