Page 48 of Jax (The Kansas City Reapers #3)

“Rules are part of it, or at least they usually are.” I said, thumb moving in slow, soothing circles along her hipbone.

“But not always in the way most people think. Not like punishment and reward. Structure means choice. Boundaries that you define. Things that help you feel grounded, not boxed in.”

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her knee shifted under the sheet, brushing against my thigh. Not a conscious touch, but it made my pulse throb anyway.

“And that’s what this would be?” she asked, voice barely louder than a breath. “This thing between us?”

I considered how best to explain the tangle of want and care sitting heavy in my chest. She deserved honesty, not just the poetic version, but the precise truth. And I’d spent too much of my life using words like scalpels not to give her that.

“It’s a container,” I said. “For the chaos. A place where you can fall apart safely, because the edges are known. Because I’m holding them.

And I’ll never let you hit the floor.” Her eyes glistened, but the way she tilted her head, the twitch in her fingers near her collarbone, told me she felt it.

She heard the part I wasn’t saying aloud.

My hand slid up her side, tracing the dip of her waist. “It’s where you choose to be held, Stella.

Not because you have to. But because you want to.

Because some part of you knows you don’t have to carry it all alone anymore.

” Her breath hitched. Her mouth parted without a sound, only a thin, trembling exhale that cracked something open in both of us.

I didn’t lean in to kiss her. I didn’t need to.

I could feel the current in the air, her body turning toward mine like a flower finding light.

Beneath the blanket, her thighs shifted again, this time with intention.

I let my palm settle against her outer thigh, skin to skin, thumb dragging a line just above her knee.

“That’s what I want to offer,” I said, my voice rough around the edges now.

“Not orders. Not demands. Just a place where your fear doesn’t have to run the show.

Where you can choose what to give, and know it’ll be held with care.

” She blinked fast, then slowly brought one hand up to cup my face.

Her thumb brushed along my jaw like she was trying to memorize it, like she didn’t quite trust I’d still be there by morning.

“That sounds like freedom,” she said, her voice breaking halfway through the word. The sound cracked straight through my chest. I leaned in far enough to rest my forehead on hers. Her hand slipped into my hair. Mine stayed on her thigh. And together, we breathed.

“This isn’t about me fixing you,” I said softly. “It’s about making a space where you don’t have to fix yourself.” She didn’t reply. Instead, she pressed her chest to mine, warmth blooming between us like a second heartbeat.

The trust wasn’t complete. But it was forming, thread by thread, moment by moment, and I’d guard every inch of it like it was holy.

Her bare chest pressed tight to mine now, warm and trembling in that liminal space between arousal and exhaustion, the kind that comes only after softness, after safety, when your body hasn’t yet decided if it should release or prepare for war all over again.

I didn’t push. Didn’t claim. I’d taken control before, but none of that prepared me for this, her breath on my collarbone, her thigh over my hip, the press of skin whispering, this matters .

I let my hand glide down the line of her back to the curve of her ass and squeezed once.

Not claiming. Not coaxing. Just anchoring her to the moment.

She gasped—sharp, surprised, but not afraid. That sound? That was a reward. “Still with me?” I murmured into her temple, voice pitched just above a breath, the kind you use when a wild thing finally lays its head in your lap.

She nodded barely, cheek brushing my chest. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Still here.”

“You’re still in control, Stella,” I told her, letting every syllable wrap around her like silk and steel. “Even now. I touch because you allow it.”

“Don’t stop,” she said, and there was no hesitation this time. Just heat. “Please don’t stop.”

My cock twitched at the need in her voice, sharp and breathy, but I didn’t give in to the instinct to move faster.

Instead, I let one hand drift from the curve of her ass up to her hip, my fingers reverent in their exploration.

The other cupped the back of her neck, thumb brushing just under her ear, coaxing her into stillness, not submission.

Presence. A reminder that she could take up space, even here.

“You know what I saw in your eyes tonight?” I asked, voice low enough to vibrate against her jaw. “Fire. Fury. And the bravest goddamn surrender I’ve ever seen.”

She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes shimmering with something that wasn’t quite tears but wasn’t dry either. “It didn’t feel brave.”

“It was,” I said. “You walked into that room on your terms. You stayed. And when it got too much… you let yourself be held. That’s fucking brave.

” A sound left her, small and cracked, like laughter and pain tangled in her throat and didn’t know which to choose.

Her hand slid up my chest, fingers trailing across my heart like she didn’t even realize they were moving.

“I think I do want to try a dynamic,” she said. “Not everything. Not yet. But… something.” My hand rose to cradle her jaw, gentle and steady, like she was something sacred.

“Then we start slow,” I told her. “Deliberate. Clear. No titles. No pressure. Just agreement.” Her breath caught like she was holding something inside she wasn’t sure she could release.

“And if I mess up?” she asked.

