Bella Giornata

XXXXXX

I keep all of my sugar where I know you like it best

Your temple presses hard against the wood panel wall of Jax's dorm at the clubhouse. Your breath hitching as you fight to stay quiet as he buries himself inside you.  Your hands bracing,  nails curling, scratching against the paneling, begging for something to hold onto.  As he fills you.  The rythm building like a coiled spring twisting tighter and tighter in your core.  Daring you not to snap.

Minutes earlier Jax had dragged you into his dorm room when you found a moment alone.  Others were distracted with their own shit.  Midday responsibilities. His lips crashing upon you as soon as the door had shut. His mouth needy. Hungry. And demanding more.

Jax's hands slid over your body,  pulling up your sun dress as he guided you. As he bruised your lips and pushed you up against the wall. Pinning you with the strength of his body and force of his kiss. The assault of his need. Before turning you around to face the wall so he could take you. The urgency palpable. You both knew you didnt have much time.

Now he's fisting at your dress.  The fabric bunched high on your hip. His fingers curled and digging into your soft flesh. The force will surely leave marks you gladly accept. Panties dangling forgotten off one ankle. Buried inside you as his body moves you against him. Exactly where he wants you. Exactly how he wants you. And you let him take everything.

Jax's hot breath pants heavy against your shoulder blade. Fluttering up against the side of your face and the back of your neck. His lips grazing and peppering any skin he can reach. His facial hair pricking and burning against your exposed flesh as he buries his face against you. Like he buries his cock inside you. Over and over again.

He pulls you closer against him as his hips snap harder. Pushing deeper within you. You shutter and a cry breaks from your lips with the deeper penetration as he drives you closer to release. Pushing you closer with every thrust toward the edge of an abyss where there's nothing left to do but fall off. Instantly you feel his hand leave your waist with the sound of your cry and cover your mouth.

"Shhh" Jax grits out, breath uneven, trying to stay in control too, jaw flexing as he reminds you.  Drawing you back to a reality where anyone could hear you and learn your dirty little secret.

But it isn't just what happens inside these walls that is a secret, it's what you are becoming to each other.  This unnamed transformation that shifts the foundation of who you are to each other every time he fucks you.

You draw his fingers into your mouth to silence yourself and keep your secrets hidden another day. The action seems to unravel him as Jax lets out a deep groan that vibrates against your shoulder.

The hand at your hip tightens its hold.  His rhythm picks up faster. More needy. More unhinged. Like he's chasing something just beyond his reach. And he's fucking determined now to capture it.

And you take it. Sucking on his fingers, humming against them to suppress your cries as he starts hitting that spot deep within you that he knows sends you crashing over the edge. Jax knows you so well.  Too well.

Like free falling as fire races through your veins,  burning you alive. Your face presses harder into the wooden panel, hands bracing desperately against the wall trying to find perch. You suck harder on his fingers to bite back your cries.  Legs spread wide as you press back against him,  trembling with release, begging for more, as you try to stay on your feet. Squeezing around him.  Clenching him tight. You cum hard as Jax fucks you through the high.

Within moments he's falling apart too. You can feel it coming.  Breath ragged and heavy.  Thrusts erratic and quick. You arch your back more. Push back against him, wanting this as badly as he does.  Jax bites down on your shoulder, teeth pressing into your flesh, leaving a mixture of pleasure and pain as he chokes down a groan. You feel his body tense against you as he comes inside you.

His bite slowly lets go. Replaced by the feel of his panting breath vibrating, echoing against your skin before Jax presses his lips against the spot with a firm kiss.

Jax doesn't let you go as you both try to come back to reality.  As if he can read your desire to not have him leave you yet.  His thumb draws lazy circles against the skin at your waist,  his grip loosening on your hip to slowly massage the curve of it. Knowing the brunt of his demands likely left an echo.  His weight feels heavy and welcome against your back.  His body hot.

As Jax slowly pulls back and releases from your depths, there's a hollowness where he once was and you already miss the way it feels to have him inside you.  The way for a moment you almost feel whole.

Your dress limply falls against your thighs as Jax releases it.  Wrinkled and disheveled. You let his fingers slip free of your mouth as he draws them back. You turn around slowly to face him. Breath still ragged and uneven,  resting your back heavily against the wall as he pulls his jeans back up onto his hips and fastens them.

His eyes glance up and catch yours as his belt snaps.  A smile grows wide on Jax's face as he looks at you.  Radiant. Eclipsing everything else in the room as he caresses your cheek and his lips fall tenderly to yours.

Jax cradles your face.  Your hands grip at his sides, fingers digging into his teeshirt. His lips are soft and full against your own. His kiss slow as if he's savoring this moment.  Savoring you.

He rests his head on yours when the kiss breaks.  His breath fanning against your lips.

