Page 7

Chapter 7

Until You Break

Jackson’s mouth covers my breast, hot and wet and unrelenting. One hand palms the other, thumb flicking over the nipple until I gasp and arch into him. His other hand grips my thigh, spreading me, anchoring me.

Jackson's careful restraint transforms into focused intensity. His hands grip my hips, positioning me beneath him with confident authority. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that borders on possessive, tongue demanding entrance I eagerly grant.

The dominant nature he's kept carefully leashed emerges fully now—in the authoritative press of his body against mine, the controlled strength in his hands as they explore every inch of me, the commanding tone when he murmurs directions against my ear.

"Tell me what you want." His voice drops to a growl that sends shivers racing across my skin.

Words fail me, replaced by inarticulate sounds as his fingers find sensitive places, drawing reactions my body can't disguise.

"Use your words, Cloe." The command comes gently but firmly. His eyes hold mine, seeking genuine consent amidst the haze of desire.

"You." The word encompasses everything. "All of you. Taking charge. Being… rough ."

“Music to my ears.” His smile tilts, all satisfaction and promise—dark, dangerous promise.

It shouldn’t affect me like it does. But the moment those words leave his mouth, heat blooms low in my belly. A slow, molten flood that curls through me, twisting around my spine, stealing my breath.

He notices.

Of course, he notices.

His expression shifts—wolfish, predatory. The kind of look that says he’s already undressing my thoughts and peeling back every layer of restraint.

“Interesting.” His fingers continue their torturous exploration, skimming over my ribs, dipping into the curve of my waist, and dragging slowly across the underside of my breast. He watches every reaction, listens for every catch in my breath, every unconscious whimper pulled from my throat. “How adventurous are you, city girl?”

My fingers dig into his shoulders, anchoring myself against the building sensations. “As much as you need me to be.”

That does something to him. I feel the shudder in his body. See the sharp flash of heat in his eyes. The restraint in him thins, cracks.

“Good.” He leans in, mouth brushing my ear, his voice a rasp that sends lightning straight down my spine. “I’m not soft. I’m not slow. And I’m not going to pretend this is anything less than what it is.”

"I know what this is."

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze head-on, blue eyes gone black with hunger. “So… Do you need a safe word?”

The way he asks it isn’t cruel. It’s careful. Intentional.

It’s a test and a gift.

“Should I?” I draw in a shaking breath. My pulse thrums hard against my throat.

His mouth lifts, just slightly. “I plan on pushing you. And you should know—I’ll stop the second you need me to. But if you don’t say it…” His thumb drags slowly across my bottom lip, gaze locked on mine. “I won’t stop.”

Everything tightens.

My body. My breath. The air between us.

I swallow hard, not from fear—but anticipation. And trust.

“Candy cane.” The word comes out quiet, steady. “If I need you to stop… I’ll say candy cane.”

He nods once. Approves. “Say it again. Let me hear it in your voice.”

“Candy cane.”

A pause. The silence electric.

“Noted.” His smile turns wicked. “Now, don’t fucking use it.”

He kisses me again—deep and claiming—and then he’s everywhere. Teeth and tongue, hands gripping, molding, guiding. His body moves over mine with a precision that borders on reverence but never loses that edge of wild intent. When he finally enters me, it’s one slow, brutal stroke that leaves me gasping, stretched, filled, and completely undone.

“God, Jackson?—”

“Feel that?” he growls, his hips grinding into mine. “This is how I’ll take you. All of you. Every time.”

The cot creaks beneath us, protesting the rhythm he sets—hard, deep, relentless. His hand slides under my back, lifting my hips to change the angle, and I nearly sob from the pleasure.

He covers me, shields me, fucks me like a man who’s waited too long and doesn’t plan to waste a single second. Not with words. Not with movement. Not with me.

And through it all, his eyes never leave mine—refusing to let me hide, or retreat, or come apart in silence.

“Let me hear you, city girl.” His voice scrapes along my skin like gravel and silk, dark and dangerous, lips brushing mine with every relentless thrust. “Scream for me. Shake for me. Come for me.”

I do.

Once.

Twice.

Each climax rips through me harder than the last, stealing the air from my lungs and sense from my mind. My nails rake down his back. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t slow.

He owns every inch of me.

Jackson rears back just enough to look down, eyes hooded, jaw tight, his hand sliding beneath my thigh and hooking it high around his waist. His thrusts go deeper now. Harder. The stretch borders on pain but never crosses the line. It only sharpens the pleasure and sets me ablaze.

