Page 111 of Jax
“What part?”
“All of it,” she murmured. “Being warm. Being still. Being… allowed to be like this.”
I tilted her chin gently, coaxing her eyes back to mine. No pretense. Just soft, and stormy, and hers.
“You don’t need permission to rest.”
She laughed, cracked and aching. “Maybe not. But I needed a reason.”
“And am I that reason?” I asked, not to test her, but because I needed the truth.
Her gaze didn’t waver. Then, slow, deliberate, she nodded.
I kissed her brow. That sacred, overlooked place above the eyes. The one that still believed no one would stay. She melted again. This time softer. Freer. Less armored. My hands reached for the blanket, wrapping it tighter around us like I could preserve this moment. Her breath slowed. Her body went boneless..
“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “However long you’ll let me.”
The way her thumb brushed beneath my ribs told me the answer wasn’t if. It was when. The blanket had slipped from her shoulder, but she didn’t fix it. She stayed curled into me, cheek to my chest, arm resting across my ribs, fingers tracing soft spirals, tiny, unspoken languages written in touch and tempo.
Some time later she inhaled again, slower this time, with just enough shift for me to feel it. A subtle pivot in her energy. Neurons catching the next gear. Her fingers tapped twice against my side, not idle, not unsure, then she said, “I’ve been thinking.”
I stayed quiet, letting the words rise when they were ready. She lifted her head, eyes meeting mine. Still calm. Still clear. But edged with something deeper. Purpose.
“I’m ready,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but the impact wasn’t. “To say yes,” she added.
My breath caught. She didn’t offer it as a pronouncement or a question. She delivered it like a conclusion. A decision already made.
Still, I didn’t rush.
“Say it like you mean it,” I told her, voice low. Not a command, but an opening.
She sat up slowly, the blanket pooling in her lap. “I want a dynamic with you, Jax. I want your hands. Your knots. Your rules. I want to be the wicked girl you ruin slowly, methodically, until I forget what it felt like to brace for impact.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let the words spool through the air, curling heat up my spine.
“I want you to push me. To teach me how to feel again. Let me fall apart without apology. Just… stay. Whatever happens. Stay.”
There was no name for what moved through me. Just data. Steady voice. Dilated pupils. Shallow, sure breath. She wasn’t wavering. She was already in it. Not submitting to me, but to her own choice.
So I met her where she was. Not with vows or heat. With precision.
“You’re not offering me something I haven’t earned yet,” I said. “This isn’t submission for its own sake. It’s the calculus of trust. And I’ll treat it like something sacred.”
She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since the first knot. I touched the back of her neck, with no force. Just grounding.
“I won’t always be soft,” I told her. “That’s not my baseline. Structure is. Knowing when to press. When to pause. When to command. That’s how I love.”
Her eyes fluttered closed for a beat, like she was saving the words somewhere she’d never forget.
“I’ll press every edge you offer me,” I said. “But I’ll never weaponize your wiring. That’s not dominance. That’s cowardice. And I don’t flinch.”
She leaned in, forehead resting against mine, her breath brushing my mouth. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I’m not built to break.”
The sound that left me wasn’t a laugh, not really. More vibration than joy, low in my chest, something she could feel under her palms. “Then I’ll call you wicked girl until it’s etched into your nervous system so deep, even your silence remembers it.”
She smiled at that, barely, but her eyes gleamed, not with humor, but something older. Elemental.
“And I’ll ruin you sweetly,” she said, “until you thank me for it.”
