Page 26

chapter

seventeen

After they left, Nessie triple-checked every lock, then climbed the stairs to her apartment and stood in the center of her kitchen, listening to the silence.

They were okay. Safe.

She poured herself a glass of wine to steady her nerves and carried it to bed, placing her phone on the nightstand to charge within easy reach.

Sleep came fitfully, in fragments punctuated by startling awake at every creak of the old building. Around three in the morning, her phone vibrated softly on the nightstand.

It was Jax.

No words at first, just silence, broken only by his steady breath. Then, low and rough: “I just needed to hear you.”

The quiet between them hummed with everything unsaid. She curled onto her side, phone pressed to her ear, and closed her eyes. “I’m glad you called.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Kept thinking about you up there alone.”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

She considered lying, then sighed. “No. Not really.”

“Tell me what I can do to help.”

Something changed in that moment. She didn’t know what, or how, but suddenly the open line between them felt charged, electric with possibility.

“Just...” She hesitated. “Just keep talking to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Everything.” She shifted under the covers, suddenly warm despite the night chill. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

More silence stretched between them, filled only by his measured breathing. Then: “I’m thinking about how your voice sounds different at night. Softer. Like you’re telling me secrets.”

Heat bloomed across her skin. “Is that what we’re doing? Telling secrets?”

“If you want to.”

She hummed low in her throat. “What else are you thinking?”

His exhale was shaky. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” The word felt dangerous on her tongue.

“I’m thinking about your hair. How it would feel spread across my pillow. How it would smell if I buried my face in it.”

The air left her lungs in a rush. “Jax...”

“Too much?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not enough.”

Another pause, longer this time.

When he spoke again, his voice had gone deeper, rougher. “I’m thinking about your skin. If it’s as soft as it looks. Where you might be sensitive. The sound you’d make if I touched you...”

Heat pooled low in her belly. She closed her eyes, imagining his hands on her body, strong and careful. “Where would you touch me first?”

He made a sound, half groan, half exhale. “Your face. I’d trace your cheekbones with my thumbs. Then your jaw. Your lips. Your throat. I’d take my time, Nessie. Make you feel how much I want you before I ever got to the good parts.”

Her breath quickened. “You want me?”

“Yes.” His answer was more growl than word. “More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”

Her body responded to his confession like a match to gasoline, heat spreading through her veins until she felt feverish. She pressed her thighs together, trying to relieve the sudden ache between them.

“I want you, too,” she whispered into the darkness. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “What have you been thinking about?”

The question hung between them, loaded with invitation. She could back down now, return to safer ground. But the wine had loosened her tongue, and the darkness made her brave.

“Your hands,” she said. “How they’d feel on my skin. Whether you’d be gentle or...” She trailed off, heat flooding her cheeks.

“Or what?”

“Rough.” The word came out breathless. “I think about both. How you’d kiss me. Whether you’d pin my hands above my head or let me touch you.”

His groan was low and pained. “Fuck, Nessie.”

She shifted under the covers, suddenly aware of every inch of fabric against her skin. Her cotton nightgown felt too thick, too restrictive. “Tell me more. What would you do after you touched my face?”

“I’d kiss you,” he murmured. “Slow at first. Learn the shape of your mouth. Then deeper, until you were making those little sounds you do when you’re trying not to laugh.”

She smiled in the darkness. “What sounds?”

“These soft hums, like you’re holding back. I hear them when Oliver says something funny. Makes me wonder what other sounds you’d make if I kissed your neck. If I found a sweet spot that makes you gasp. If I used my tongue...”

A whimper escaped her before she could stop it. She pressed her free hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs.

“There,” he said, satisfaction coloring his voice. “That sound. I want to hear it again.”

“Jax...”

“What are you wearing, Nessie?”

The question sent another wave of heat through her. She looked down at herself, suddenly self-conscious. “Just... a nightgown. Nothing special.”

“What color?”

“Blue. It’s old and soft and probably not very sexy.”

His laugh was rough. “Everything about you is sexy, Nessie. The way you move, the way you smell like vanilla and cinnamon. The way you look at me like I’m not completely broken.”

