He moved harder. Relentless now. Controlled power in every roll of his hips. The bed creaked under them. Sweat slicked their skin. Her hands roamed—nails raking down his back, then gripping his hips to urge him deeper.
The coil inside her tightened again—impossibly fast after the first orgasm, but stronger. Building from deep inside, radiating outward.
“Jax—oh god—I’m—”
“Come for me,” he growled against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. “Let me feel you.”
The words tipped her over.
The second orgasm ripped through her—fiercer than the first. Her body tightened around him in rhythmic waves, trembling as pleasure crashed over her. She scratched down his back—hard enough to leave marks. She didn’t care. Her cry was loud, raw, unrestrained.
He kept moving through it—drawing it out, chasing every last shudder—until his own rhythm faltered. Hips stuttering. A low, guttural groan buried in her shoulder as he followed her over the edge, pulsing deep inside her, body locked tight against hers.
They collapsed together.
Sweaty. Panting. Tangled.
He stayed inside her for long minutes, breathing hard against her throat, softening slowly.
Finally he eased out carefully and pulled her against his chest without a word.
She curled into him—head tucked under his chin, leg thrown over his hip, still trembling faintly from aftershocks.
Exhausted.
Amazed.
Shocked, honestly.
She’d never come twice in one night. Never like that. Never felt so completely taken apart and put back together.
His heartbeat thumped steady under her cheek.
She felt his lips brush the top of her head—soft, almost reverent.
“Sleep,” he murmured, voice soft now, tender in a way that made her chest ache.
She did.
For the first time in months, the anger was gone.
Replaced by something warm. Dangerous. Unnamed.
But she was too tired—and too sated—to name it tonight.
???
Chapter Eleven
Aria
The first thing she registered was the weight of his arm slung across her waist—solid, warm, possessive even in sleep. His breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck in slow, even puffs. The sheets were tangled around their legs, still carrying the musky, intimate scent of last night: sweat, sex, the faint cedar of his shower gel clinging to her skin like a brand.
Her eyes snapped open.
Sunlight cut through the narrow gap in the blackout curtains, a thin blade of gold slicing across the pillow. Qatar morning light—already too bright, too accusing.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
