4. Jaxon #3
My hands find her waist, sliding over the silk of her blouse, tracing the curve of her hip. She shudders beneath my touch, her breath hitching when my fingers skim beneath the fabric, brushing bare skin. The sound undoes me, sets fire to whatever restraint I thought I had.
I grip her hips, lifting her onto the piano, stepping between her legs. She doesn’t hesitate—her thighs tighten around me, heels digging into the backs of my thighs as she drags me closer.
"Jaxon," she breathes against my mouth, and it’s not just my name—it’s a plea, a challenge, a warning. And I should heed it, should put space between us before this becomes something we can’t take back.
But then she tilts her head, giving me access to the delicate curve of her throat, and I’m lost.
I press my lips to the pulse thrumming wildly beneath her skin, tasting her, feeling the way her body trembles beneath mine.
She tilts her head back against the piano, her fingers threading into my hair, holding me to her as my mouth moves lower, tracing the line of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.
"Fuck," she murmurs when I bite down gently, soothing the sting with my tongue. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her body arching into mine, and I can feel the heat of her through the thin layers of clothing still separating us.
My hands slip under her blazer, pushing it off her shoulders, needing more.
Needing to feel her without barriers. She lets me, shrugging it off, reaching for my shirt in return.
Her fingers find the hem, dragging it up, and I let her—let her touch, let her explore. Let her take as much as I want to give.
Her hands roam lower, skimming over my stomach, her fingers tracing the line of my belt. But then I take control, flipping our positions so she’s now perched on the edge of the piano, her breath hitching as I kneel before her.
Her wide eyes meet mine, realization dawning, heat darkening her gaze. "Jaxon—"
"Tell me to stop," I murmur, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her skirt higher.
She doesn’t. Instead, she leans back, propping herself up on her elbows, her breath shallow, expectant. An invitation.
I trail my lips along the inside of her thigh, savoring the way she shivers, the way her legs part for me without hesitation. The anticipation crackles between us, thick and intoxicating.
When my mouth finally finds her, she gasps—head tilting back, fingers gripping the edge of the piano. I take my time, tasting, teasing, learning what makes her moan, what makes her body tremble, what makes her thighs tighten around me.
She’s intoxicating, responsive, melting beneath my touch, her breath coming in shallow pants. Her fingers find my hair, tugging, guiding, her hips arching to meet my mouth. I let her set the pace, let her lose herself in it, in me.
And when she shatters, when her whole body tenses before unraveling in waves of pleasure, I hold her through it, pressing kisses to her inner thighs, easing her back down.
Her chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, her skin flushed, her lips parted as she blinks down at me in dazed satisfaction. I smirk, brushing my thumb across the inside of her knee before standing, pulling her back into my arms.
Her mouth finds mine in a languid, lazy kiss—one of satisfaction, of silent thanks, of something deeper that neither of us dares name.
The knock at the studio door is like a gunshot in the quiet.
We freeze, my breathing ragged, hers just as uneven. Her fingers are still tangled in my shirt, my hands still gripping her hips, but reality crashes down hard and fast.
"Jaxon?" Luke’s voice filters through the door, muffled but unmistakable. "We need to talk before your meeting."
Before I can respond, the door opens again, and Luke appears, looking far too pleased with himself.
"I see you two have had a chance to talk," he says, smugness radiating from every pore. "Vivienne, I hope Jaxon has explained our proposal."
She takes a step back from me, the professional mask sliding into place. But her eyes, when they meet mine, still hold that challenging spark.
"He has," she confirms. "It's certainly... unexpected."
"But worth considering, I hope?" Luke presses.
Vivienne’s eyes meet mine, dark and hazy with lingering heat. Her lips are swollen, her breath uneven, but she swallows hard and straightens, smoothing her blouse with shaky fingers.
I step back, trying to wrestle my body under control. Trying to ignore the part of me that’s already craving more.
She adjusts her blazer, but when she looks at me again, there’s something new in her gaze. Something unreadable.
"I should go," she says again, but this time she means it.
And this time, I let her.
Vivienne looks back at me, her expression unreadable to everyone except me. I see the calculation, the consideration, the interest she's trying to hide.
"Luke, about the proposal," she says finally. "I'll need time to think about it."
But her eyes, locked with mine, tell a different story. They say she's already made her decision. That whatever this is between us—this unexpected connection, this mutual recognition—has tipped the scales.
The only question is whether I'm ready for what happens next.