Her throat tightened. “You’re not broken.”

“I am. We both know it. But when you look at me...” He paused, his breathing uneven. “When you look at me, I can almost believe I’m worth something.”

His vulnerability made her chest ache. She wanted to reach through the phone and pull him into her arms. “I wish you were here.”

“You don’t know how much I wish that, too,” he said. “If I were there, I’d take my time learning every curve, every hollow. Find out what makes you come apart in my hands.”

Heat flooded her body, pooling between her thighs. She slipped her hand beneath the covers, fingers trailing over her stomach. “Tell me where to touch myself,” she whispered. “Show me what you’d do.”

His intake of breath was audible through the phone. “Nessie...”

“Please.” The word was both request and demand.

A pause, filled only by the sound of his breathing. Then, “Start with your throat. Just your fingertips. Trace them down slowly.”

She did as he instructed, her skin prickling with awareness.

“Down between your breasts,” he murmured. “Not touching them yet. Just the space between.”

Her breath hitched as she traced the path he described, her body responding as if it were his hands on her skin, not her own.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Now cup your breasts. Gently at first.” The rough edge in his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Feel how they fit in your palm. Do they just fit, or overflow?”

She cupped her breasts, feeling their weight. “They overflow.”

“Yeah, they do,” he growled. “Because they’re made for my hands, not yours.”

She squeezed them. Her nipples hardened against her palms through the thin cotton, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Now brush your thumbs over your nipples. Light at first.”

The sensation shot straight through her, making her back arch slightly and her legs spasm. She bit her lip to muffle another sound.

“I can hear you holding back.” His voice was velvet in her ear, rasping over her nerve endings. “Don’t. I want to hear what I’m doing to you.”

“This is crazy,” she whispered, but her hands didn’t stop moving.

“Maybe. But you need this release. You’re wound too tight. And I need to know you’re feeling what I’m feeling.” His breath stuttered, quick and unsteady. “Are you wet for me?”

The crude question should have shocked her, but instead it sent another wave of heat through her body. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the slick evidence of her arousal.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded softly. “Slowly. The way I would.”

She followed his instructions, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

“Christ, the sounds you make,” he groaned. “I want to hear them in person. Want to feel them against my skin. Do you have your fingers on your pretty little clit? Or did you shove them deep inside your pussy? Are you sliding them in and out, coating them in your honey?”

Liquid fire rushed through her veins with each heartbeat. She bit her lip, torn between answering and the mortification of speaking such intimacies aloud. But the raw need in his voice stripped away her inhibitions.

“Both,” she gasped. “I’m... I’m circling, the way you would with your tongue. And I’m dipping my fingers in, getting them wet.”

Jax let out a strangled sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through her. “God, Nessie. You’re killing me.”

She could hear the strain in his breathing, the way it had gone uneven. The knowledge that he was as affected as she was made her feel feminine and powerful. “Are you touching yourself, too?”

“Since the moment you first moaned,” he admitted. “Can’t help it. The way you sound... knowing what you’re doing to yourself... Christ, I’m so hard it hurts.”

Nessie closed her eyes, imagining him sprawled on his narrow bunk, one hand wrapped around himself, stroking in time with her own movements. The image was so vivid she could almost see the muscles in his forearm flexing, the concentrated look on his face.

“Tell me,” she urged, her fingers moving faster now. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

His breath hitched. “Squeezing my cock, thinking about how tight your pussy would feel around me. How your eyes would look when I push inside you for the first time. How your back would arch when I hit that sweet spot deep inside.”

Her body spasmed around her fingers, and she lifted her hips off the mattress, chasing the sensation building deep in her core.

She’d never done anything like this before, never been so vulnerable with another person.

But with Jax, in the safety of darkness and distance, she felt free to be someone she’d never allowed herself to be.

“I wish it was you touching me,” she breathed, her movements becoming more urgent. “I want your hands, your mouth...”

“If I were there, I’d worship every inch of you. I’d spread your thighs apart, kiss my way up the inside of your leg. Take my time, make you wait for it. And then I’d taste you, slow and deep, until you were shaking. I’d make you come with my tongue before I ever got inside you.”