“Jax,” I whisper.
He stills, his mouth against my skin. “Say what you want.”
“You.”
His breath shudders. One word, and he’s unraveling. Not rough, not fast, but with the kind of patience that says he’s waited his whole life for this.
The rest disappears. Time. Thought. Everything but the slow, expert way he learns my body like a language he’s been aching to speak.
I push the hem of my sweater up, and his hands are there, sliding it over my head with a roughness that belies the way his breath hitches at the sight of me. The firelight dances over his skin as he pulls his shirt off in one motion, muscles flexing, skin flushed with heat. But it’s his eyes that undo me. They’re dark and burning, like he’s seeing something sacred.
"Damn, Claire," his voice is a gravelly rasp, "look at you. Every inch of you is a miracle. Soft and strong, all at once. Like you were carved just for me."
His mouth finds mine again, slower this time. Purposeful. A claiming. His hand slides beneath the waistband of my leggings, fingertips grazing the curve of my hip, the inside of my thigh. My pussy pulses with heat against my already-damp panties.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he says against my lips, but his voice is rough with need, like the idea of stopping is torture.
"I don’t," I breathe.
A growl rumbles in his chest as he peels my leggings down, then his jeans, until there’s nothing left between us but skin and heat and the crackling fire. He moves over me, his mouth trailing down my throat, my collarbone, his beard scraping lightly along my skin. Every kiss, every slow drag of his tongue, lights me from the inside out.
"You’re so damn beautiful like this," he says, "spread out for me. All mine. I could worship you for hours, sweetheart. Let me show you how good I can make you feel."
When his mouth finds my pussy, I gasp at the shock of it, the heat of it, the way his tongue flicks my clit like he’s starving for every taste. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, his breath hot against my sensitive skin.
"So sweet," he groans, "so fucking perfect. I could live right here, between your thighs, listening to you moan my name."
His tongue strokes slow and deliberate, teasing me until I’m writhing beneath him. He hums against me when I cry out, the vibration sending a fresh pulse of heat straight to my core. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to me as he licks deeper, his tongue pushing inside me before dragging back up to circle my clit.
"Jax…" His name breaks from my lips on a gasp when he flattens his tongue, licking broad and slow before closing his mouth around my clit and sucking hard. My spine bows off the bed, my body trembling as he groans, the sound vibrating through me.
"That’s it, babe," he says, "let go for me. I’ve got you. You’re so fucking gorgeous when you come undone."
His finger teases at my entrance, pushing in just enough to make my hips buck against his face. The pressure builds fast, hot and sharp, coiling tight in my pussy. He doesn’t stop, just keeps working me open with his tongue and finger, every stroke pushing me closer until the room falls away and there’s nothing but the heat of his mouth and the way my body gives up for him.
When I come, it tears through me in a bright, shuddering wave. My fingers fist in his hair, my hips grind helplessly against his mouth. He groans, drinking down every sound, every tremor, like it’s the only thing that can quench his thirst.
"So good for me," he praises, his voice rough with awe as he kisses the inside of my thigh, slow and claiming. "So fucking perfect."
Before the tremors have fully faded, he shifts me so I’m straddling him, his cock thick and hot between us. His pupils are blown wide with need, his mouth slick and swollen from me. When I reach for his hard cock, guiding him in, he groans low in his throat, his hands gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
"You feel like heaven," he growls as he sinks into me, inch by inch. "So tight, so fucking mine."
I rock against him slowly at first, chasing the edge again. His breath breaks, rough and shaky, his gaze locked on mine like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
"Look at you," he says, his thumb finding my clit and circling, sending spirals of electricity through me. "Riding me like this, taking what you need. You’re incredible, babe. So damn strong."
When I come again, it’s sharper this time, ripping through me. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he groans, thrusting up as he spills inside me, his voice breaking on my name. We stay tangled there, bodies slick with heat, breath coming hard, the world narrowing to the space between us.
After, we lie together, bodies tangled in silence. The fire casts shadows across the beams. His hand moves slowly along my back, fingertips tracing the shape of my spine as if he’s memorizing me.
"You’re amazing," he says, kissing my shoulder. "Everything about you. I don’t know how I got so lucky."
When the fire has burned low and the cabin has gone still, I ease out of bed and pull one of his sweaters over my bare skin. The sleeves fall long past my hands, soft with his warmth. For a moment, I just stand there, breath caught, heart still thrumming from everything we gave each other. My legs are unsteady and my body is tender, marked in ways no lens could ever capture. I breathe in the scent of him, of us, and let it settle deep inside.
I busy myself straightening up. The dishes clink softly in the sink as I rinse out the mugs, the scent of cinnamon and smoke still lingering in the air. Jax moves through the cabin with quiet ease, tossing another log into the fire, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up over his forearms. Firelight catches the edges of his jaw in warm flickers, and I let myself watch him for a moment too long. My body still remembers the way he touched me, a careful and certain lover, like I was something he already knew by heart.
When I go to hang my sweater by the door, I crouch beside the bench to fold a blanket that’s half tumbled from the open cubby underneath. My fingers brush something stiffer than wool. A corner of paper, the edge of an envelope, maybe, tucked beneath the soft folds like it had been placed there carefully and forgotten.
