Page 97 of Jax
When I returned, I crouched by the bed, offering the glass with an open palm and a gentle glance. She sat up just enough to take a few small sips. I cradled the base of the glass with one hand and settled the other at the back of her neck, thumb sweeping lightly just below her hairline. When she swallowed, her throat bobbed with effort.
“Easy,” I said. “Just enough to tell your nervous system it’s okay now. You’re here. You’re safe.”
She drank again, slower this time, and when she set the glass down, she gave me a look that could’ve dismantled a lesser man.
“You always like this?” she asked, still breathless. “Prepared. Calm. Gentle. It’s disarming.”
I gave a one-shoulder shrug as I climbed back into bed beside her, drawing the blanket up over both of us. “I’m not trying to disarm you, Stella. I’m trying to study you.”
Her brow arched. “Study me?”
“Not like an experiment. Like a map.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and let my fingertips trail down her jaw. “Your breath patterns. The tension in your hands. The way your pupils dilate when you’re scared, or turned on, or both. You tell me everything without saying a word. Most people do. They just don’t realize it.”
She gave a breathy laugh, then winced. “So you’re profiling me in bed?”
“Not profiling,” I murmured. “Attuning.”
My voice dipped to something lower, firmer, more intimate. “You soften in response to certainty. You crave choice, but need containment. You respond to praise when it’s earned, not fed. And your body relaxes fastest when I anchor you through consistency, not command.”
Her lips parted as her breath caught again.
“And,” I added, leaning in close enough that my words brushed her skin, “you make the sweetest fucking sound when I say your name just before you cum.”
The shiver that rolled through her was full-body.
“That,” she whispered, eyes wide and reverent, “was hot as hell.”
I smiled against her cheek. “Good. Because I’m not just here to make you feel good, Stella. I’m here to make you feel known.”
She stilled at that, her fingers finding my forearm where it rested along her side, as if anchoring herself with that singletouch. And when she spoke again, her voice was soft but certain. “And if I don’t know myself yet?”
“Then we learn together.”
She inhaled deeply, then sighed. “I should be scared. Of how much I want this.”
“You want this because it’s yours,” I said. “You made the choice. That makes all the difference.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Just leaned back into my chest and rested her head over my heart. Her thumb moved slowly over my wrist, a rhythm like gratitude, like trust blooming without needing a name.
“I don’t want to fall in love,” she murmured. “Not yet.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said gently. “But I’ll be here while you fall in ‘like’.”
That got a laugh, small but real. “God, that was good.”
“Yeah,” I said, dragging my fingers slowly along her back. “It was.”
She tipped her face up to mine, her expression full of something just shy of hope. “Do I get to ask for one more thing?”
“Always.”
Her voice dropped, quiet but sure. “Just stay. But… don’t hold me too tight.”
My throat tightened because I knew exactly what she meant; the fear that affection might come with strings, that even comfort could cost something. So I laid there beside her, close but not crowding, giving her room to breathe while staying near enough to feel the warmth of her breath against my neck. I didn’t pull her in. I didn’t wrap myself around her. I simply took her hand and laced our fingers loosely, with no pressure in the grip, no pull in the touch, just presence.
“I’ll stay right here,” I said. “As long as you need me.”
She fell asleep five minutes later, and I couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, her body felt safe enough to let herself rest.
