Page 27

27

MADISON

P acking should not be this hard.

It's just a weekend. Three nights. Not even a full four days. And yet, my bed is covered in way too many outfit options, half-folded sweaters, and an unreasonable number of very unnecessary pieces of new lingerie Lyla convinced me to buy.

I groan, shoving a pair of jeans into my duffle.

Jaxon is already on his way to pick me up, and I'm still standing here in my leggings and a cropped tank, debating which sweater to bring, which swimsuit will cover enough for the hot tub.

I’ve spent the night in their house hundreds of times, yet this time feels so different, since I'm technically, sorta, kinda dating their son.

I grab my one-piece swimsuit from my dresser and toss it in, making a mental note that I'll probably regret packing last-minute.

Then, I freeze, my stomach flipping as a knock sounds at the door.

"Mads, you ready?"

Jaxon.

Fuck.

I exhale, tugging my hair into a loose bun before walking over to unlock the door.

Jaxon steps inside, his usual fitted hoodie and joggers combo making it entirely too difficult to focus on anything other than how stupidly attractive he is.

The fabric stretches across his shoulders in a way that makes my mouth go dry, and I have to force myself to look at his face instead.

His eyes sweep over me before moving to my absolute disaster of a bedroom.

"Shit, are you moving in permanently, or are you just staying the weekend?"

I roll my eyes.

"Ha-ha. I'm almost done."

He leans against the doorway for a moment before coming closer to where I’m packing. I'm about to grab another sweater when I hear a low, amused hum behind me.

"Well, well, well…what do we have here?"

I whirl around just in time to see Jaxon holding up a piece of very lacey, very not-for-public-viewing underwear between his fingers, his smirk downright criminal. The black lace dangling from his hand looks even more revealing in his grip than it did in the store.

My entire face burns.

"Jaxon!" I rush toward him, reaching for it, but he steps back, his grin widening. There's something in his eyes—a glint of something darker, more intense than his usual teasing.

"Damn, Mads. You bringing this for the hot tub?" His voice is all teasing, but there's a distinct edge to it—something low, something knowing, something that makes heat curl in my stomach despite my embarrassment.

I glare at him, crossing my arms. "Put it down, right now."

He raises a brow, his eyes darkening. "Hmm…I don't know. I feel like I should get something in return."

I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. "Jaxon."

He steps back again, still smirking, still infuriating. "What'll you give me for it?"

I lunge forward, trying to snatch it from his hands, but the second I do?—

We collide.

His chest meets mine, solid and warm, his hands immediately coming to my waist to steady me. The sudden contact knocks the air from my lungs, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my tank.

I freeze. The teasing, the embarrassment—everything shifts in an instant.

His breath is slow, controlled, but when I look up—when my gaze catches his, dark and steady—I see it.

The shift.

The way his jaw tenses slightly, the way his hands flex against my sides, the way his thumb traces a small, almost imperceptible circle against my hip. His eyes darken, pupils dilating as they track over my face, lingering on my lips.

My pulse pounds in my throat. He dips his head, voice lower, rougher. "What'll you give me, Mads?"

The question hangs between us, charged with weeks of built-up tension, of stolen kisses and careful touches that never quite crossed the line.

I swallow, my fingers twitching at my sides. Every nerve ending in my body seems to come alive under his gaze, under the gentle pressure of his hands on my waist.

Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I rise onto my toes and kiss him.

The second my lips meet his, everything implodes.

This isn’t like our other kisses—not soft, not careful, not measured. This is hunger, pure and simple. He’s starving for it. For me.

And I don't want him to hold back. We've been tiptoeing this line of more than kissing over these last few weeks. Jaxon seems hesitant to take it any farther, almost too respectful, always letting me set the pace, always pulling back just when things start to get too heated.

But not this time.

His tongue sweeps over mine in a way that makes my stomach drop, heat spreading low and fast through my body. I can taste his want, his need, and it matches my own—the desperation that has been building since that first night in his truck .

His fingers flex on my hips before sliding under my tank, his palms warm against my bare skin, teasing, exploring. I shudder at the contact, arching into him without thinking, my body begging for more. I've never responded this way to anyone before, never felt this urgent need to be closer, to feel more, to let someone in.

Jaxon groans, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his lips trail along my jaw, down the column of my throat. His breath is hot, his mouth slow and deliberate as he presses open-mouthed kisses against my skin, like he's memorizing every inch of me, drawing out each moment.

My fingers curl into his hoodie, pulling him closer, and his grip tightens in response—his hands sliding higher, thumbs tracing just beneath the swell of my breasts. The restrained want in his touch, the careful way he explores—it's driving me crazy.

