Page 9 of Jessa & Jaxon (What Happens In Vegas #1)

“Scenario,” Jaxon says, moving from across the table to sit beside me. “A parent is upset about their child’s grade and demands you override the teacher’s assessment. How do you respond?”

We’ve been at this for nearly an hour, him asking increasingly challenging questions while I respond with growing confidence. He seems genuinely impressed by my answers, though his attention occasionally wanders to my lips.

I cross my legs, hyper-conscious of his proximity, but determined to maintain my professional composure.

“I’d listen to the parent’s concerns,” I begin, “then explain our grading policies and the teacher’s autonomy in their classroom.

I’d offer to facilitate a conversation between the parent and teacher, but make it clear that I support my staff’s professional judgment unless there’s evidence of a serious error or unfairness.

“Good,” he murmurs, his hand moving up my leg under the table. “Very diplomatic.”

I swallow a moan when his fingers trace maddening patterns on my thigh, but I don’t move away. His touch sends electricity through me, even through the fabric of my leggings.

“Are you trying to distract me, Mr. Jamison?”

“Not at all, Vice Principal Jamison,” he counters as his fingers make contact with my sex. “I’m testing your ability to maintain focus under pressure. Critical skill in administration.”

“Jamison is your name, not mine,” I correct him automatically. “And if this is your idea of interview preparation, your HR department must have quite the file on you.”

“Smith for now,” he states with certainty, not withdrawing his touch. His eyes hold mine with unwavering confidence. “And I maintain strict professional boundaries in business. It’s one of the reasons I’m successful. I can separate personal from professional.”

I open my mouth to fire back a response, but his fingers press just right, stealing my breath.

“Tell me, JJ,” he says, his voice a low purr, “would you like me to stop? Or should I keep testing your... composure?”

“I’m perfectly capable of maintaining composure under any circumstance,” I challenge.

I straighten my posture and meet his gaze directly.

“Continue with the next question. Unless you’re concerned with my ability to answer coherently despite your.

.. techniques. In which case, perhaps you’re the one lacking in your abilities.

His hand slides higher, slipping beneath the hem of my sweater to find the bare skin of my stomach. The touch is so intimate, so deliberately provocative that I must fight to keep my breathing steady.

“What innovations would you bring to the school’s professional development program?”

I manage to answer, drawing on my prepared notes about collaborative learning communities and peer observation cycles. My voice remains admirably steady even as his fingers drift tantalizingly along my nipples.

It’s only when he leans in to press a kiss to the sensitive spot below my ear that my response falls apart.

“That’s not fair.” I tilt my head to give him better access despite my half-hearted protest.

“Leadership requires adapting to unexpected situations,” he says, his lips brushing against my skin with each word. “Consider this practical experience.”

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, quickly transforming into a soft moan as his teeth graze my earlobe. The sensation travels the length of my body, collecting at the pit of my stomach.

“This isn’t exactly what the interview committee has in mind.”

“Their loss.”

He shifts, turning my chair to face him and lifting me effortlessly onto his lap, so I straddle him. The sudden movement startles a gasp out of me, but any protest dies on my lips when I feel the hard length of him pressed against my core. This new position puts us face to face.

“Much better,” he says. “I think you’ve practiced enough for one day.”

My hands come to rest on his broad shoulders, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer. I’m balanced on a knife’s edge of wanting.

“You think?”

“I know.” He runs his hands up my thighs, his touch confident and possessive. My body responds to him, almost against my will. “You’re more than ready. Smart, prepared, passionate about education. They’d be idiots not to hire you.”

His belief in me makes me happy. It’s not a line to get me into bed; he actually means it.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

He presses a kiss to my lips. The tenderness in the gesture makes my heart flutter uncomfortably. “You’re going to be an amazing Vice Principal, JJ.”

I kiss him back, my hands sliding up to cradle his face. His stubble is rough against my palms, a masculine contrast to the unexpected gentleness of his words.

A moan escapes my lips when his fingers trace a heated path up my spine, pressing into the small of my back and sending tendrils of desire radiating outwards.

He kisses me like he’s starved for it, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy him, and it’s intoxicating.

I reach between us, my fingers tracing the outline of his erection through the fabric of his sweatpants. He sucks in a sharp breath, his hips jerking upward.

I smile, enjoying the effect I have on him.

“Too many clothes,” I murmur, echoing his earlier sentiment.

I shift back, giving myself enough room to slip my hand inside his sweatpants. He lifts his hips, helping me as I push the fabric down to free his erection.

His dick springs out and I wrap my hand around him, marveling at the silken heat, the rigid strength. He groans, his body shuddering as I stroke him slowly, my thumb circling the sensitive tip.

His hands find the waistband of my leggings, pushing them down over my hips. I lift myself up, allowing him to slide them down my legs. They join his sweatpants on the floor, leaving us both naked from the waist down.

