by BJ Harvey
I fell in love with Jax without sex clouding my judgment. Now, I’m worried about everything and nothing and overthinking it.
Is performance anxiety a thing for women? Shit. Maybe it is. I read an article once about anxiety manifesting itself in your pelvic-floor muscles. What if mine clamp shut and refuse to let me even have sex? All this waiting would’ve been in vain.
“Ronnie?”
I slowly turn my head toward the man of the hour.
“You’ve gotta stop spacing out on me. It gives me a complex,” he says with a gentle grin.
“Sorry, just being a typical woman. Overthinking stuff and scenarios and wasted opportunities.”
His brows bunch together. “Care to unravel that for me?”
“Here?”
“Why not?”
“Now?” I squeak.
He gives my hand a squeeze, not breaking eye contact. “Yeah, beautiful. Because I have a feeling once we get inside, there won’t be much talking going on. You’re wound up so tight, I’m scared you’re going to explode into a million tiny pieces.” He lifts his fingers to run down my face. “I’d kind of like you whole. I have lots of plans.”
I lean toward him, gliding my hand up his arm to wrap around his neck. “What kind of plans?”
He shifts back so my hand slips down. “Plans I’ll tell you about after you explain what you’re overthinking and why?”
I cross my arms over my chest with a huff, pouting and looking at his gorgeous profile. He quirks a brow but doesn’t budge. Dammit.
“I was just having a freak-out over what happens if the sex we’re about to have is bad.”
He shoots me a questioning look. “Was it bad the first time?”
“Well, no…”
“And that morning when you seduced me and we ended up—”
“Hell no. That was hot.”
His mouth quirks up. His hand comes to rest on the top of my leg, his fingers stretched out over the inside of my denim-covered thigh. “So… do you think, after all this time, and with you turning me on at just the thought of getting you naked and underneath me again, that there’s even a chance it will be anything other than mind-blowing?”
I bite my lip, my breathing faster now. “You’re not worried?”
“The only thing bugging me is why we’re still sitting in my truck and not naked in your bed?” His eyes flash with so much heat, I’m surprised I’m not scorched here and now.
“Then what are we waiting for?” I ask, my breath hitching when his fingers curve in and glide between my legs.
His other hand curves over my hip and slides me across the seat so he can cup me, his mouth going to my neck. He presses his lips to my sensitive skin and bites; my head dropping back as a low moan escapes me. He can mark me head to toe if he wants, I’m his completely now. Moving to my ear, he sucks the lobe between his teeth before whispering, “I think I’ll make you come on the floor just inside your condo. Then I’ll lay you out on the kitchen counter and taste you all over again…” He groans against my skin as my palm finds the straining bulge in his jeans. “Then I’m chaining you to the bed until we both get our fill.”
I drag a hand through his hair and jerk his mouth to mine, meeting his hooded gaze. “Promise?”
“You bet your ass.”
I grin against his lips. “Plenty of time for that later.”
“Upstairs. Now,” he growls, and I feel it right down in my toes and everywhere in between.
Then we’re moving, jumping out of the truck and near-on running up the path to the front door of my building.
He presses me up against the elevator wall as soon as we’re inside. With a groan, he’s kissing the life out of me with his hand toying between my legs when we reach my floor.
I struggle to get the key in my lock when we reach my apartment. He’s hard and heavy behind me, groaning against my neck as he grinds himself against my hips.
I sigh and sag into him when he takes over, opening the door and walking me through it. As soon as we’re closed off from the outside world, the air turns electric.
I spin around to face him, throwing my purse in the direction of the couch but not looking—or caring—if it lands. Instead, my hands go to the hem of my tee. Jax nods and I cross my arms and ease the piece of clothing over my head before meeting his eyes and letting the top slip from my fingers to the floor.
“That’s a good start,” he rasps, stalking me slowly.
“Your turn,” I smirk, toying with the waistband of my jeans.
“I believe I had plans for when we got inside.”
“My plans are flexible.” I turn around and rip my jeans off before bending over, taking my time to untie my sneakers and pull them and my socks off. His hips meet mine from behind, his hands gliding up the side of my legs, lifting the fabric with them. He roams the bare skin of my ass cheeks, a finger hooking under my thong at each side and dragging it down achingly slowly until it drops at my feet.
I move to straighten.
Jax’s flattened palm in the middle of my back halts me. “Stay like that. Stay just like that and spread your legs a little.”
My breath quickens as I follow his command, stopping completely when he shifts and his tongue trails a line up the inside of my thigh. Then warm air rushes over my center and his mouth is there, his lips covering me, his tongue flicking over the engorged nub with a dedication women dream about.
I reach an arm out, grabbing hold of the back of my couch and gripping it tight as he relentlessly devours me, one hand moving in. He spears me with first one finger, then two. The sounds coming out of my mouth are wanton and desperate. It’s been far too long since I’ve felt Jax’s mouth on me. Definitely too long since I’ve had an orgasm at the hands of someone other than myself. Luckily for me, the star of my flick reel is the leading man ravaging me right now.
“Jax…” I moan, my fingers biting into his scalp as I grip his head and rock my hips against his hungry mouth.
