Jax’s eyes darken, his gaze dropping to my lips. He brushes his thumb across my lower lip before pulling me into another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent. I respond eagerly, my hands sliding into his hair as he pushes me back onto the bed. His weight settles over me, warm and solid.
His hands roam down my body, his touch lingering at my sides before sliding beneath my shirt. The calluses on his palms brush against my skin, sending shivers racingthrough me. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts the fabric, his fingers grazing my stomach as he pulls it over my head. His lips follow immediately, pressing kisses along the curve of my shoulder, then down the delicate line of my collarbone. Each touch is gentle yet electric, a perfect balance of passion and restraint.
I reach for the hem of his shirt, and he hesitates for just a second before pulling it off, revealing the strong, lean lines of his body. My hands drift across his chest, tracing the faint scars, intricate tattoos, and taut muscles beneath my fingertips. His skin is warm, and the faint scent of leather clings to his skin.
His lips find mine again, softer this time, slower, as if he’s savoring every second. He shifts, his body pressing closer, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart against mine. His hands move to my waist, sliding down to the waistband of my shorts. He doesn’t rush; instead, he looks at me, silently asking for permission. I nod, my breath hitching as he eases them down, leaving me bare beneath him.
He pauses, his gaze roaming over me with reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. There’s something raw in the way he looks at me, something that makes my chest tighten and my heart race.
Instead of diving in, Jax starts slowly, kissing my knees, my thighs, working his way upward with a tenderness that feels like a revelation. Every kiss is deliberate, a quiet worship of my body that makes me feel seen in a way I never have before. His lips press against the sensitive skin just below my hip, and I can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes me.
When his mouth finally finds the place I need himmost, he takes his time, his movements unhurried and thorough. My hands thread into his hair, gripping gently as my body responds to him, a steady crescendo building until I’m trembling under his touch. He doesn’t stop, not until I’m completely undone, my breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
He kisses his way back up, his hands cradling my hips as he settles over me. He doesn’t rush to claim me; instead, he pauses, his forehead resting against mine. “Are you sure?” he asks softly, his voice laced with vulnerability.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
When he finally enters me, it’s slow, deliberate, as if he’s determined to draw out every moment. His movements are unhurried, each thrust a quiet declaration, a promise of something more. There’s no frenzy, no desperation—just the steady rhythm of our bodies moving together, the quiet intimacy of two people learning how to heal through each other.
The world outside disappears. There’s only Jax—the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, the way his hands grip mine like he’s afraid to let go. The intensity builds, wave after wave, until I’m teetering on the edge, and with one final thrust, I shatter, pulling him with me.
Afterward, we lie tangled in the sheets, his arm draped protectively over me. My head rests on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a calming rhythm against my ear. The silence between us isn’t heavy; it’s peaceful, filled with the quiet understanding of everything we’ve shared.
Jax presses a kiss to the top of my head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Lily. For seeing me, even when I can’t see myself.”
I tilt my head to look at him, my fingers tracing the tattoos along his side. “You’re worth seeing, Jax. You always have been.”
He doesn’t respond with words, just pulls me closer, his grip tightening as if to hold on to the moment.
CHAPTER 23
LIVING IN THE MOMENT
LILY
The days blurtogether in a haze of quiet contentment. Life at The Ranch has settled into a rhythm that feels effortless, almost instinctive. Mornings start with Marcus in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with a calmness that belies the chaos of our usual lives. Dylan hovers nearby, cracking jokes about his “world-class” coffee-making skills, though his brew usually tastes like scorched earth. Enzo grumbles about the early mornings, but somehow he’s always the first one at the table. Jax lingers in his room some mornings, but when he joins us, there’s a softness to his presence that feels like progress.
Our days are also filled with music. We write together, letting melodies and lyrics flow freely as though The Ranch itself is inspiring us. Afternoons bring laughter, teasing, and shared meals.
Evenings are quieter—blankets spread across the living room floor, old movies playing in the background, and the kind of closeness that feels both grounding and exhilarating.Each night, one of the guys tells me where I’ll sleep, and I never argue. It always feels right.
In those in-between moments, I learn more about them. Enzo tells me about his younger sister, how she’s the only person who can truly keep his ego in check. Dylan talks about his parents, their unshakable support, and how they’ve never missed a show when the band plays in L.A. Jax, though quieter, opens up in pieces—honest, raw truths that reveal how much he’s trying to rebuild himself. Marcus listens more than he speaks, but his presence is steady, grounding, and he always seems to know when I need a moment of quiet reassurance.
We don’t have “the talk.” No one asks, “What are we?” or “Where is this going?” It doesn’t feel necessary. Our connection is unspoken but solid, like an invisible thread weaving us together. Still, there’s a part of me that can’t help but wonder what happens when we leave this bubble and return to the chaos of the tour. Will this hold? Or will the weight of the outside world pull us apart?
I push the doubts away, choosing instead to focus on the here and now.
On our last full night at The Ranch, we decide to watch a movie together. We drag every blanket and pillow we can find into the living room, transforming the floor into a nest of soft fabric. Dylan insists on picking the movie—a cheesy 80s action flick that’s so bad it’s good. None of us have the energy to argue.
I end up sandwiched between Jax and Marcus, with Enzo sprawled at my feet and Dylan perched behind me, his arms loosely draped around my waist. The movie plays, but it’s hard to focus when I’m so acutely aware ofthe warmth of their bodies, the lingering brushes of their fingers against mine, the way their presence fills the room.
As the credits roll, no one moves. The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I glance around, meeting Marcus’s steady gaze, Enzo’s playful smirk, Dylan’s easy grin, and Jax’s quiet intensity.
Dylan is the first to break the silence. “So… what now?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it.
Enzo chuckles, his fingers brushing against my ankle. “I think we stay here. It feels like we’re exactly where we should be.”
Jax hums softly, his hand starting at my ankle and skimming a slow path up my leg. The warmth of his touch sends a ripple of anticipation through me, but I don’t look up, letting myself sink into the moment as his palm slides across my skin.
