He kicks off his boots. He is standing in his socks.
I grab the pincushion from the shelf.
I kneel.
The air in the room changes instantly.
I am on my knees in front of him. My face is level with his waist. The scent of him is stronger here—musk and wool. I can see the bulge in his pants, the way the fabric stretches taut over his growing erection.
Jax goes very still.
"Max," he warns. His voice is a low rumble.
"I am pinning the hem," I say, keeping my eyes strictly on his ankles. "Do not make it weird."
"You’re on your knees in a dressing room," Jax says. "It’s already weird."
I fold the fabric of the trouser leg up. I slide a pin in.
"Your left leg is slightly shorter than your right," I observe. "Likely a result of the hip alignment from carrying heavy packs."
"Anatomy lesson?" Jax asks. "Now?"
"It keeps me focused," I mutter.
I move to the other leg. I have to lean in close. My shoulderbrushes the inside of his thigh, and I can feel the heat of him, the hard muscle beneath the fabric.
Jax’s breath hitches. I see his hands clench into fists at his sides.
I look up.
From this angle, he is towering over me. He is looking down, his expression a mix of hunger and panic. The bulge in his pants is more pronounced, a clear sign of his arousal.
"You have no idea what you look like right now," Jax whispers.
"I look like a tailor," I say, my mouth dry.
"You look submissive," he corrects. "And it’s messing with my head."
The wordsubmissivehits me like a defibrillator paddle.
I am the Chief. I am the dominant personality. I am the one who gives orders.
But looking up at him, feeling the heat radiating off his legs, realizing how easily he could reach down and tangle his hands in my hair...
My heart rate spikes.110 bpm.
"The hem is pinned," I say hoarsely.
I should stand up.
I don't.
I reach up. I place my hands on his thighs. The wool is rough under my palms, but the muscle underneath is rock hard. I can feel his erection straining against the fabric, begging for release.
"Jax," I say.
"Yeah?"