I position myself over him and slide down easily, taking in every inch of him. His hands grip my hips as I begin to move, rising and falling, my body taking what it needs from his.

The feeling is intense, the pressure building inside me with each thrust, each grind of our bodies. His hands guide my movements, his hips thrusting up to meet mine. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the room, driving us both higher and higher.

I can feel him getting close, can feel the urgency in his touch, his kiss. It pushes me over the edge, my body convulsing around him, my cry of release echoing through the room.

Jaxon follows me a moment later, his body shuddering, his groan guttural. We cling to each other, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“I was thinking,” Jaxon says casually two days later as he watches me gather the dice, “we should go on a proper date when we get back to civilization.”

In the background, Patsy Cline hums low from the speaker, the mournful notes of “You Belong to Me” floating over the room. It’s the kind of song that seeps into your skin.

“A date?”

The board game lies between us on the living room floor, our makeshift fortress of pillows and blankets creating an intimate cocoon around us.

We’ve arranged ourselves like children at a sleepover, cross-legged and competitive—though what we’ve been doing for the last few days has been decidedly adult.

The memory of his hands on my body lingers, making my skin tingle even now. I’ve experienced more orgasms in these snow-bound days than in years of previous relationships combined.

“Yes, Jessa, a date,” he confirms. “It’s this social custom where two people who are attracted to each other spend time together, usually involving food or an activity.”

I drop the dice onto the board, buying myself time with the simple action. “Sounds fake. Who invented this?”

“Some genius who realized people like foreplay before commitment.”

“Who says I need foreplay?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, “I’d say you more than enjoy it.”

Heat creeps up my body in waves, starting at my core and spreading. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, channeling my energy into moving my game piece instead.

The music shifts to George Strait. Jaxon perks up, mouthing along to the chorus like he can’t help himself.

“You always get flirty when George plays,” I say, not quite smiling.

“George Strait’s been singing people into bad decisions for decades,” he replies, grinning. “Come on, JJ.” His voice softens, the teasing replaced with sincerity. “Say yes.”

“To what?” I feign ignorance.

He reaches out, lazily tracing a finger along my wrist. The simple touch sparks a sensation that races through me, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“To dinner. At a restaurant,” he murmurs. “You and me.”

Part of me wants to climb into his lap and say yes. I picture walking into a restaurant hand in hand, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. And God, I want it. I want it more than I should.

But then I picture what comes after—the expectations, the complications, the inevitable fallout when Jaxon realizes I’m not the kind of woman he wants to build a life with. Better to end it now, before I start believing in something that can’t last.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” I say. “But we’re too different. You’re you and I’m me and this would never work.”

The words feel wrong. Too small for what’s between us.

“Why not?” His thumb traces my lower lip, and I have to fight not to lean into the touch. “Because I’m wealthy? Because your brother is my business partner and best friend? Because we argue?”

“Because this was just sex,” I blurt out. “You’ll get bored, then you’ll move on to the next challenge.”

“Is this what you truly believe? That you’re just a conquest to me?”

“Yes, Jaxon.” I double down.

“I’ve wanted you since we were teenagers,” he says. “This isn’t a game to me, JJ. It never has been.”

“What?” I whisper, shock rippling through me.

“Why do you think I showed up at every family dinner your parents invited me to? Why do you think I’ve never had a serious relationship?” He presses his forehead against mine. “Because no one else has ever measured up to you. No one else challenges me, frustrates me, excites me the way you do.”

I shake my head, unwilling to believe what I’m hearing. “That’s insane.”

“Maybe.” He smiles. “But it’s the truth.”

His hands tighten on my waist. “Give us a chance,” he says.

“I have no interest in a relationship at this point in my life, and you’re the last man I’d want a relationship with.”

The shift in atmosphere is immediate. The warmth in his gaze is gone and the teasing edge in his voice vanishes. I feel the loss acutely.

And I hate it. But I don’t take it back.

“You’re right,” he says finally. “We’re not compatible. The woman sitting before me now is a liar and I don’t want any associations with liars.”

“Don’t do this, Jaxon.”

“Do what? Ask for honesty?” His eyes bore into mine. “I told you how I feel about you, and you want to continue to pretend there isn’t a connection between us. A connection that’s always been there, under everything else. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

“What I feel is the need for my freedom,” I say firmly, gathering my resolve. “My life is exactly how I want it. Independent. Uncomplicated.”

“And lonely?”

“Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely,” I counter, ignoring the voice in my head asking if I believe that. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

His jaw tightens as he studies me, eyes darkening with something that looks like hurt.

“Message received,” he says, as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion. The warmth of his body leaves mine, and the sudden absence feels more significant than it should.

I remain seated on the floor, fingers idly spinning a game piece as I watch him gather his things from around my apartment. His movements are efficient and quick.

“The weather report says the roads should be clear by morning,” he comments. “I’ll be out of your hair first thing.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Because if I do, I might ask him to stay. And that would just delay my heartbreak.