“I know, baby,” he pants.
He picks up the pace, grunting in time with his thrusts until, seconds later, we come, our moans and harsh breaths fusing together. My legs feel like Jell-O, but Jax’s strong arms hold me upright.
“Good morning to you too,” I laugh, turning to rest my back against the tile.
He pops that fucking dimple before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Great way for a couple of friends to start their day, don’t you think?”
I snort and roll my eyes as I reach for the soap.
When Jax’s lingering touches threaten to start round two, I bat his hands away with a fake scowl. He tsk’s, pinching my butt with a playful frown, but backs off so I can wash.
“I’m gonna go check on breakfast,” I say when I’m done, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from his body as I wrap myself up in a towel.
After getting dressed, I head to the kitchen, while Jax tugs on jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretches perfectly across his broad shoulders.
The smell of the baked eggs and cheese fills the air as I open the oven door.
“Look’s delicious,” I announce as I set the casserole—eggs, cheese, bacon, and what looks like hash browns all layered together—on the stovetop.
Jax grabs plates and forks while I pour us both coffee and we settle at the small table.
“God, Meg is a miracle worker,” I mumble between bites. “This is amazing.”
Mouth full, Jax just nods and smiles. It’s nice, this quiet domesticity between us. But even as those thoughts cross my mind, I have to remind myself not to get too comfortable.
You’re just having fun, Sash. FWB. That’s it.
As I shrug it off, it dawns on me I haven’t checked my phone since yesterday morning. Summit Studio might be a well-oiled machine, but I rarely go this long without at least checking in.
“Mind if I check my emails while we eat?” I ask, getting up to grab my phone.
“No worries,” Jax shrugs, taking another bite. “I get it. Gotta stay on top of things when you own a business and all, right?”
“Unfortunately.” I retake my seat and scroll through my notifications, wincing at the number of unread emails. Most are routine—updates from managers, questions about the Lakeside opening, marketing reports.
Just as I open a time-sensitive email about equipment delivery for the Lakeside location, my phone buzzes with a text. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when I open it, it almost makes me choke.
I can literally feel the blood drain from my face as I jump up from the table, pacing as I read.
UNKNOWN
Your ex owes $2 mill. Pay up or we release the attached video to TMZ. Call the cops or tell anyone, we release it and come after you. You have 72 hours.
When I look up, Jax’s face is tense, and his body has gone eerily still. “What is it?”
“Just... work stuff.”
Even though the video attachment isn’t playing, I recognize what it is. It’s my college dorm room—a room I haven’t seen in years. And if what my sixth sense is telling me is correct, I’d bet my life it’s not a video I’d ever want anyone to see. Always a glutton for punishment, I push play.
Sex sounds immediately fill the air, so loud I nearly drop my phone. Fumbling in an effort to turn off the volume, I cringe, risking a glance up.
One of Jax’s eyebrows is raised in surprise. “Is thatporn?”
“What?! No!”
Jax just crosses his arms and pins me with a hard look.
Fuck, his biceps are huge. His smooth, sexy skin is sotan.