The heat in my stomach coils, tightens, and I need more.

I grab his face, guiding his mouth back to mine, kissing him deeper, more desperate now. He growls against my lips, and the sound alone sends a rush of heat through me, pooling low between my thighs.

Before I can stop myself, I reach for the hem of his hoodie, sliding my hands under it, feeling the solid muscle beneath my fingertips. His skin is hot, smooth, the definition of his abs tightening under my touch.

Jaxon shudders. His hands slip from my waist to my thighs, and in one, smooth movement, he lifts me onto the edge of my bed.

I gasp softly, legs instinctively parting to make room for him between them, my heart pounding against my ribcage. The ease with which he moves me, the strength in his hands—it sends a wave of heat through me.

He steps in closer, hands gripping my thighs, his thumbs tracing small, slow circles against my skin. Each gentle stroke leaves a trail of fire in its wake, my skin hyper-sensitive to his touch .

"Mads," he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine, his voice low, strained. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

There's genuine concern in his eyes, a vulnerability beneath the desire. He's giving me an out, making sure I'm as certain as he is.

I shake my head, breathless. I grab the bottom of his hoodie, tugging it off, before doing the same with his shirt. "I don't."

His lips crash against mine again, and this time, there's no hesitation. His hands wander, sliding up my thighs, pushing the fabric of my tank higher, exposing more skin. I shiver at the contrast of his warm palms against the cool air, at the way his fingers press just slightly into me, like he's holding himself back from taking more.

But I don't want him to hold back. Pushing back slightly, I slide my tank up and over my head before discarding it to the side.

The cool air hits my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms, my chest. Jaxon's gaze darkens as he takes me in, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. There's something almost reverent in the way he looks at me, like he can't quite believe this is happening.

I shift forward, pressing myself fully against him, feeling every hard line of his body. A needy sound escapes me before I can stop it, and Jaxon growls, his fingers digging into my hips.

"Fuck, Mads," he breathes, his forehead dropping to mine, his hands gripping me tighter, like he's trying to ground himself. "You're gonna be the death of me."

I smirk, my fingers sliding up his body, nails scraping lightly against his stomach, and he shudders, his grip tightening. The power I feel in this moment—knowing I can affect him like this, that I can make him come undone—is intoxicating.

"What if I don't want to stop?" I whisper, my lips brushing his jaw, my heart racing.

His breath is ragged, his restraint thinning by the second. "Then tell me how far you want me to go, Mads."

He needs the words, needs to know I'm sure. It's one of the things I love about him—his unwavering respect, his need for certainty. Even now, with desire written all over his face, he's still checking in, still making sure I'm comfortable.

I bite my lip, heat flooding through me, my skin buzzing under his touch. "Just…don't stop yet."

Jaxon's breath is uneven, his forehead pressed to mine, his hands gripping my hips like he's holding himself back, like he's giving me one last chance to stop this before we cross a line we can't uncross.

But I don't want to stop, not even a little.

His fingers graze the waistband of my leggings, teasing, taunting, and I swear, my whole body burns with anticipation. Each light touch is a promise, a question, and my body answers before my mind can catch up.

"Tell me what you want, Mads," he murmurs, his voice low, rough. "I need to hear you say it."

I suck in a breath as I tilt my head up, lips brushing just barely against his. "Touch me."

Jaxon freezes. For a second, he just stares at me, like he's making sure he heard me right, like he's giving me one last chance to take it back.

Then, his lips curl into a slow, lethal smirk. "Where?"

My pulse skips, my whole body lighting up with heat at the question, at the way his voice drips with satisfaction, with control, with something dark and starving.

My breath comes out shaky, my stomach coiling with anticipation.

I meet his gaze, my fingers sliding down his chest, tracing the lines of his abs, my lips parting just slightly as I whisper?—

"Everywhere."

The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. Jaxon's gaze darkens, his breath heavy, like he's waiting for me to tell him just how far I want to take this.

“Show me.” His voice nothing but a rough whisper.

I could .

I could beg. I could tell him exactly where I want his hands, exactly where I need him.

But instead, I take his hand in mine, slow and deliberate, and guide it to the waistband of my leggings, stopping right as the tips of his fingers disappear under the fabric.

Then, I let go, leaving the choice entirely in his hands.

A low sound rumbles in his chest, his jaw tensing, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rest against my skin. The anticipation is almost unbearable, my body trembling with the need to feel him.

His forehead drops to mine, his breath warm, ragged. "Fuck, Mads."

I don't say anything.

I just wait.

