Page 25 of Jax
She looked like she wanted to please me. And that should’ve worked. It used to.
But now it felt hollow.
I didn’t want pretty submission, wrapped in silk and obedience. I wanted the kind that clawed back. That bit the hand holding the rope. That made surrender mean something, because it cost something.
And she wasn’t it. She wasn’t the one still under my skin, still burning through every second of silence like a name I couldn’t stop saying in my head.
She wasn’t Stella.
Calla moaned softly when I drew the final knot between her shoulder blades. It wasn’t performative. She enjoyed this. She always had. I tied a center support line and fed it through the ring overhead, watching as her body tilted into tension, spine arching beautifully.
Her thighs trembled. Her breath came quicker now.
I tightened the last knot and stepped back.
I should’ve felt something.
But all I could think about was a girl in socks and a hoodie, sprinting toward a fence like freedom had teeth and she was willing to bleed for it.
I looked down at her. Her face was so composed, so willing. And still, it felt like a performance. Like recitation without meaning.
I stepped back.
“No,” I said quietly. “I want something different.”
She blinked once. Didn’t flinch. Just dropped her gaze again and gave the faintest nod.
I crouched again, slower this time. Untied her with care, each knot undone as reverently as it had been formed. The rope fell away in quiet sighs; her skin reddened where it had pressed deepest. She stayed still throughout, breathing evenly, not asking for more.
When the last knot came loose, she shifted forward, rolling her shoulders. She didn’t reach out for me.
“You’re not here for me,” she said.
“No,” I answered, not cruel. Just true.
It was never about Calla. Not really. Not when Stella moved like defiance was her only armor. And maybe I was done pretending I didn’t want to chase that. I didn’t know how she’d gotten under my skin so thoroughly less than twenty-four hours after arriving at our safe house, but there it was.
My mind ran through endless logic loops, trying to find the sense in it, but there was none to be found. One moment I had no idea who this woman was, and the next moment there was an attraction so intense and unexpected it took my breath away and turned my brain to mush. And normally I would just squash pesky feelings like this down, lock them away, never think about them again. But this time, there was a variable I hadn’t accounted for, and couldn’t ignore.
I was certain that Stell had felt it, too.
The rope didn’t fight me as I took it apart. It never did. That was the problem. Each knot loosened without protest, leaving only the creak of hemp brushing my hands as the harnessunraveled cleanly. Predictable. Calla’s skin would carry the faint outline until morning, but even that would fade, and with it, whatever pretense we’d clung to.
She stood by the cabinet, adjusting her camisole with polished detachment. The space between us wasn’t hostile. Just hollow. She didn’t ask for reasons or apologies. That wasn’t her style. She slipped on her stockings with practiced care, voice quiet as she reached for the door. “You don’t owe me anything. But I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
I nodded because I didn’t have the words. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find it. I wasn’t sure I could accept it if I did. But I knew this wasn’t it.
The door shut softly behind her. She hadn’t left the club, just the scene. And I stayed kneeling on the mat, rope pooled at my side like debris from something that never touched bone. My hands didn’t itch for more. They ached for different. Forher.
I sat back on my heels, muscles wound tight, palms resting flat on my thighs like they were waiting for an order I hadn’t learned how to give. The silence in the room had shifted. Not heavy. Hollow. Like something scraped clean and left aching for a truth I hadn’t wanted to name. None of it—the rope, the room, the girl—had touched what I needed.
It was never about control. Not really. Not the sweet submission or the practiced surrender. I didn’t need someone to kneel. I needed someone to fight. To bare their teeth. To make me earn it, inch by inch, until surrender carried weight.
I didn’t want compliance. I wanted resistance. Something that bit when you held it too tight. Something wild enough to make the bruises worth it.
What I got tonight was a shape that looked right, but felt wrong.
I dragged a hand down my face, jaw locked, tension spidering through every inch of bone and muscle. The scent of rope oil clung to my skin, but under that, I still felt her.
