His mouth closed over one breast—lips soft at first, then sucking gently around the peak. His tongue flicked slow circles over the sensitive bud while the water lapped only at her ribs below. She arched, a soft whimper escaping as the contrast burned: cool air on her chest, hot pull of his mouth, the steady hold of his hands keeping her lifted and exposed.
He switched to the other breast—sucking harder now, teeth grazing lightly to make her gasp. One hand stayed locked under her thigh, supporting her weight; the other cupped the breast he wasn’t kissing, thumb rolling the nipple in time with his tongue.
Her fingers tightened in his wet hair. Her hips rolled helplessly against him, chasing friction. Every slow suck sent heat arrowing between her legs, thighs trembling around his waist.
“Jax…” Breathless, almost a plea.
He hummed against her skin—the vibration rolling through her—and sucked harder, tongue flicking quick then dragging slow. He moved between her breasts until both were flushed and swollen, exquisitely sensitive to every brush of air or water droplet.
She was shaking now—small tremors, short pants—pleasure coiling tight.
Then—footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate, coming from the terrace doors.
They froze.
Jax’s mouth lifted from her breast. His head snapped toward the sound.
A server—young, tray balanced in one hand, bottle of champagne in the other—stepped out onto the terrace. He was looking down at his phone, earbud in one ear, clearly not expecting anyone still up here.
He looked up.
Eyes widened.
The tray wobbled.
“Uh—sorry—shit—” He spun on his heel so fast he nearly dropped the bottle, face flaming red even in the dim light. “I’ll—uh—come back later!”
He bolted back through the doors, the glass panel swinging shut behind him with a muffled thud.
Silence.
Then Aria let out a shaky, breathless laugh against Jax’s shoulder.
He exhaled roughly, forehead dropping to hers. “Jesus.”
Her heart was hammering—adrenaline spiking through the lust, making everything sharper, hotter.
She rocked her hips against him once—deliberate, needy—feeling the thick length of him twitch in response.
“Keep going,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened further.
She didn’t ask twice.
He reached one arm out—still holding her securely with the other—and snagged his discarded shorts from the deck. Fumbled in the pocket. Foil packet crinkled between his fingers.
He tore it open with his teeth. Rolled it on one-handed, never breaking eye contact.
Then he was back—lifting her higher, lining himself up.
He pushed in slowly.
Inch by careful inch.
The stretch was exquisite—thick, burning just enough to make her gasp. She clung to his shoulders, nails biting skin, head falling back against the tile as he filled her completely, water swirling around them with every tiny shift.