Wait for him to decide, for him to take what he wants.

His jaw clenches, his breath coming out in a slow, controlled exhale. "Mads…"

"Please." I slide my hands up his chest, curling my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him down until his lips hover just above mine. "Touch me."

That's all it takes.

The tension snaps like a rubber band, and suddenly, his mouth crashes against mine, hot and needy, his tongue sweeping in to taste me, like he's been drowning and I'm air.

His hand finally moves, fingers sliding under the elastic of my leggings, teasing along my hip before dipping lower.

A shudder rolls through me as he explores, his touch slow, deliberate, like he wants to memorize every reaction, every little sound that escapes me. When his fingers find where I need him most, I gasp against his mouth, my hips instinctively pressing into his touch.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he groans, his free hand moving to my breast, cupping it gently before brushing his thumb across my nipple. The sensation makes me arch into him, a soft moan escaping me .

His lips leave mine, trailing lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my throat. My head tips back instinctively, granting him access, my breath hitching as his tongue flicks over my pulse point.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, trembling beneath him, and then?—

His mouth is on me.

Soft and warm, lips wrapping around my nipple as he takes his time, kissing and licking over sensitive skin.

A choked moan leaves my lips, my body arching into his, and he groans at the sound, sucking harder, teasing with his tongue as his fingers move in slow, intentional strokes between my thighs. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building in waves.

"Jax," I whimper, my head falling back, my hands gripping at him, at anything to keep me from falling apart completely.

He hums against my skin, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through me, his rhythm never faltering, like he knows exactly what he's doing to me, like he's learning me—every sound, every shiver, every shift of my hips as I chase the feeling.

I'm unraveling.

Coming undone beneath him.

And he knows it.

His fingers press deeper, his mouth hotter against me, and then?—

I break.

Pleasure crashes over me, sharp and overwhelming, stealing the air from my lungs as my body trembles in his hands. It radiates outward from my core, washing over me in waves, my vision blurring at the edges as I cling to him.

Jaxon groans against my skin, his lips trailing back up to my jaw as he slows his movements, guiding me through the aftershocks, his movements steady, soothing, loving, even. He whispers against my skin—sweet words, praises, my name like a prayer on his lips.

When I finally come back down, my breath still shaky, he lifts his head, his eyes dark, blazing with satisfaction and something deeper—something that looks a lot like awe.

I'm still trying to form a coherent thought when he smirks, brushing his lips softly over mine.

"Told you I'd take care of you, beautiful." He looks down at me with nothing but warmth in his eyes, his cheeks flushed. "Well…that isn't exactly what I was going for in exchange, but zero complaints."

It takes me a moment to realize what he means, but then, I notice the way he shifts slightly, the dampness at the front of his joggers.

My eyes widen. "Oh my God, did you…"

His cheeks burn the brightest shade of red I've ever seen on him, his hand scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Yeah…definitely did." He places a quick peck on my lips before moving towards the door. "I'm gonna go grab my bag really quick. I'll be right back. Might wanna go brush your hair, or you can leave it. Mama Montgomery would have tons of ideas."

He sends me a cheeky wink before heading out to his car.

I sit up slowly, pulling my tank back on, my legs still feeling weak, my pulse still fluttering in my throat. My body is buzzing, lingering warmth settling deep in my bones. Every nerve ending feels alive, sensitive, like my skin is humming.

And yet…

My mind won't shut up.

Because I've never?—

I've been with other guys, let them try to get me there, and then I let them think they did, though it was never real.

It never worked.

I would fake it, smile, tell them they did great, then roll over and pretend it didn't matter. Because maybe, for me, it just wasn't something I was capable of. Maybe my body wasn't wired to fully let go.

Until now.

Until him .

I exhale, pressing my hands to my face, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Because it was real.

Because he made it happen.

And I know why.

It wasn't just Jaxon's hands on me, wasn't just the way he knew exactly how to touch me, how to push me to the edge and keep me there until I was unraveling in his arms.

It was because I felt safe.

Because my body knew Jaxon would never hurt me, to hold me together even as he tore me apart.

I exhale shakily, gripping the edge of my bed as the weight of it settles over me.

No one has ever made me feel this way before.

Not just wanted. Not just desired.

But cherished. Protected. Like I'm worth the wait, worth the care, worth the patience it took to get me here.

Like I matter.

Not as a body, not as an experience to brag about later, but as Madison. The real me, with all my broken pieces.

He saw through all of it, waited through all of it, and still, he looked at me like I was everything.

I hear his footsteps returning, and my heart races for an entirely different reason now. If I let myself have this—really have this—then there’s no going back.