“That’s it,” he growls against my throat, teeth grazing, breath hot. “You take what I give you. You like it when I take charge.”

A whimper breaks from me. I don’t even know if it’s yes or more or please—because all three are true.

He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, one big hand locking me in place. His body pounds into mine, claiming me, marking me, making it impossible to think of anything except the ache, the fullness, him.

“Stay with me.” His voice drops low, a command more than a plea, hips grinding in a rhythm that steals coherent thought. “Right here. Right now. You’re not going anywhere.”

My legs tremble, clamping tighter around his waist. The world tilts. Time fractures. My universe becomes the rough drag of his calloused palm down my ribs, the press of his chest to mine, the brutal beauty of his dominance as he pushes me to the brink again.

“You feel that?” he rasps, rolling his hips with lethal control. “That’s mine.”

He drives in harder. My back arches. The storm outside hammers against the windows, wind howling—but it’s nothing compared to the feral sound tearing from my throat when I shatter beneath him.

Jackson’s name leaves me in a cry that tastes like surrender. He surges one final time, body tensing, his release pulsing deep inside me. He stays there, chest heaving, face buried in the curve of my neck, his weight a comfort, a claim.

“Mine,” he breathes again. Not a question. A truth.

And I don’t want to belong to anyone else.

For several heartbeats, neither of us moves. The only sounds are our gradually slowing breaths and the distant howl of the diminishing storm. Jackson's weight should feel crushing, yet it grounds me, preventing me from floating away on the lingering waves of pleasure.

Eventually, he shifts, moving beside me rather than atop me, arms keeping me close in the cot's limited space. The sudden vulnerability of nakedness in the shelter's chill draws me closer to his warmth.

"Are you okay?" His voice is unexpectedly gentle, and his fingers brush the hair from my face with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the passionate dominance of moments before.

"Better than okay." Words seem inadequate for the lingering glow suffusing my body. "That was..."

"Yeah." His agreement is accompanied by a small smile that transforms his usually stern features into something beautiful. "It was."

Silence settles between us, not awkward but contemplative. His fingers trace idle patterns on my shoulder, and my hand rests against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

"I don't usually..." His words trail off, with uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone. "Not since?—"

"Emma." The name no longer feels forbidden between us.

He nods, swallowing visibly. "Haven't wanted to. Haven't let myself."

The admission carries weight beyond the obvious meaning—trust implied, barriers lowered, something profound in the simple fact of his surrender to desire.

"Thank you." My fingers trace the line of his jaw, rough with stubble.

His eyebrow lifts questioningly.

"For trusting me with that part of yourself."

Understanding flickers in his eyes—then deepens, softens. Vulnerability ghosts across his expression, a rare crack in the steel. He doesn’t speak. Just presses his lips to my forehead, reverent, lingering. And something in me splits open.

The moment stretches. Then snaps.

He takes my mouth like he’s starving, hands already sliding under the blanket, yanking me beneath him. No hesitation. No gentleness now. Just hunger. Frenzied. Feral.

The blanket is gone. So are the limits. He shoves me back against the cot, mouth crashing into mine, hands everywhere—ruthless, desperate, claiming.

Outside, the blizzard howls like it wants in.

Inside, he dismantles me piece by piece.

I’m on my knees, arms braced, chest to mattress, hips high. His cock slams into me from behind, deep and merciless, the slap of our bodies drowned only by the wind shrieking through the trees.

Then his hand moves—slow across the curve of my ass. Testing. Teasing.

The first strike lands sharp.

A gasp tears from my throat. My spine arches. My fingers claw the sheets.

He doesn’t stop. Another slap. Harder. Then again.

The sting ripples through me—white-hot, pure and perfect. My muscles lock, then melt.

“You love that,” he growls behind me, voice shredded with hunger. “Smacking your ass while I fuck you raw.”

A fourth strike. Then a fifth. Each one timed between thrusts, brutal percussion that drives me deeper into the mattress. My moans turn shameless—needy, wrecked.

I bite down on a whimper and he laughs—low and wicked.

“That’s right. Let it out.”

He fucks me harder. Spanks me again.

And again.

By the time he slows, my skin burns and my pussy throbs, stretched tight around him, soaked and trembling.

Then—he pulls out.

A shocked sound slips from me, desperate and wrecked, but before I can speak, I’m weightless.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing.

Spins me.