"You really shouldn't wear a dress on the lot." Jax tells you, half joking, half not, as if he can't help himself.  Smirk cracking on his lips.

"Will I see you tonight?" You ask in return.  Offering no apologies for driving him crazy.

Your attire had the exact effect you had hoped, because you didn't want to wait until later.  You wanted him now. That's why you showed up at the garage on your lunch break, in an outfit you knew Jax would think was easy access, under the pretense of checking in with Gemma about the upcoming family dinner.

An easy deep chuckle escapes Jax and dances across your lips as his thumb caresses your cheek.  "You didn't get enough of me yet?"

"I'll tell you when Ive had enough." You correct him with cheeky sass,  gripping his belt buckle to pull his hips flush against your own.

Insatiable and electric. That's how your hunger for Jax feels. Like you can't get enough of his mouth,  his hands,  his cock. And you'll steal any moment you can get.

Something dark and wanting dances across Jax's blue eyes as he stares down at you.  Before his lips find yours again. His kiss more hungry this time. His fingers slipping into the edge of your hair.  You feel it. How badly he wants you. As his tongue slips past the seam of your lips to stroke your own and fill your mouth with the taste of him.

When the kiss breaks it's the look in Jax's eyes that takes your breath. As if there's nothing else in the world but you. As if time stopped completely.

As if he sees all of you.  Even the ugly broken pieces. And he still chooses you anyway.

"Then I'll see you tonight." Jax confirms, brushing his nose against your own.  Before he kisses you one more time and then finally pulls back.

Giving himself one more once over, adjusting his jeans and straightening his kutte, Jax moves for the door. Glancing back at you with a smile before he leaves.  "Wait five minutes after Im gone."

You’d been incapable of thinking about much else since you’d woken this morning. Dex’s faith in you had you waking and feeling restored and emboldened today. As you’d showered and gotten ready for work, going through your usual skincare and makeup routine, an idea had steadily come together in your mind. An idea that you found yourself excited to share with Dex later when you met with him at the cafe. Because if Ellison was going to muzzle your voice on political matters at The Bulletin, then you’d find another way to speak out against the mayor of New York City.

The idea to create an anonymous blog had looped through your mind all morning. A place where you could share the truth and shed light on what Fisk and the AVTF were actually doing within New York City. Somewhere to write the real stories that all the news outlets were afraid to publish for the rest of New York to read. A place to boldly speak out against Fisk just like that satirical City Without Fear video had done, a video which had rapidly spread around online. 

Dex had previously shared with you that he was one of the vigilantes fighting back against Fisk, so maybe he’d be willing to help you with this new project. Perhaps he’d offer valuable insight into what Fisk’s administration was doing, or maybe he could share details on AVTF’s assignments since he already patrolled the streets at night despite the curfew. Dex probably carried an entire wealth of useful knowledge in his head, and he was already willingly following you around. If he despised Fisk and what he was doing in the city, you imagined he’d be eager to assist you in spreading some real news to the people of New York.

The volume of voices in the office seemed to increase, the commotion pulling you out of your thoughts. Slowly raising your head from out of your palms, you stared at the gray cubicle wall behind your monitor, eyes narrowing as you tried to make sense of what was going on. The Bulletin was usually filled with the sound of typing and hushed voices, so the level of excitement currently buzzing in the bullpen wasn't normal. Generally that only happened when something newsworthy occurred.

That's when you heard it. Fisk’s deep voice steadily increased in volume over the speakers of the single television in the main part of the office, the one mounted on a wall across the room from the gathering of cubicles. Your hands curled tight into fists on top of your desk, nails biting sharply into your palms. It was the same voice that had taunted you last night after work, the same man who’d been trying to push Ellison into firing you so that you couldn’t speak out against him. Now he was making an address to the city on live television like the untouchable cockroach he was, his voice echoing through your workplace.

“As you know, months ago there was an attempt on my life by the masked vigilante known as Bullseye.”

And what a shame it was he’d missed you.

Pushing your desk chair back, you rose from your seat and made your way out of your cubicle, drawn out by his voice just like the rest of your co-workers. But there wasn’t an ounce of compassion in you as you listened to Fisk’s address, making your way past the rows of cubicles to join the small crowd forming in front of the television. You glowered at the sight of Fisk on the screen wearing one of his usual crisp, white suits with that solemn expression stiff on his face.

“We have reason to believe Matt Murdock, the lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen, survived the attack on his apartment. This is important because Matt Murdock is–”

Eyes narrowing suspiciously at the man filling the television screen as he paused, you could feel the other reporters around you holding their breaths. While all of them anticipated the purpose of this speech, knowing that what he said next would dictate the article Ellison would assign someone in a rush to push The Bulletin’s voice out along with all the other news outlets covering this, you knew that you weren’t getting that article, not with how much Fisk currently disliked you.

