Page 6 of Jessa & Jaxon (What Happens In Vegas #1)

“You’re burning it.”

JJ struggles with the makeshift oil lamp she’s created from cooking oil and a strip of t-shirt. The flame sputters dangerously high, threatening to scorch the jar she’s using as a base.

I should let her struggle, let her prove whatever point she’s trying to make. But watching her fight with something as simple as a wick, when I could fix it in seconds, grates on me.

She shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “I’ve got it.”

“Clearly,” I drawl, leaning against the kitchen counter.

The temperature has dropped significantly with nightfall, our breath visible in the air. Day six of being trapped together, and she’s still fighting my every attempt to help.

“Fine.” She steps back from her creation. “Since you’re such an expert.”

My height advantage allows me to stretch past her to grab the lamp, my chest pressing against her back. She stiffens but doesn’t retreat.

“Your wick’s too long,” I say, adjusting it with ease. “Burns too hot and wastes fuel. Basic survival, JJ. Thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing. “Basic survival, huh? And here I thought you only excelled at overpriced whiskey tastings and corporate power plays.”

“I’m multi-talented. Try to keep up.”

“Oh, I’m keeping up just fine. I was just letting you have your moment.”

“Letting me?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s cute.”

JJ snatches the wick from my hand, trimming it herself. “See? I had it handled.”

“After almost setting your kitchen on fire.”

She lights the lamp and it flickers to life just as Reba’s voice cuts through the quiet, twanging through JJ’s tablet on the shelf.

“Where’d you learn this, anyway?” she asks, turning the jar to inspect my handiwork.

“My grandfather.”

“I don’t think I ever met him.”

“You didn’t,” I say. “He didn’t live in Winter Bay and died two years before my mom. He was... intense.”

She gives me a curious look. “Intense how?”

“Survivalist. Conspiracy theorist. The world is always one bad day away from collapse kind of guy.” I smile. “He had a bunker before bunkers were a trend.”

“Wait. Are you telling me you were trained by a full-blown doomsday prepper?”

“Oh, trained is an understatement,” I say dryly. “By the time I was ten, I could filter water through charcoal, catch and clean a rabbit, and recite every major economic collapse of the last century.”

She stares at me like I’ve just confessed to being raised by wolves. “That explains so much.”

“Relax, JJ. I didn’t drink the Kool-Aid.”

Something in my voice must betray the weight of my emotions, because her expression shifts.

“I’ll start on lunch.” She moves toward the kitchen, her socked feet padding softly across the worn hardwood floor.

I follow, watching as she expertly navigates her limited options, opening cabinets and assessing dwindling supplies.

Six days into this storm, and somehow, we’ve settled into an uneasy rhythm where JJ pretends she doesn’t wake up tangled with me every morning, and I pretend I don’t notice.

One where she cooks and I handle keeping this place clean and from turning into an icebox while ignoring the simmering attraction beneath every interaction.

“Let me help,” I offer, reaching for an aluminum pot hanging from the rack above her small island. My arm brushes against her, and she inhales.

JJ immediately shifts to block me, her body creating a barrier between me and the stove. The kitchen feels impossibly small with both of us in it.

“I can handle lunch,” she says.

“I know you can. But you don’t have to do everything alone.”

Our eyes meet. Something unspoken passes between us—acknowledgment that these words extend beyond cooking dinner.

She exhales and shoves a knife into my hand like she’s doing me a favor. “Fine. Chop these.” A pile of assorted vegetables sits on the cutting board, remnants of her pre-storm shopping.

We work in companionable silence, the gentle scrape of knife against cutting board strangely intimate in the quiet apartment.

The next song kicks in, something older and slower—Tammy Wynette, all ache and longing. Neither of us says anything, but I catch the subtle shift in JJ’s movements.

“When I was little,” she says suddenly, “my mom would make hot chocolate during storms. She’d add cinnamon and these tiny marshmallows.” Her voice grows soft with the memory. “We’d sit by the window and count seconds between lightning and thunder.”

“That sounds nice.”

“What about you?” she asks, shifting to look at me. “Any storm traditions?”

“My mom and I built forts.” The knife pauses against the cutting board as memories surface, the sound of childhood laughter echoing in my mind. “When she got sick, we’d still try, but...”

JJ moves closer to me, facing me now. Her eyes are soft in the candlelight.

“I remember when she passed. You stayed at our house for almost a week.”

“Your parents were kind,” I say, though they feel inadequate. “My father... He shut down after she died. Couldn’t look at me without seeing her.”

“Is that why you two are estranged?”

I resume chopping the bell pepper. “He was never the same.” The knife hits the board with force and a piece of pepper skitters across the counter. “Started drinking, working longer hours. By the time I was in high school, we were strangers living in the same house.”

Her hand covers mine where it rests beside the cutting board. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Her touch eases something inside me. “Your family became mine, in a way. You, Kamal, your parents.”

JJ retrieves her hand, leaving a lingering warmth. “You had a funny way of showing appreciation. You teased me and pulled my braids.”

“You weren’t very welcoming,” I reply as I scrape the chopped peppers into a small ceramic bowl.

She raises an eyebrow. “You called me elephant ears.”

“Because you tattled on Kamal and I when we planned on sneaking out.” I meet her gaze directly. “F.Y.I. like your ears.”

