Her breathing changes.
Her hand leaves my hair. Goes between us. Reaches for my jeans.
I catch her wrist before she gets there.
“No.”
She stops. Looks up at me.
“Jax.”
“No.”
“You’re —”
“I know what I am.”
“I can —”
“I know what you can. I’m not asking.”
She’s looking at me like she’s trying to read something she hasn’t seen before.
“What kind of selfish prick do you think I am.” Quieter now. “I ain’t Griffin.”
She goes very still.
“When I have you again, I want all of you in it.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I let go of her wrist. Put my hand on her face. Tilt her chin up.
“Now kiss me.”
She does.
Not soft, or careful.
She kisses me like she’s mad at me for being decent about it, and I take every bit of it. Her hands in my hair, her hips still restless against my thigh, her breath breaking against my mouth every time I give her something to move against.
I don’t take more.
I don’t need to.
I keep one hand on her face and the other at her hip and let her use me until the fight goes out of her body in pieces. Until the kiss turns slower. Until her grip in my hair loosens and her breathing changes and she sinks into me instead of trying to outrun herself.
By the time she settles against my chest, she’s soft and quiet and spent in a way that feels more intimate than anything I could have taken from her.
She’s almost out. Her hair across my collarbone and her hand on my ribs and the lamp still on because neither of us has the energy to turn it off.
I’m hard, wide awake.
Not going anywhere.
“Jax.”
“Yeah.”
