Page 126 of Jax
“I need it,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Please, I need it, need you….”
“You don’t get to cum,” he said, cold and final, and it shattered something inside me. “Not yet. You get to ache. You get to hang there, strung in my rope, dripping onto the floor, knowing your cunt belongs to me.”
I whimpered, sharp, high, wrecked.
He dipped one finger inside. Just a tease. Then pulled it out again, soaked, and held it up like a prize.
“You want to be filled?” he asked, bringing that slick-coated finger to his mouth and sucking it clean. “You want my cock instead? Want me to fuck you while you beg and drool and scream?”
“Yes,” I whimpered, already rocking helplessly in my restraints. “Yes, please, I’ll do anything…”
“No,” he said, so quiet I almost missed it. “You’ll do nothing. You’ll hang there. You’ll take what I give you.”
Then he bit the inside of my thigh, sharp and deep, with no warning and no mercy. I screamed, not from pain, but from the relief of impact, the grounding weight of something I could finally hold on to. His tongue followed, slow and reverent, a kiss pressed to the forming bruise like worship.
“You think this is punishment?” he murmured. “It’s not. This is how you learn what it means to belong to me. You don’t cum because you’re desperate. You cum because I decide you can. Because Imakeyou.” His fingers slid through my slick heat withone maddeningly slow stroke. “When I turn your ruin into a fucking masterpiece.”
I whimpered, high and raw, my clit throbbing so hard it hurt. Then he pulled away. Completely.
I nearly broke.
He stood and watched me hang, trembling, soaked, undone. “You’ll thank me for this.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “And you’ll beg me to do it again.”
The words shouldn’t have undone me. They should have been unbearable. But my body betrayed me, arching helplessly in the ropes, desperate for more of the very denial he promised.
He didn’t touch me right away. He made me wait, made me tremble in the stillness. My own pulse filled my ears, sharp and wild, until his hand pressed flat against my cunt, warm, steady, unmoving. Just the weight of him. I gasped, straining against it, trying to grind down, but he held me suspended, nowhere to go.
“Beg,” he said.
“I am,” I sobbed, the word clawing out of me. “Please, Jax….”
“Not good enough.” His palm vanished.
The ache screamed louder. Rope dug into skin gone hypersensitive, sweat dripping down my temples, and I broke. Words tumbled, wrecked and frantic. “Please, I’ll thank you, I’ll beg, I’ll do anything…don’t leave me like this.”
A single finger slid inside, curling just enough to make me shatter. My body bowed, vision white at the edges, orgasm tearing up my spine, only to vanish as he pulled away too fast, leaving me clenching on nothing. I sobbed, raw and gutted.
“Again,” he said, calm as steel.
Time stopped being measured in minutes. It fractured into sensations instead: the sting of his teeth sinking into my thigh until bruises bloomed; the wet heat of his tongue circling my clit only to disappear the moment my breath hitched; two fingers pumping hard and fast until I thought I’d break, then retreatingjust as the wave crested; his knuckles dragging slow along my folds, slick and swollen, teasing me back into madness.
Each denial layered over the last until I couldn’t tell if the shaking was from the rope or from the need. My voice grew ragged, begging until the words slurred, please turning into a chant, his name a prayer I couldn’t stop repeating.
I lost track of how many times he broke and brought me back from the edge. I only knew that every second belonged to him, every pulse rewired around his command. My tears blurred into sweat, my sobs into gasps, until I wasn’t sure if I was weeping from frustration or from the dizzy, impossible relief of being held so completely in his control.
By the time the rig creaked and the rope began to lower, I was already broken open. Every inch down was its own kind of mercy and torment, his hands steady, unyielding, never letting me forget he owned every second of this.
And I understood with bone-deep clarity that lowering me wasn’t release. It wasn’t kindness.
It was intention.
The bed was already turned down. He placed me on the sheets like something dangerous, not fragile, but claimed. He didn’t look at me like I might break. He looked at me like I was his.
Without a word, he reached for more rope and threaded it through the harness at my wrists, securing me to the headboard. The knot was snug but not cruel. He gave just enough slack to make sure I remembered this restraint was his choice.
Then he stepped back and undressed. Slow. Intentional. Every movement was laced with authority. I watched him without shame, eyes tracing the ripple of muscle across his torso, the sharp cut of his hips, the hard line of his cock, flushed and heavy. The sight of his arousal standing stiff and throbbingbetween us lit a new fire in my core. I craved him,neededto be claimed fully by him.
He crawled onto the bed, knees bracketing my thighs, hands planted beside my ribs. His breath ghosted across my chest. His eyes burned.
