Chapter 29 Hold On & Let Go
Hold On & Let Go
She watches him, biting back a smirk.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing at all.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
He tilts his head, voice low. Dangerous. “Just enjoying what I see.”
“Oh?” Claire leans forward, letting the neckline of her black dress drop just enough to tease. “And what do you see?”
Jaxon’s eyes rake over her like a man dying of thirst. “I saw what you put on under that dress.”
Her lips part. “And what do you see now?”
“I see the glow of the chandelier catching the green in your eyes. I see that black dress sliding off your shoulders as I pull the zipper down. I see lace hitting the floor, your body bare except for the pulse pounding under your skin when I put my mouth on you. I see my fingers slipping under that thong, feeling how wet you already are for me...”
“Get the check,” Claire breathes, crossing her legs again, slower this time.
The elevator ride to the 18th floor might as well be purgatory.
Claire stands opposite him—untouchable and dripping in anticipation. Her eyes hold his hostage, and when her teeth sink into her bottom lip, Jaxon feels his restraint snap like thread pulled too tight.
The elevator climbs at a crawl, tension thick and suffocating. Her body hums. His fists clench. Neither of them speaks, but their silence is deafening.
When the doors finally open, Claire saunters out with a come-fuck-me grin and a swing in her hips that makes his cock twitch.
She kicks off her heels mid-stride, looks back at him as her fingers reach up and slowly—so fucking slowly—unzip the back of her dress, just enough to show the smooth curve of her spine.
By the time she reaches the suite door, Jaxon’s already there, his need boiling under the surface, skin too tight, blood too hot.
Claire leans against the frame, tilting her head, looking up at him with those eyes—eyes that say take me, wreck me, don’t stop until I forget my name.
Without touching her skin, his hand disappears beneath her dress. He leans in, lips grazing her neck, just breathing her in. His fingers slip over lace, finding heat and slickness that nearly makes him groan aloud.
But he pulls back.
Unlocks the door like nothing just happened.
Claire growls. “Asshole.”
The moment the door clicks shut, she shoves him against the wall, mouth on his like she’s starving for it. Their lips crash, open and wet. She claws at his shirt and strips it off like it’s offended her. He spins her, lips on her shoulder as he unzips her dress and lets it fall.
She steps out of it. Bra gone in a second.
And for a moment—he just looks.
Like he needs to memorize every inch of her bare body before he claims it.
“My lips,” he murmurs against her skin, “are going everywhere my hands go.”
She gasps.
He grabs her wrist and walks her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She drops onto it, legs spread slightly, wild with anticipation.
He kneels between her thighs, dragging the black lace thong down her legs, slow and sinful. Then tosses it aside.
And then he’s on her.
His mouth is hot, hungry—lips closing around one nipple while his hand palms the other breast, squeezing just enough to make her back arch. Her moan splits the room.
He trails kisses down her stomach, stubble scraping her skin like heat.
Then he licks her.
Once.
Twice.
Flat, slow, teasing.
She cries out, hips lifting, but he pins her down with firm hands. His tongue works deeper, faster, rougher—teasing her clit with the tip before sucking hard enough to make her sob his name.
“Jaxon—fuck—please—”
But he doesn’t stop. He devours her. Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. He sucks, licks, flicks—until her body shakes beneath him.
When her thighs begin to tremble, he slips two fingers inside her—curving just right—and her whole body tightens.
“Come for me,” he growls against her.
She shatters.
Legs shaking. Fists locked in the sheets. Her back arches like her body’s trying to outrun the orgasm crashing through her.
She collapses, wrecked. Panting. Gasping for air.
And that’s when Jaxon rises.
His mouth glistens. His eyes burn.
He strips off the rest of his clothes in seconds. His cock is hard—thick, flushed, and ready. And when she sees him, her breath catches.
She reaches out, wraps her fingers around him, strokes slow and deliberate.
He groans deep in his chest, but grabs her wrist, pushing it away.
“I’m not done tasting you.”
He grabs her hips, flips her to her stomach, and drags her to the edge of the bed.
Her ass lifts. Her legs part. She’s soaked and spread, a fucking invitation.
But he doesn’t give in.
Not yet.
He spreads her open and licks her from behind—one long, deep stroke that makes her whimper. Again. Again. Until she’s shaking and whispering curses and pleas that blur together.
Then he spits—hot, filthy—and rubs it into her clit with his thumb. Circles it slowly until her legs tremble again.
She tries to lift her hips for more, but he grips her down hard.
“You don’t move unless I say so.”
Her breath stutters. Her thighs quake.
“Now turn over and open your mouth.”
She obeys instantly.
He straddles her chest and brings his cock to her lips. She wraps her hand around the base, looks up with eyes wide and wanting.
Then she sucks him deep.
Jaxon groans, head dropping back, hips twitching as her mouth takes him. Lips sliding down his shaft. Tongue swirling. Spit pooling.
She moans around him, and he pulses against her tongue.
She bobs her head slow, then faster—stroking the rest with both hands, messy and unhinged.
He grabs the back of her head and starts guiding her, thrusting slowly, letting her take him deeper, until she gags—and keeps going.
He pulls out, panting. Barely holding on.
“On your back.”
She flips without hesitation.
He grabs her by the thighs, pulls her down to the edge, and slams into her with a single brutal thrust.
She screams.
He groans—fuck—and does it again.
Hard.
Ruthless.
Her body takes him like it was made to. Slick, tight, soaked. Every thrust punches a moan out of her throat.
He wraps one hand around her throat—not choking, just owning her. His other hand grips her thigh and throws it over his shoulder.
He hits deeper.
Harder.
“Yours,” she breathes. “I’m yours—fuck—Jaxon—”
“You fucking better be,” he snarls, pounding harder, sweat dripping from his skin onto hers.
She claws at his back. Bites his shoulder. Writhes under him like she’s burning alive.
Then he grabs her wrists, pins them above her head, and wrecks her.
Slamming into her so deep she can’t breathe.
Her third orgasm takes her without warning—violent, pulsing, unstoppable. She sobs his name like it’s all she knows.
Only then does he let go.
He pulls out just far enough to slam back in and cum hard, spilling deep, hips grinding, his mouth on her neck, her name growled like a vow.
They collapse together—sweaty, ruined, breathless.
The sheets are soaked. The room is thick with sex and silence.
Neither of them says a word.
Because right now—nothing needs to be said.
Not yet.