Page 137 of Jax
Some men knelt for war. Others for music, or gods. I knelt for this. A woman suspended midair by my hands. Her chaos rewritten into symmetry. Her panic calmed into silence. Not for display, but for the solace of being held. To disappear inside stillness. To be made free by surrender.
Her hair spilled forward like ink, strands clinging to her lips. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. Her whole body rocked with the slow, pendulous grace of something sacred and weightless.
I circled her, each step silent on the mat, although nothing inside me was quiet. The rope creaked with her every breath, a low liturgy of tension and worship. It didn’t just hold her. It honored her. This wasn’t art. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t aperformance. This was devotion in motion. Every knot was a confession. Every anchor, a vow.
“Do you feel it now?” I asked, voice low and reverent. “The quiet?”
She didn’t speak right away. Just tilted her head toward me, like words were hard to find. But when she answered, soft and raw, it burned through me like flame through frost.
“Yes,” she breathed.
And fuck, it hit harder than any orgasm I’d ever had.
“Don’t stop.”
I didn’t. I watched her. Her thighs trembled, breasts drawn tight in rope, nipples flushed and stiff, cunt soaked and dripping between parted legs. The pulse at her throat ticked fast but even. There was no hesitation in her body, only surrender. Clean and complete.
She wasn’t fully in subspace. She was grounded. Rooted in rope and breath and will. Stillness like that isn’t a void. It’s a response. A pattern of somatic compliance triggered by safety, regulation, control. She wasn’t blank. She was precise.
I stepped in, pressed my palm over the line crossing her sternum. Her heart kicked against it once, then settled. Not panic. Pattern. I had written rhythm into her with knots.
“You’re anchored,” I whispered, my breath warm at her ear.
A tear slid down her cheek and caught at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t flinch. Just stayed suspended, trembling slightly, tuned to the rope, to my voice, to the absence of chaos now humming soft in her bloodstream. I felt the shift when resistance gave way to reception. When her mind stopped reaching for control and allowed me to hold it instead.
My fingers traced the inside of her thigh, just above the banded rope, slow and reverent. Her hips tilted in response—small, involuntary, perfect. She burned beneath my touch. Not imagined heat. Actual radiant increase in skin temperature,concentrated along vascular regions. Evidence of arousal. I could measure it by feel.
Then came her voice again.
“Please.”
Not a plea. A signal. Breath shaped into desire. She hung there as an offering. The rope marked her skin, but it didn’t just restrain her body. It defined her soul. She wasn’t held like something to be controlled. She was curated, shaped into something holy.
I felt her in every breath. The slick heat between her thighs. The scent of her—sharp, sweet, undeniably her.It took everything in me not to fall to my knees and worship.
Instead, I slid my hand between her thighs and along her slit. Her body trembled, flushed and glowing, already gasping as I touched her. I didn’t wait. I didn’t tease. I pushed two fingers into her—deep, deliberate, undeniable. Her cry broke open, head thrown back, spine arched, cunt clenching in involuntary pulses.
I held her midair, one hand bracing her belly while the other worked inside her, slow and sure. Every contraction pulled me deeper. She choked on my name, voice splintering, beautiful in its ruin. Her eyes fluttered open, then shut again, as if she couldn’t decide whether to see me or just feel.
My fingers curled, unyielding, dragging another guttural sound from her. Her breath fractured as my thumb pressed her clit. No rhythm. No coaxing. Just force. Just control.
“Feel that?” I said, voice hot at her ear. “That’s true surrender.”
She sobbed with reverence. The rig trembled with it.
“I can’t…I can’t hold it,” she gasped, legs shaking.
“Yes, you can,” I answered, calm and lethal. “You will. Not until I say. Not until your mind is blank, and every thought inside you belongs to me.”
Her body bucked. Slick heat clenched around my fingers, frenzied and wild. She was unraveling too fast, breaking before the shape was complete.
“Please,” she whispered. “Jax…please. I need….”
“What do you need?” I demanded, breath burning against her throat.
“You,” she cried. “I need you to make it stop. The noise…the guilt. I can’t…fuck….”
I curled my fingers and dragged my thumb hard over her clit. She screamed, body locking down, clenching like she could keep me inside her. But then I pulled away all at once. Every inch of me retreating as she cried out, broken and burning.
