He leans against the doorway for a moment before coming closer to where I’m packing. I'm about to grab another sweater when I hear a low, amused hum behind me.
"Well, well, well…what do we have here?"
I whirl around just in time to see Jaxon holding up a piece of very lacey, very not-for-public-viewing underwear between his fingers, his smirk downright criminal. The black lace dangling from his hand looks even more revealing in his grip than it did in the store.
My entire face burns.
"Jaxon!" I rush toward him, reaching for it, but he steps back, his grin widening. There's something in his eyes—a glint of something darker, more intense than his usual teasing.
"Damn, Mads. You bringing this for the hot tub?" His voice is all teasing, but there's a distinct edge to it—something low, something knowing, something that makes heat curl in my stomach despite my embarrassment.
I glare at him, crossing my arms. "Put it down, right now."
He raises a brow, his eyes darkening. "Hmm…I don't know. I feel like I should get something in return."
I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. "Jaxon."
He steps back again, still smirking, still infuriating. "What'll you give me for it?"
I lunge forward, trying to snatch it from his hands, but the second I do?—
We collide.
His chest meets mine, solid and warm, his hands immediately coming to my waist to steady me. The sudden contact knocks theair from my lungs, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my tank.
I freeze. The teasing, the embarrassment—everything shifts in an instant.
His breath is slow, controlled, but when I look up—when my gaze catches his, dark and steady—I see it.
The shift.
The way his jaw tenses slightly, the way his hands flex against my sides, the way his thumb traces a small, almost imperceptible circle against my hip. His eyes darken, pupils dilating as they track over my face, lingering on my lips.
My pulse pounds in my throat. He dips his head, voice lower, rougher. "What'll you give me, Mads?"
The question hangs between us, charged with weeks of built-up tension, of stolen kisses and careful touches that never quite crossed the line.
I swallow, my fingers twitching at my sides. Every nerve ending in my body seems to come alive under his gaze, under the gentle pressure of his hands on my waist.
Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
The second my lips meet his, everything implodes.
This isn’t like our other kisses—not soft, not careful, not measured. This is hunger, pure and simple. He’s starving for it. For me.
And I don't want him to hold back. We've been tiptoeing this line of more than kissing over these last few weeks. Jaxon seems hesitant to take it any farther, almost too respectful, always letting me set the pace, always pulling back just when things start to get too heated.
But not this time.
His tongue sweeps over mine in a way that makes my stomach drop, heat spreading low and fast through my body. I can taste his want, his need, and it matches my own—the desperation that has been building since that first night in his truck.
His fingers flex on my hips before sliding under my tank, his palms warm against my bare skin, teasing, exploring. I shudder at the contact, arching into him without thinking, my body begging for more. I've never responded this way to anyone before, never felt this urgent need to be closer, to feel more, to let someone in.
Jaxon groans, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his lips trail along my jaw, down the column of my throat. His breath is hot, his mouth slow and deliberate as he presses open-mouthed kisses against my skin, like he's memorizing every inch of me, drawing out each moment.
My fingers curl into his hoodie, pulling him closer, and his grip tightens in response—his hands sliding higher, thumbs tracing just beneath the swell of my breasts. The restrained want in his touch, the careful way he explores—it's driving me crazy.
The heat in my stomach coils, tightens, and I need more.
