I unbutton my own shirt, fingers fumbling from the drink. Jax helps, his hands steady. He pushes the fabric off my shoulders, exposing skin. "Beautiful," he murmurs. Not mushy—just fact, like assessing a scan. His fingers trace the lines of my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine.
We tumble onto the bed. The mattress dips. Jax's weight presses me down, his body solid, battle-hardened. I run hands over his back, feeling the ridges of old wounds, the firmness of his muscles. He kisses my neck, teeth grazing, tongue tasting. The vodka buzzes in my veins, dissolving barriers. I gasp as he sucks on a sensitive spot, my hips arching up against him.
"Maxwell," Jax breathes against my ear. "Let go."
I do. For the first time, fully. No hesitation, no calculations. I flip him onto his back, straddling his hips. His eyes widen, then darken with approval. I kiss him hard, tongues clashing, teeth nipping. Hands explore—his on my chest, fingers pinching my nipples, mine undoing his belt, pulling down his zipper.
His cock is hard, straining against his boxers. I stroke him through the fabric, feeling his heat, his length. He groans, bucking into my hand. I smirk, enjoying the power. I lean down, kissing his chest, his abs, the trail of hair leading down. I hook my fingers into his waistband, pulling down his boxers, freeing his cock.
I take him in my mouth, slow at first, then deeper. He tastes of salt and musk, his scent filling my nostrils. His hands fist in my hair, guiding, urging. I swirl my tongue around his tip, feeling the ridge, the slit. He curses, his body tensing. I can feel his pulse quickening, his breath growing ragged.
He pulls me up, crashing his mouth against mine. His hands fumble with my belt, my pants. He pushes them down,his hand wrapping around my length. I gasp into his mouth, my body jolting with the sensation. He strokes me, firm and steady, his thumb circling my tip.
Clothes scatter. Skin meets skin. Jax's heat envelops me. He rolls us again, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. The other trails down, teasing, promising. His mouth follows, kissing, licking, biting. He sucks on my nipples, his tongue flicking, his teeth grazing. I arch into him, my body aching, needing.
His hand wraps around both our cocks, stroking us together. The sensation is overwhelming, the friction, the heat, the pressure. I moan, my body writhing, my hips thrusting. He releases my wrists, his hand reaching for the nightstand, pulling out supplies—a condom, lube.
He sits back on his heels, rolling on the condom, slicking himself with lube. His eyes never leave mine, his gaze intense, hungry. He pushes my legs up, exposing me. His fingers, cool and slick, press against my entrance. He prepares me, slow at first, then insistent. One finger, then two, scissoring, stretching. I gasp, my body burning, aching.
"Ready?" Jax asks. His voice strains, his body tense with restraint.
"Yes," I pant. "God, yes."
He enters me, slow and steady. The stretch burns, then eases into fullness. I gasp, my body tensing, adjusting. He stills, letting me acclimate. Then he moves—deep, rhythmic thrusts that build pressure. I meet him, hips rising, body clenching.
Sweat slicks our bodies, the room filling with the sound of our moans, our gasps, our flesh slapping together. He hits a spot inside me that makes me see stars, my body convulsing, my cock leaking. He grins, hitting it again, and again, his pace quickening, his thrusts deepening.
He leans down, his body covering mine, his mouth capturing mine. His hand wraps around my cock, stroking intime with his thrusts. I can feel his heartbeat, his breath, his life force merging with mine. The world narrows to this—to us, connected, raw, primal.
Pleasure coils tight in my core, my body tensing, my breath hitching. I'm close, so close. He feels it too, his body straining, his thrusts growing erratic. He breaks the kiss, his forehead pressing against mine, his eyes locked onto mine.
"Come for me, Max," he growls. "Let me see you."
And I do. I shatter, crying out, my body convulsing, my cock pulsing in his hand. He follows, thrusting deep, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing inside me. He collapses on top of me, his body slick with sweat, his breath ragged.
We lie there, tangled in sheets, our bodies still joined. The room smells of sex and vodka, our breaths slowly returning to normal. Jax pulls me close, arms wrapping around my waist. His heartbeat thuds against my back, steady as a metronome.
In the haze of alcohol and endorphins, clarity strikes. I need this man. Not as a buffer, not as a colleague. As air, as anchor. He forces me to feel, to break rules. Without him, I'm just the Ice King, frozen in place.
"Jax," I whisper, voice thick. "I need you. In my life. This... you."
He tightens his hold. "I know. Got you."
Exhaustion pulls me under. I nestle into his arms, strong and unyielding. For the first time, mess feels like home. Sleep claims me, deep and dreamless.
Chapter 13
Happiness Is A Sedative
Maxwell
Happiness is a sedative.
I have spent my entire life running on cortisol and caffeine, staying sharp by staying anxious. But waking up at 07:00 AM in Jax O’Connell’s bed, tangled in his limbs and his sheets, I feel heavy. Slow.
Wonderfully, perfectly slow.
I blink open one eye. The loft is bathed in grey morning light. It smells of cedar, old books, and sex.
