JAXON
The dim light of her bedroom casts everything in a golden glow, turning her skin to honey and her eyes to liquid amber.
"I know you do," she whispers, her touch trailing down to my jaw, fingertips grazing the stubble there with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.
Her confidence in me, in this, is staggering. I want her to feel everything, to experience this without hesitation or concern.
So, instead, I show her. But first?—
“Condom?” I ask, a sheepish smile tugging on my lips. I definitely didn’t come prepared for tonight to go this way.
“They’re in the nightstand, but…” Her eyes meet mine, and the slight bit of hesitation crosses her features. “I want to feel you. Just you.”
My grip on the sheets tightens. This woman is going to ruin me before I’m even inside her.
“I’m on birth control and I’ve been tested.”
“Me, too. I haven’t been with anyone. Ever.” The pulse at the base of her throat flutters beneath my lips. “It’s always been you.”
I trail my lips down her neck, remembering the way sheshivered when I kissed that spot below her ear in the shower. Her reaction now is just as powerful—a soft gasp, her body arching into mine like a bow drawn taut. I smile against her skin, memorizing every sound, every movement, every place that makes her breath catch.
"Jax," she breathes, her hands sliding down my back, pulling me closer, fingers pressing into muscle. The urgency in her voice sends heat spiraling through me, settling low in my stomach. My name on her lips sounds different now—breathier, needier, like a plea and a promise wrapped into one.
The sheets beneath us are cool against heated skin, the contrast only heightening every sensation. I can feel her heartbeat everywhere we touch, or maybe it's mine—at this point, they seem to have synchronized, beating in perfect tandem. The scent of her surrounds me—that subtle lavender and something uniquely her, intoxicating in its familiarity.
I take my time exploring her, learning the language of her body—what makes her sigh, what makes her moan, what makes her grip the sheets with white knuckles. I may be inexperienced, but I'm a quick learner, and Madison is an open book under my touch. Every reaction guides me, teaching me what she likes, what she needs.
“Tell me what you like, what you want me to do,” I tell her. “I want to make this good for you.”
The soft curve of her waist fits perfectly in my palm, like it was made for my hand. I trace the line of her collarbone with my lips, feeling her shiver beneath me. The contrast of our skin in the dim light—her golden warmth against my darker tone—creates a mosaic of shadows and light that fascinates me. I want to memorize every inch of her, map her body with my hands and mouth until I know her better than I know myself.
Her hands aren't idle either. She touches me with a confidence that makes my head spin, her fingers tracing paths of fire across my skin. She knows exactly what she's doing, each touch deliberate,practiced. When her hand wraps around me, I have to grit my teeth to maintain control, the sensation almost too much to bear.
"Mads," I warn, my voice tight, strained with the effort of holding back.
She smirks up at me, a challenge in her eyes, her hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo. "Yes?"
I capture her wrist, pinning it gently beside her head, the delicate bones beneath my fingers reminding me to be careful, to be gentle despite the fire raging in my blood. "It’s my turn," I murmur against her lips, the words more breath than sound.
The flash of surprise in her eyes gives way to something darker, hungrier. She bites her lip, nodding, and the simple gesture of surrender nearly undoes me.
I release her wrist, trailing my hand down her body, watching her reactions carefully: the way her breath hitches when I ghost over sensitive spots, the way her skin breaks out in goosebumps despite the warmth of the room. When I reach between her thighs, her breath catches, eyes fluttering closed, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
"Look at me," I say softly, waiting until those hazel eyes meet mine before I continue. I need to see her, need to watch as pleasure washes over her face, need to know it's me making her feel this way.
The vulnerability in her gaze nearly undoes me.
I keep our eye contact as my hand presses against her harder, my palm putting pressure on her clit while my middle finger swipes through her wetness. I groan at the feeling as I tease her entrance. I push my finger in just barely, and she bucks her hips, silently asking for more.
My insecurity about making this good for her has me asking, “Does that feel good, Mads?”
She sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth, moving her hips slightly. “More.”
I give her more, pushing my entire finger into her wet heat. Sheclamps down on me, and my dick jumps slightly. My groan mingles with her moan and I watch her face as I work her body with my hand. She latches onto my arm with a loud gasp after I curl my finger just slightly, and she seems to really like that, so I do it again. I add another finger to the mix, continuously pumping in and out.
I watch her come apart under my touch, her body trembling, my name falling from her lips. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen—the way her breath catches, the way her back arches, the way her fingers clutch at my shoulders. Her nails scratch the skin, like I'm the only thing anchoring her to this world. I commit every detail to memory, determined to remember this moment for the rest of my life.
When she comes down, her cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, she pulls me in for a kiss that's all heat and need. "I need you inside me," she whispers against my mouth, the words vibrating against my lips. "Now."