“There’s no failure,” I said. “Only feedback. Only communication.”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “And if I want…” Her voice broke a little. “More?” My hand slid back down her thigh beneath the blanket, slow and certain, my thumb dragging along bare skin just above her knee.

“Then I give you more,” I murmured. “Or I don’t. Depending on what serves you best. You don’t obey me, Stella. You obey the version of yourself you’re becoming.”

She trembled at that, breath catching as the truth settled into her skin.

I leaned in, lips brushing hers without pressing.

“You deserve a love that listens harder than it leads,” I whispered.

“And if you let me, I’ll learn your body like it’s a language I’ve waited my whole life to speak. ” She whimpered. Then kissed me.

Not shy. Not tentative.

She grabbed my face and kissed me like she needed to be sure I was real, her bare chest pressed to mine, her leg sliding higher around my waist. I groaned, low in my throat, hand tightening on the curve of her ass.

But I didn’t push. Didn’t flip her down.

Didn’t take. I just held her like I was the structure she could finally collapse into.

Because I wasn’t here to chase her. I was here to catch her.

She went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t guarded. It was the stillness that follows safety, when the body begins to believe it doesn’t have to brace anymore. Her forehead rested against my collarbone, her leg warm against mine, breath uneven but slow. I kissed her temple. “Water?”

She nodded, eyes half-closed, voice rough with afterglow and memory. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

I eased out of the bed without a word, letting the blanket fall back over her.

My steps were quiet on the hardwood. I didn’t want to jar her system after what we’d just shared.

It wasn’t about walking on eggshells. It was about honoring the sanctity of the moment.

Of her. Everything about tonight had been an offering, and I wasn’t about to tarnish it by treating the aftermath like an afterthought.

When I returned, I crouched by the bed, offering the glass with an open palm and a gentle glance.

She sat up just enough to take a few small sips.

I cradled the base of the glass with one hand and settled the other at the back of her neck, thumb sweeping lightly just below her hairline.

When she swallowed, her throat bobbed with effort.

“Easy,” I said. “Just enough to tell your nervous system it’s okay now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

She drank again, slower this time, and when she set the glass down, she gave me a look that could’ve dismantled a lesser man.

“You always like this?” she asked, still breathless. “Prepared. Calm. Gentle. It’s disarming.”

I gave a one-shoulder shrug as I climbed back into bed beside her, drawing the blanket up over both of us. “I’m not trying to disarm you, Stella. I’m trying to study you.”

Her brow arched. “Study me?”

“Not like an experiment. Like a map.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and let my fingertips trail down her jaw.

“Your breath patterns. The tension in your hands. The way your pupils dilate when you’re scared, or turned on, or both.

You tell me everything without saying a word.

Most people do. They just don’t realize it. ”

She gave a breathy laugh, then winced. “So you’re profiling me in bed?”

“Not profiling,” I murmured. “Attuning.”

My voice dipped to something lower, firmer, more intimate. “You soften in response to certainty. You crave choice, but need containment. You respond to praise when it’s earned, not fed. And your body relaxes fastest when I anchor you through consistency, not command.”

Her lips parted as her breath caught again.

“And,” I added, leaning in close enough that my words brushed her skin, “you make the sweetest fucking sound when I say your name just before you cum.”

The shiver that rolled through her was full-body.

“That,” she whispered, eyes wide and reverent, “was hot as hell.”

I smiled against her cheek. “Good. Because I’m not just here to make you feel good, Stella. I’m here to make you feel known.”

She stilled at that, her fingers finding my forearm where it rested along her side, as if anchoring herself with that single touch. And when she spoke again, her voice was soft but certain. “And if I don’t know myself yet?”

“Then we learn together.”

She inhaled deeply, then sighed. “I should be scared. Of how much I want this.”

“You want this because it’s yours,” I said. “You made the choice. That makes all the difference.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Just leaned back into my chest and rested her head over my heart. Her thumb moved slowly over my wrist, a rhythm like gratitude, like trust blooming without needing a name.

“I don’t want to fall in love,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I said gently. “But I’ll be here while you fall in ‘ like’ .”

That got a laugh, small but real. “God, that was good.”

“Yeah,” I said, dragging my fingers slowly along her back. “It was.”

She tipped her face up to mine, her expression full of something just shy of hope. “Do I get to ask for one more thing?”

“Always.”

Her voice dropped, quiet but sure. “Just stay. But… don’t hold me too tight.”

My throat tightened because I knew exactly what she meant; the fear that affection might come with strings, that even comfort could cost something.

So I laid there beside her, close but not crowding, giving her room to breathe while staying near enough to feel the warmth of her breath against my neck.

I didn’t pull her in. I didn’t wrap myself around her.

I simply took her hand and laced our fingers loosely, with no pressure in the grip, no pull in the touch, just presence.

“I’ll stay right here,” I said. “As long as you need me.”

She fell asleep five minutes later, and I couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, her body felt safe enough to let herself rest.