JAX
Insanity looked good on her.
I knew it said something about my twisted mind when my cock twitched at her furious expression—that burning indignation in her eyes that promised bloodshed.
I saw the hit coming. Hell, I hungered for it, craving the harsh slap of her palm across my face.
My head whipped to the side, copper in my mouth.
Give me more.
She went soft instead, sinking into the chair in defeat. I didn’t like that. Her anger was perfect. It was important. Defeat wasn’t an option.
I wouldn’t let her give up on herself.
I gripped her ponytail, my apparent newest obsession, and used it to force her to her feet. She cried out in pain, clawing at my wrist. But her fury returned.
Good.
I could take her anger. I could take whatever she gave me, so long as she didn’t turn it on herself. It was a slippery slope, how easily helplessness turned into self-loathing.
“Let me go!” she snarled, her nails digging into my flesh. “I’m not your fucking puppet to pull around.”
“Make me.”
Her anger flared, then simmered into a new expression. I searched it curiously, then grinned when I realized what it was: determination. A shiver actually went down my spine when she spoke in a cold whisper: “I warned you not to touch me like this again.”
I tightened my fist. “I’m a slow learner.”
With that, she twisted in my grip and kicked me straight in the guts. I doubled over with a groan. For a pint-sized beauty queen, she packed a surprising punch.
I didn’t try to defend myself. It was too much fun.
My cheerleader let loose on me, an eruption of everything she’d been holding back. She punched, kicked, and scratched. She thrust her knee into my balls. She fought hard and dirty, and I was fucking impressed.
And so turned on, it made me dizzy.
“Come on,” I egged her on, shoving aside a chair when it became an obstacle between us. “That all you got, princess? Here, I won’t even move.”
I planted my feet and spread my arms.
She pounced at me like a feral cat, not purring but hissing and seething and going for blood.
She busted my lip and gauged my shoulder.
Between one punch and the next, I hooked my hands under her knees and lifted her up against me.
Her legs snapped around my waist automatically.
I stepped forward and pinned her down against the table.
She clawed at my back, but it was futile—she was mine.
After a few beats, she stilled. We stayed like that, pressed together, breathing heavily.
“I hate you,” she seethed, sweat glistening on her neck and chest. Then she went limp, not in defeat, not anymore, but in pure exhaustion. Her head thumped against my shoulder, nails loosening on my back. “You didn’t even try to stop me.”
“Feel better?”
“Not really. Feels like I just went three rounds against a tree.”
I adjusted her slightly, accidentally brushing her against my erection. She went stiff in shock, then reared back and stared at me with wide, incredulous eyes. “Seriously? This?”
I smirked unapologetically. “What? You’re not even a little bit turned on?”
“Not even a little bit,” she lied, looking suddenly bashful.
Man, I was in deep shit.
I made an effort to extract myself, but her legs tightened around my waist. Her eyes glared pointedly at the wall behind me.
Testing the waters, I dragged her against me, a slow, torturous grind of denim on denim. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. I did it again, harder, more forceful. I made her feel every hard inch of me, the steel rod I was packing because of her.
Her lip quivered. Her hands moved behind her, seeking balance on the tabletop. Her head rolled back, eyes looking anywhere but me. I made her shameful and I decided I liked it. She was a priss and a good girl, and I was the devil she didn’t want to want.
“Stop,” she said weakly.
“Your mouth says one thing,” I said, flexing my hips, mindful of my gun lodged in the back of my waistband. “Your body says something else.”
“I don’t want you.”
“Then why can’t you look at me?”
With visible effort, she snapped her gaze to mine. Instantly, her eyes dropped to my busted lip, and she looked so fucking proud of herself that I groaned.
My hands dragged down her thighs, memorizing the lean muscle, the goddamn rapture that was my cheerleader. “Tell me to stop.”
“I did.”
“Actually mean it.” I jutted forward hard, nailing her with my throbbing erection. Already, precum was dampening my briefs, testing my shaky restraint. My hands tightened to a bruising lock.
Olivia shuddered and said in a breathy whisper: “Stop.”
Clenching my eyes shut, I stopped.
My balls were tingling. It had been way too long since I got off. I was hard up and angry, and there she was, splayed across the table like a sinful banquet.
Was she a test from God or a gift from Satan?
“This is wrong,” Olivia said, sounding unconvinced. I opened my eyes and took another serving. She was flushed and shaking, her ankles knotted at my lower back, heels digging in. Drawing me in. Her eyes were still wet, still brimming with hatred.
I expected her to chicken out.
I did not expect her to sit up and reach for my belt.
Jesus.
The clink of metal was deafening between us. Her fingers were trembling, and she was back to avoiding looking directly at me. Fine. That was fine. Hate me and fuck me—I was used to it. I’d never loved anyone, and I didn’t need the warm and fuzzies to do my part.
I was going to ruin her.
She flicked open the button of my jeans and reached in. Despite her obvious nerves, she found the mark instantly. Her fingers curled over my cock, giving it a testing tug.
“Oh,” she said. Then her thumb pressed directly in the vein beneath my head.
I jerked so hard, I nearly pulled my lower back.
“Jesus, fuck,” I groaned.
Her answering smile was small and bratty. Her touch was searching, too soft in some ways, too hard in others. Her chest heaved, and her lashes fluttered. She bit her lip in determination.
Me? I just held on.
I was too amped, already on the edge of an embarrassing oblivion. I blamed the stress of it all, the aching months since I unloaded properly, the way she pushed all my buttons. She dragged her palm over my head, gathering the slickness, and gripped me harder, twisting to the base.
She giggled at my reaction.
That wouldn’t fucking do.
Regaining control was easy. I gripped her hips and dragged her closer, so she had no choice but to cling to me. But her defiance was just as clingy to her—she was battling with herself, with her own desires and reactions—and I wanted her to lose.
Give in.
I gripped her chin and forced her to look at me. Then I dipped my head, prepared to seal that mouth shut once and for all—
“Jax!” A voice bellowed from the doorway.
Olivia flailed in panic, ripping her hand out so fast that I flinched at the potential castration. I knew it had to be important—Callum wasn’t a shouter—but I was also pissy at his interruption.
Meanwhile, Olivia was trying to disappear into herself, her cheeks rosy. I didn’t let her pull away completely as I glared over my shoulder at Callum in the doorway.
“What?” I barked.
Callum didn’t so much as balk at our position, and I knew that was a bad sign. “Chopper,” he said gravely. “We have company.”