But that unexpected pause felt heavy with something. Fisk’s expression briefly broke through that typical solemn mask he always wore when addressing the public, making you wonder if there was more to focus on with the blind lawyer than the fact that he’d taken a bullet for Fisk the other month. According to the narrative spun by Fisk’s team, Murdock’s apartment had been targeted afterwards by more vigilantes, but you’d never felt entirely certain how much truth that held.

Something felt off with this address. You’d studied plenty of Fisk’s public speeches in the past and he never came across so visibly conflicted and distressed before. You made a mental note to check into more on this Matthew Murdock as the mayor suddenly found his voice again, continuing on with his speech. 

“–a hero. He risked his life to save mine, only to be targeted by the same vigilantes that threaten our way of life.”

Do they, though? Or is that you, Fisk?

“He could be hurt. He may not know who is. Help me find Matt Murdock, New York,” Fisk pleaded, addressing the city with eyes devoid of the same passion that he spoke with. “Let’s bring this hero home.”

His lips drew back in a tight smile as he looked into the lens of the camera, but something about it felt as off as that lengthy pause. You weren’t given much chance to contemplate the oddity of this particular address though because Sofia sidled up beside you and stuck her phone less than a foot away from your face. You winced at the brightness of her screen abruptly assaulting your vision, blinking hard a handful of times as your eyes tried to adjust.

“What’re you–”

“This is him,” Sofia cut you off. She wiggled her phone in front of you as if the segue from the mayoral address to some photo on her phone made perfect sense. “It’s been going viral on a Reddit post online since the other night.”

“Him who?” you asked in confusion.

Squinting down at her phone, you saw a somewhat blurry image covering her screen. Despite the pixelation due to how zoomed into the image it'd been when it was cropped, you swore you recognized that face. It was in profile, but you recognized the slope of the nose, the scar on the cheek, the cut of the man’s cheekbones, and the short crop of blonde hair. Except you’d never seen those familiar broad shoulders and that thick chest dressed in whatever strange blue suit you were seeing covering it now.

“Bullseye,” Sofia stated. “Or so the internet claims. The one who attacked Fisk. He attacked a handful of task force officers a few nights ago at a corner store. Killed them all while they were attempting to make an arrest according to some Reddit poster.”

At Sofia’s explanation, your breath died in your throat as you stared down at the face on her screen, your hands beginning to tremble at your sides. He’d told you that he was a vigilante that first night you’d met him out late on the streets. He’d told you that he was fighting back against Fisk and the task force. He might’ve helped you with your ex and patched you up afterwards, but you’d also personally learned plenty of things about Bullseye while you’d covered stories at The Bulletin. 

You knew that he was the one who’d been arrested for the horrific attack that occurred over a year ago at Josie’s Bar in Hell’s Kitchen. He’d killed three men and terrified an entire bar filled with people before being caught by police and sentenced to prison. He’d escaped Ryker’s shortly after his conviction, killing a handful of guards during his escape before somehow fleeing the prison and the island entirely.

Which meant your stalker was an escaped felon. 

Throat feeling tight as fear slithered up your spine, you couldn’t think of a response to Sofia sharing this information with you. All you could do was stare stupidly down at the image of the man you’d given your cell number to last night, the man who knew exactly which apartment you lived inside. The same man you were about to head out to go meet in a few minutes at The Little Crow. 

“He’s creepy, right?” Sofia asked. “Something off with his eyes.”

She pulled the phone away from you, exiting out of the image with a shake of her head before sliding her cell back into her dress pant pocket. You struggled to swallow the lump forming in the back of your throat, suddenly feeling as if the room around you was spinning out of your control. Vigilantes like Daredevil and White Tiger were one thing, but Bullseye was on an entirely different level than either of them. He was known to leave a trail of bodies in his wake, and he killed with less rationalized intent than The Punisher. And you’d sat on the phone watching The Shining with him last night while cuddling the stuffed bear he’d gotten you while you were sick the other week. 

But was he really that bad?

“You good?” Sofia asked.

Eyes drifting back up to meet hers, your tongue nervously darted out to wet your dry lips. You forced a smile onto your face, feeling the strain of muscles in your cheeks as you did. In all honesty you were not good, because you were suddenly falling down a cliff of spiraling thoughts in your mind and hitting every fear and conflicting conclusion on your rough descent downwards.

“I’m fine, yeah,” you lied. “Just–just trying to process the fact that someone actually captured an unmasked photo of him.”

“He’s either slipping up or past caring,” Sofia mused. “Hopefully it’s the former, because honestly a Bullseye that’s past the point of caring about anything? That sort of sounds terrifying, doesn’t it?”

A nervous, breathy laugh fell past your lips, that false smile still straining against your cheeks. “Right,” you agreed with a tight nod. “That’d be terrifying.”