“Get there, beautiful,” he mumbles against my skin. His heavy breathing and my strained whimpers are joined by the sound of a zipper being pulled and a low growl that vibrates my clit as Jax rocks back and forth. I don’t need to see to know he’s stroking himself.
“First round, quick,” he says, gently biting the inside of my leg, his wet tongue soothing the sting left in his wake. “Next one, I’m taking my time.”
“Whatever… you… say… Jesus. Just get me there,” I moan.
“Fuck I love you,” he groans before moving into overdrive, three fingers, long strokes, his tongue circling me and then the master stroke. A hard rake of his teeth on my clit sets me off, and there’s no way to stop the climax barreling down on me. I lock my knees and roll my pelvis against his face, screaming a myriad of obscenities as wave after wave of red-hot pleasure courses through me. He growls out my name and jerks against me, splashes of his release hitting my calves, setting me off again.
Jax gently pulls me back and down until I’m sitting in his lap, realizing belatedly that his jeans may be mid-thigh, but he’s still wearing his tee, whereas I’m in a bra and nothing else.
I press my hand to his jaw and kiss him, tasting myself as I stroke his tongue with mine. His cock twitches against my hip, making my lips curve against his.
Pulling back, I meet his still-hooded eyes, the flames of lust still burning bright.
“First round?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, licking his lips before smirking at me.
“Pretty confident there.” My wide smile matches his and totally gives me away.
He lies back on the floor and reaches around my hip, pulling me down until I’m straddling him. My hands go to his chest to hold myself up as his rock-hard cock presses against my sensitive core.
I lean down, resting on an arm braced by his head. “You must be pretty pent up to be raring to go again.”
His grin is absolutely filthy. His hand cradles my jaw before he pulls me down, slanting
his head to give me a spine-tingling, deep and dirty kiss that leaves me with absolutely no doubt that round two will just be the start of our night of debauchery.
I nip his bottom lip, loving the rumbling groan in his chest.
“Should we move to the bedroom?” I murmur, turning my head as his mouth explores my throat.
He runs a hand into my hair and gently holds me in place as he locks eyes with mine. “Do we need to? I’m clean and I’d love to feel you bare and wrapped around my cock.
“I’m covered. Besides, you’re a really good pillow.”
“Good,” he says. “Let’s see how I do as a mattress.” He bucks his hips, lifting me up, his hand going between us before he positions himself at my entrance and I drive myself home.
He laces our fingers together as he slows the pace, pushing inside me in long strokes. Gripping his hands tightly, I dip my head to mesh my lips with his, loving the feel of his muscles tensing and releasing beneath me with every thrust up. I moan into his mouth, every atom in my body attuned to his. My impending climax threatens to tear me apart in what I know will be the most devastating pleasure. I arch my back to welcome it, rolling my hips against his over and over. Our kiss turns savage, his groans rough, my whimpers louder. I drop my head back, squeezing his hand and tightening my thighs against his hips as I cry out my release. In the blink of an eye, he rolls me over. He thrusts into me harshly, once, twice, three more times. Opening my eyes, I watch him fall over the edge, our gazes locked, his mouth devouring mine as his strokes slow to a gentle rocking.
His lips roam my face, peppering kisses on my nose, my cheek, and jaw, then he buries his face in my neck. He presses his weight down on me in a way that I love, and I feel cocooned by him as I float back down to Earth. My lips are curved in a smile I don’t think will ever wane.
He worked for it—and for me. He won me over, yet I’m the winner.
“I love you, beautiful. In a way I know I’ll never stop,” his whispers, sealing his oath with a kiss.
“I love you too,” I whisper, holding him tight and knowing I’m not ever going to need to let him go.
I’ve come to the end of my journey. I’ve found myself. Not in a man, like my parents always told me I needed, but by standing strong and putting my expectations for myself and others out into the world. I got back exactly what I wanted and needed.
Jax is my reward, my pot of gold at the end of my rainbow.
A reward I look forward to enjoying for a long time.
20
Jax
I glance at the clock, willing the time to speed up so I can close my office door and get to the house for a late night tiling session. My brothers and I have been working every spare hour on the pink lady, trying to save money and do whatever work we can do ourselves. We’re about two weeks away from finishing. The aim is to get the staging company in after we get back from Vegas and then cross fingers, toes, eyes, and legs that we get a good sale.
I’m looking over my notes for my last intro to photography class, in four days time, when my cell phone vibrates on my desk.
Ronnie—Dear Professor, I’m writing to ask that I be excused from class today due to the fact I cannot walk straight. Many thanks, Well Fucked and Still Can’t Get Enough.
Jax—Dear Well Fucked and Still Can’t Get Enough, the answer is no because if I have to go to class instead of crawling back into bed with my sexy AF girlfriend, then you can walk bow-legged.
Ronnie—But Professor, I’ll do ANYTHING not to leave the soft, warm, silky-smooth sheets of my bed. They feel so comforting against my skin.
Jax—I must insist that you grace my class with your presence. If not, I’ll be forced to order you to my office for disciplinary action.
Ronnie—Excuse my candor, sir, but what exactly would such disciplinary action involve? I have been known to be a little on the adventurous side.
