I lift my hips. He strips me bare in one fluid motion, tossing my trunks aside. He looks at me then—really looks at me. His gaze is hungry, possessive, and entirely devoid of the polite veneer I get from the rest of the world. He doesn't see a York. He sees a man he wants to devour.
"Spread your legs, Max."
I obey instantly. It’s a relief to follow orders. It’s a relief to stop making decisions.
Jax moves between my thighs. He doesn't go slow. He reaches for the bottle of oil on the nightstand, coats his hand, and reaches down to prep me.
"Jax," I gasp as his fingers slide inside. It’s a shock to the system, a sudden invasion that makes my toes curl.
"Relax," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "I’ve got you. Give it to me."
He works me open, adding a second finger, scissoring them deep inside me. I throw my head back, a broken sound escaping my throat. The sensation is overwhelming—it’s too much and not enough all at once. My brain tries to categorize it, to label the nerves firing, but Jax leans down and bites the sensitive cord of my neck, shattering my focus.
"Don't think," he growls against my skin. "Feel."
"I... I am," I stutter, my hands gripping the sheets. "It’s... significant."
"Significant," Jax chuckles darkly. "I’ll show you significant."
He withdraws his fingers and positions himself at my entrance. I look up at him. He is beautiful—a mess of wet hair, tanned skin, and raw intent.
He pushes into me.
It’s not a gentle slide. It’s a conqueror’s thrust. He fills me completely, stretching me, claiming the space inside my body as his own territory. I cry out, my hips bucking off the mattress, my eyes squeezing shut.
"Look at me," Jax demands.
I force my eyes open.
"That’s it," he says, holding still for a moment to let me adjust. "You take me so well, Max. You were made for this."
Then he starts to move.
It’s a hard, punishing rhythm. Jax fucks like he saves lives—with intensity, with focus, and with a refusal to let go. He slams into me, again and again, driving me down into the mattress. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the quiet bungalow, mixed with my ragged breathing and his low groans.
"Jax, please," I beg, though I don't know what I’m asking for. I just know I need more. I need him closer. I need him deeper.
"I’m right here," he grunts, grabbing my hips to anchor me, driving harder. "I’m not going anywhere. Take it."
He hits a spot inside me—that bundle of nerves I usually ignore—and my vision goes white. My analytical mind shuts down completely. There is no probability. There is no calculus. There is only Jax.
"That’s it," he praises, feeling me tighten around him. "Fall apart for me, Max. Let go."
He leans down, kissing me roughly, his tongue tangling with mine as he increases the pace. The friction is unbearable. I’m burning up. I’m vibrating with a frequency I can’t control.
"Jax! Jax!"
I shatter. It’s a full-body seizure of pleasure, a wave that crashes over me and drags me under. I come hard, spilling onto my stomach, my back arching off the bed.
Jax rides out my climax, groaning my name, and with three final, deep thrusts, he follows me over the edge. He collapses on top of me, his weight heavy and grounding, his heart hammering against my ribs like a second engine.
We lie there for a long time, slick with sweat and oil, the only sound the ocean outside and our ragged breathing.
"Status report?" Jax whispers eventually, kissing the sweat off my temple.
"System failure," I murmur. "Complete reboot required."
"Good." A pause. Then, with enormous sincerity: "Twenty-two inch reinforced concrete walls," he says. "Best money you ever spent."