Tosses me onto the cot with a growl that sounds like it’s been waiting years to break free. The mattress groans under the impact, the heat of his body crashing over mine as he shoves my thighs open and covers me with his own.

His mouth claims mine in a brutal kiss—no softness, no mercy. Just teeth, tongue, command.

Then his hand finds my throat. Not choking. Just holding. His fingers tighten.

My breath stutters—and instinctively, my hands fly up to his wrist.

His gaze snaps to mine, wild and blazing.

“No,” he growls. He catches both of my wrists in one hand, slams them to the mattress above my head. “Leave them there.”

His voice is a command soaked in heat and absolute possession.

My pulse kicks. My body arches. I nod—wordless and wrecked.

Then he pushes inside me again—deep, brutal—his weight crushing into mine, his hand still curled at my throat like a promise I’ll never forget.

His thrusts return with purpose—each one harder than the last, driving into me like he’s staking a claim. My body jolts with every snap of his hips, breath scraping past parted lips, vision going hazy around the edges.

“Keep your hands there,” he growls, his grip tightening just enough to remind me who I belong to.

I moan—helpless, shaking—hips rising to meet his every punishing thrust.

The pressure on my throat. The weight of him over me. The helpless ache between my legs. I’ve never felt this raw. This open.

My arms burn. My lungs beg. My body worships.

And still—he doesn’t let up.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice low and lethal. “Eyes on mine while I ruin you.”

I obey.

Because I have to.

Because there’s no oxygen, no logic, no resistance left in me—just Jackson. Just his cock pounding into me, his body controlling every inch of mine, his eyes holding me hostage.

“You’re going to come for me,” he says, his voice a sharp blade in the dark. “But not yet.”

My whimper earns me another savage thrust, so deep it knocks the air from my lungs.

“You’ll come when I say. Not a second before.”

I cry out—needing it, dreading it, falling apart under him.

He releases my throat just long enough to cup my jaw, kiss me like he’s starving, like he needs my mouth as much as he needs my body.

Then his hand slides between us—ruthless fingers finding my clit, circling, pressing, building the pressure I’ve been aching for since the moment he touched me.

I’m so close. So close.

But he stops.

I nearly sob.

I’m wrecked. Shaking. Begging with my eyes.

But he’s not done.

“Now you’ll take the rest,” he says, bracing his hand over my wrists again. “Every thrust. Every second. And you won’t come until I own it.”

I nod, tears spilling—not from pain. From need.

Because I want to belong to him.

Because right now, I already do.

Jackson’s hand clamps over mine, pinning both wrists to the mattress with bruising strength. His other returns to my throat—fingers splayed, not squeezing, just holding. Claiming.

“You want to come?” His breath scorches my cheek, hips never losing their brutal rhythm. “Then you’ll fucking earn it.”

My mouth parts on a silent cry, body arching, frantic.

He growls—low and lethal—and shifts, angling deeper. His cock slams into a spot that detonates fireworks behind my eyes. My thighs quake. My nails dig into the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto.

But there’s nothing but him.

Nothing but the endless assault of pleasure and pain and dominance I can’t escape.

He leans down, lips dragging over the shell of my ear.

“Open your eyes.”

I try—I do—but they flutter closed again when his thrusts go even harder.

A warning rumble escapes his throat.

“Open. Your. Fucking. Eyes.”

I force them wide, vision blurred with tears, every nerve ending lit like a fuse.

“That’s it,” he snarls. “Watch me. While I break every fucking part of you.”

Then, his hand slips between my legs again.

Two fingers. Ruthless pressure. Fast, rough circles that rip a scream from my throat.

I try to twist. Try to hold back.

I can’t.

It’s too much. Too fast. Too him.

I break.

The orgasm crashes through me, savage and raw, a violent unraveling that shreds me from the inside out. I scream his name, body seizing beneath his, back arching off the bed as wave after wave rolls through me.

Jackson doesn’t slow.

Doesn’t soften.

He fucks me through it, into it, past it—until I’m sobbing, twitching, clinging to the last thread of reality while he wrings every last ounce of pleasure from my ruined body.

When he comes, it’s a growl torn from his chest, hips jerking hard as he empties into me. He holds me down—pressed, pinned, possessed—every inch of his body screaming ownership.

And then he stills.

The silence crashes in like an aftershock.

I’m limp beneath him. Shattered. Marked.

His.

He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t speak. Just breathes against my skin, like maybe I broke him, too.