Jax—And now I’m threatening to punch a hole through my desk. Thanks for that.
Ronnie—I’ve been told I’m good with wood.
I chuckle and turn the phone over, returning my attention to the papers in front of me.
A knock on my office door echoes through the room.
“Come in.”
A meek-looking Chelsea steps inside, her hand grabbing the door and pushing it closed.
“We need to leave the door open,” I say.
“Sorry, Professor Cook. I just thought student matters were private.”
I lean back in my chair and lock eyes with hers. “They are, but I also prefer to have the door open to avoid any situations that can be misconstrued.” I pick up my phone and hold it in my hand while sweeping my arm over my desk. “Please take a seat,” I say, watching while she sits down and crosses her legs. I lean into my desk. “How can I help you today, Chelsea?”
“Um…” She looks down and even bites her lip. Is she honestly going for the good girl/innocent student angle?
“Okay, so I’ve been working hard on my portfolio, but I’m still a few pieces short, so I need an extension to the deadline. My dad said that if I asked, you would be able to grant me more time.”
I slide my chair back and reach over to my bookcase, pulling out a folder labeled academic policy.
Moving back to the desk, I stand and lean over the desk, open the file, and flip through the pages until I find what I’m looking for—the section on extensions.
I read through the words, not missing her fidgeting in her seat, flipping her hair, and running her hands over her clothes as if to straighten them.
Putting my index finger at the top of the page, I draw it down until I find what I’m looking for. I look up and see her smiling at me.
“Chelsea, how long have you known about the requirement to submit a portfolio of photographic work which makes up half of your semester grade for this paper?” I ask, one brow quirked.
“First day of class, Professor Cook.”
I would normally tell a student to call me Jax, but my gut is telling me I need to keep this as formal as possible. Knowing my luck, this girl probably gets off on the teacher-student fantasy.
“Correct,” I say, sitting back down and rereading the document in front of me.
My phone vibrates again, but I ignore it.
“The student handbook and college policy state that deadline extensions are at the discretion of the teacher, and are to be given only in the event of extraordinary circumstances beyond the control of the student. For example,” I say, referring to the guide, “bereavement, serious illness, or a natural disaster.” I close the book and cross my arms over my chest, placing my forearms on the desk. “If any of those reasons apply in your case, I’d be happy to offer you a deadline extension.”
She pales ever so slightly but then steels herself, the change almost instant as she goes from friendly to flirty.
She stands and leans forward over the desk, causing her loose-necked top to gape open. She licks her lips and her gaze turns hooded. Even if I were single and hard up for it, this little act wouldn’t get a twitch. “Surely you can make an exception… just this once.” Her tone is faux sweet as if she’s attempting to be… sexy?
I keep my eyes glued to hers and my expression blank.
There’s no way I’m letting this little vixen complete her mission to compromise my job or my relationship. I’ve worked too hard for both, but Ronnie is everything to me. I can freelance again. I could just flip houses with Jamie. Hell, I could start over and combine the two and do real estate photography.
But I won’t ever find another Ronnie.
I don’t want to. She’s one of a kind.
“Chelsea, this is highly inappropriate. I think you should leave.”
She straightens and proves her balls are bigger than mine when she feigns offense, one hand on her heart, her mouth gaping open in a shocking gasp. “I’m not sure what you are insinuating, Professor. I only came in here to request the extension.”
I’m now bored with this entire situation. After
pushing my chair back, I stand and round the desk, walk straight to the door, and hold it, looking over at her expectantly. She huffs and turns toward me just as my phone vibrates a-fucking-gain, and it takes everything in me not to groan in frustration. If the text is from who I think it’s from, I may have just lost the upper hand.
Unfortunately for me, Chelsea glances down and sees my screen light up. Even worse, the first two lines of the message too.
When she moves toward me and the door, her mouth is curved up in a grin that would make the Cheshire cat proud.
“Thank you for your time, Professor… or should that be Ken.” To describe her tone as smug is a massive understatement. That tells me everything I need to know.
There’s one thing people like Chelsea don’t seem to realize about someone like me. I may be the fun guy, the live life-by-the-seat-of-his-pants guy, the joker, the player, the heartbreaker, a guy’s best friend, or a girl’s crush, but I’m staunchly protective of everyone important to me. My brothers and sister, my parents, April, Axel, and Betty, and Ronnie.
I close my door—official office hours be damned—and walk over to my desk, grabbing my phone and swiping the screen to read the message and see what the damage is.
Ronnie—Hey Ken, let me know when this Barbie can bring you dinner at the pink house. I can’t wait to see how much has been done already. Love you.
I’m more determined than ever. If Chelsea gets any ideas about doing something to get her way, it’s not gonna fly.
And I’m going to take preemptive steps to make sure of it.
Locking my office door, I bring the phone to my ear, listening to the ringtone as I wait for the call to connect.
“Hello, Jaxon,” Joey answers cheerfully.
“Hey, Joey. How are you?”
“I can’t complain. Far too much work, and not enough vacation, but I’m booked on a Caribbean cruise in three weeks’ time, so that’s something to look forward to.”