“Show me.” His voice nothing but a rough whisper.
I could.
I could beg. I could tell him exactly where I want his hands, exactly where I need him.
But instead, I take his hand in mine, slow and deliberate, and guide it to the waistband of my leggings, stopping right as the tips of his fingers disappear under the fabric.
Then, I let go, leaving the choice entirely in his hands.
A low sound rumbles in his chest, his jaw tensing, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rest against my skin. The anticipation is almost unbearable, my body trembling with the need to feel him.
His forehead drops to mine, his breath warm, ragged. "Fuck, Mads."
I don't say anything.
I just wait.
Wait for him to decide, for him to take what he wants.
His jaw clenches, his breath coming out in a slow, controlled exhale. "Mads…"
"Please." I slide my hands up his chest, curling my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him down until his lips hover just above mine. "Touch me."
That's all it takes.
The tension snaps like a rubber band, and suddenly, his mouth crashes against mine, hot and needy, his tongue sweeping in to taste me, like he's been drowning and I'm air.
His hand finally moves, fingers sliding under the elastic of my leggings, teasing along my hip before dipping lower.
A shudder rolls through me as he explores, his touch slow, deliberate, like he wants to memorize every reaction, every little sound that escapes me. When his fingers find where I need him most, I gasp against his mouth, my hips instinctively pressing into his touch.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he groans, his free hand moving to my breast, cupping it gently before brushing his thumb across my nipple. The sensation makes me arch into him, a soft moan escaping me.
His lips leave mine, trailing lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my throat. My head tips back instinctively, granting him access, my breath hitching as his tongue flicks over my pulse point.
I dig my fingers into his shoulders, trembling beneath him, and then?—
His mouth is on me.
Soft and warm, lips wrapping around my nipple as he takes his time, kissing and licking over sensitive skin.
A choked moan leaves my lips, my body arching into his, and he groans at the sound, sucking harder, teasing with his tongue as his fingers move in slow, intentional strokes between my thighs. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building in waves.
"Jax," I whimper, my head falling back, my hands gripping at him, at anything to keep me from falling apart completely.
He hums against my skin, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through me, his rhythm never faltering, like he knows exactly what he's doing to me, like he's learning me—every sound, every shiver, every shift of my hips as I chase the feeling.
I'm unraveling.
Coming undone beneath him.
And he knows it.
His fingers press deeper, his mouth hotter against me, and then?—
I break.
Pleasure crashes over me, sharp and overwhelming, stealing the air from my lungs as my body trembles in his hands. It radiates outward from my core, washing over me in waves, my vision blurring at the edges as I cling to him.