She turns away quickly, but not before I catch the way she presses her lips together.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” The question shifts us to safer territory while maintaining the intimacy we’ve established.

The best negotiations progress in planned steps. Push too hard, retreat when necessary, always keep the ultimate goal in sight. And with JJ’s guard lowering, I’ve never been more certain of my target.

“I almost dropped out of my master’s program.”

This surprises me. Education is everything to her.

“Why?”

“My boyfriend at the time had an associate’s degree. He started making comments when I got accepted into the program. Little things at first. Then he flat-out told me no man wants a woman more educated than him.”

Anger flares in my chest. “What an insecure jackass.”

“I believed him,” she admits softly. “For a while. I was ready to withdraw when my advisor called, asking why. That wake-up call made me realize I was choosing a mediocre man over my future.”

“I’m glad you chose your future.”

She looks up at me, something vulnerable in her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m destined to choose between career success and a relationship. Like I can’t have both.”

The thought of some insecure asshole making her doubt herself turns my blood to ice. I don’t know his name, but I want to find him and fuck him up.

“That’s bullshit,” I say firmly. “The right person won’t make you choose.”

Her eyes meet mine, searching. I cup her face, giving her time to pull away, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she closes the space between us and brushes her lips against mine.

My hand slides to the nape of her neck, holding her gently as our tongues meet. A quiet sound escapes her. Part sigh, part moan, and it sends an electric pulse to my groin.

“Say the word,” I whisper. “And I’ll step away.”

“Please,” she breathes. “Don’t.”

“Say it again.”

Her breath stutters. “Please—”

I catch her mouth with mine, claiming what’s already mine. This time, there’s no slow build, no testing the waters.

My hands explore the curves of her body as hers maps the muscles of my back. Every touch feels electric, charged by years of want finally finding release.

I trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips. Her head falls back, giving me access as her nails dig lightly into my shoulders. When my hand slips under her shirt, she gasps.

“Feels good,” she moans.

I lift my head to look at her, needing to see her face. Her eyes are half-closed, lips parted, hair pulled up in a loose bun. She’s beautiful—always has been—but like this, open and wanting, she’s breathtaking.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” I confess against her skin. “Wanted you.”

I lean down, capturing her lips again. This time, the kiss is deeper, hungrier. Her body arches against mine as I press her into the cupboard. I can feel her heat, even through our clothes, and it drives me wild.

My hands slide down to her thighs, gripping them firmly before moving up to her ass. I squeeze, pulling her against me, grinding my hardness against her. She moans into my mouth, her nails digging into my back.

I break the kiss, trailing my lips down her neck, her collarbone, her sternum. I lift her shirt, exposing her stomach, her ribs, her breasts. I take one nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the hardening peak. She cries out, offering more of herself to me.

I lavish attention on her breasts, moving from one to the other, my hands kneading her flesh, my mouth sucking, my teeth nipping. Her breath comes in short gasps, her body writhing beneath me.

But I want more. I want to taste all of her.

Reaching for the waistband of her leggings, I pause to give her a chance to stop me. She doesn’t. Instead, she guides my hand as I roll her leggings and panties down her legs.

I take in the sight of her, completely naked, completely vulnerable, and bury my nose in her flesh. Her scent fills my lungs, musky and sweet, driving me insane.

I lift her onto the island, then slide onto the stool between her legs and place her knees on my shoulders. She watches me, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short pants. I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her inner thigh. Then another higher up. And another, closer to her center.

Her hips lift, seeking my touch. I smile against her skin, enjoying her responsiveness. I run my hands up her thighs, brushing my thumbs against her folds.

“You’re so wet,” I murmur. “So ready for me.”

She moans softly, her head and body falling back as my thumbs spread her open. I lean in and run my tongue up the length of her slit, circling her clit.

Her cry echoes through the room, her hips bucking against my mouth. I grip her thighs, holding her in place as I explore her with my tongue. I lick and suck at her clit.

JJ’s moans grow louder, her body trembles. But just as she’s about to tip over the edge, I pull back.

Her eyes snap open. “What the hell!”

“Not yet.”

Before she can protest further, I slide my hands under her ass, lifting her. Her eyes widen in realization just before I run my tongue along the seam of her ass.

She jolts. “What are you—”

“Shh,” I soothe, massaging her cheeks gently. “Trust me.”

JJ sucks in a breath as I dive back in, licking and kissing her ass. She squirms initially, uncomfortable with the new sensation, but I hold her firmly, not letting up.

“No one’s ever...” she trails off.

“I know,” I say, looking up at her. “But you’ll like it. I promise.”

She bites her lip and I lower my head once more. I take my time, letting her get used to the sensation. Gradually, her body begins to relax, her moans returning.

I continue to lavish attention on her ass while my thumb teases her clit. Her breathing stutters, her body tense again, but this time, I don’t stop. I keep licking, keep rubbing, pushing her higher and higher.

“Jaxon,” she cries out, her body convulsing. “I’m... I’m going to...”

Her words dissolve into a scream as she comes undone, her orgasm crashing through her. Her body trembles violently as she surrenders to the intensity of the orgasm.

I slow my movements when her body goes limp and her breaths come in ragged pants. I press one last kiss to her pussy before standing up.

Her eyes flutter open. They’re filled with a mix of shock, satisfaction and desire.

“That was...”

I trace her lower lip with my thumb, watching her eyes close at my touch. “A preview,” I whisper against her skin.