She closed her eyes.
The memory of the Vegas kiss crashed over her like a wave.
Jax’s mouth on hers—firm, then hungry. His tongue stroking deep. The way he’d pulled her in until there was no space left, until she could feel every hard inch of him pressing against her. The growl in his throat when she tugged at his shirt. The way her body had responded—liquid heat pooling low, thighs clenching, nipples tightening under her dress.
She’d been wet then. She was wet now.
Her breath hitched.
She wanted to make Min-Jae pay. Wanted to erase the sting of his casual cruelty with something reckless, something that would feel good. Something that would make her feel wanted. Desired. In control.
She knew exactly what would do it.
She changed quickly, stepped out of her room barefoot, crossed the corridor in three strides, and knocked on Jax’s door.
He opened it almost immediately—changed into boxers, hair damp from a quick shower, expression shifting from surprise to concern.
“Aria? You okay?”
She didn’t answer.
She stepped inside. Pushed the door shut behind her.
He reached for the minibar. “Want a drink? You look like—”
She let her robe drop completely.
It hit the carpet with a soft whisper.
She stood naked in front of him—skin glowing under the low lamp light, curves soft and shadowed, nipples tight, thighs pressed together against the insistent ache between them.
Jax froze. Glass halfway to the counter. Eyes dark, pupils blown wide.
She met his gaze. Voice low. Steady.
“Not at the moment,” she said. “But you’re going to make me feel better soon.”
He exhaled roughly, set the glass down.
The door was already closed.
He crossed the room in two strides.
???
Chapter Ten
Aria
“Aria—”
His hands claimed her waist first—big, warm, calloused from years of gripping steering wheels and shifting through gears at high speed. Then he lifted her like she weighed nothing at all.
Her legs wrapped around him on pure instinct, ankles locking at the small of his back. The thick, rigid length of him pressed hot and insistent against her centre through the thin fabric of his boxers still separating them. She gasped into his mouth as he kissed her—deep, immediate, no preamble.
His tongue stroked in, claiming hers with slow, deliberate hunger. She met him with the same frantic need, rocking against him in small, desperate rolls of her hips, chasing the friction that already had her aching. He groaned low in his throat—the sound vibrating through her chest—and walked them backward toward the bed without ever breaking the kiss.
She clung tighter. Fingernails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. Tongue sliding against his in wet, greedy strokes. Every step jolted fresh sparks through her core where they ground together.