“Hey, don’t you have an interview you need to get to right now?” she asked, head tilting to the side as her brown curls fell past her shoulders. “I thought Ellison mentioned you had something earlier.”

Glancing across the room, you found the digital clock mounted on the wall. The red numbers displayed across the black screen informed you that you did indeed need to head out, because Dex would be waiting for you at the cafe soon. You’d agreed to meet him last night, and you had a feeling not showing up wasn’t exactly an option.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I should probably get going.”

“See, look at you,” Sofia said, lightly patting a hand along your shoulder. “Already making the best of the fluff that Ellison’s been giving you. I bet it’ll be an insightful interview in the end!”

The strained smile grew even tighter, your cheeks aching beneath the pressure of keeping it in place. If only she had any idea just how insightful your meeting was about to be.

You’d walked the entire two blocks to The Little Crow while contemplating if you’d be safe at the cafe or if you should turn back around and avoid Dex altogether. After the photo you’d seen on Sofia’s phone, you were ninety-nine point nine percent positive the vigilante stalker you’d grown fond of was Bullseye, and that’d sent a terrifying chill through you. 

But at the same time, if Dex had wanted to hurt you, he’d had plenty of opportunity in the more than a month that he’d been following you around and watching you. He’d never once caused you harm or tried to scare you. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to help you. He’d gotten your ex to leave you alone–which now you’d begun wondering if he’d managed that like you’d started to suspect–and he’d patched you up with that first aid kit afterwards. He’d been keeping an eye out for you in the weeks since, sending you medicine and food when you were sick along with the occasional lunch while you were at the office. 

If anything, Dex had been sweet to you. He paid attention to you, made things easier on you, and he even understood your anger last night when no one else at the office did. He’d had your back in the whole situation that’d arisen with Fisk trying to get you fired from your job, though now you’d started to understand his dislike of the mayor even better. Because if Dex was Bullseye, he was also the one who’d tried to kill Fisk the other month and failed because of Matt Murdock. 

Which left you wondering if Dex could give you the truth about everything that involved Murdock. Because after that mayoral address, you had a gut feeling there was more going on with the blind man. If vigilantes truly had blown up his apartment, Bullseye probably would’ve been the one to point a finger at for the blame, so who better to ask than the man himself who might’ve actually attacked the lawyer?

With your stomach nervously buzzing in anticipation of this sit-down, you came to a stop in front of The Little Crow, pulling open the door and stepping inside. Your attention fell directly on the clock hanging on the wall behind the register, noticing that you were two minutes late to this meeting. You owed your tardiness to the internal conflict you’d puzzled about coming here to see Dex, pondering whether or not he was someone you should fear.

By the time you’d reached the cafe after thinking through everything on your walk here, you’d eventually reached a singular conclusion. Dex always insisted in the past that he wouldn’t hurt you, so if he could be honest about who he was with you this morning when you asked, then you'd believe him about not being a threat to you. Even if you were still a little wary of who he'd actually turned out to be, you’d trust his honesty if he chose to give it.

Taking a few steps inside the shop, the door softly fell shut with the gentle chime of the bell behind you. Your eyes swept through the sunlit cafe you’d frequented countless times in the past as the warm aroma of coffee and the sugary scent of pastries settled over you. Soft indie music played quietly over the speakers, creating a calming ambience now that the morning rush in the city had long vanished to their jobs for the day. 

You found Dex in the far back corner by a window. When your attention fell on him, he raised a single hand and stiffly waved at you before gesturing at the table in front of himself. You followed the movement of his hand, noticing that not only did he have a coffee in front of himself, but there was a second coffee sitting beside a little plate with what you assumed was a chocolate croissant opposite him. 

Turning towards the table by the window, your feet nervously carried you across the tiled floor of the cafe and straight over to where Dex sat. He straightened further in his chair at your approach, a smile stretching its way over his lips. It didn’t look genuine but it didn’t look forced either, yet somehow it helped to soothe the nauseating churning of your stomach. Your body still couldn’t quite decide if he was someone to run from or someone to trust now that you were standing in front of him. 

“Good morning,” Dex greeted you.

A hesitant, nervous smile slowly crept its way across your face, and his gaze dropped straight down towards it. His own smile faded at the sight of it, the corners of his eyes tightening as something like distrust passed behind them. 

“Sit,” he ordered.

Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your bottom lip at the command, your nerves flaring sharper at the roughness of it. But you didn’t immediately move to take a seat, instead remaining standing beside the table. Dex caught your hesitation and the tight smile swiftly returned to his face in an attempt to soothe you.

“Please,” he amended. “I just want to talk, I’m not trying to scare you.”

Your heart battered away frantically beneath your ribcage as you nodded mutely, grabbing the back of the chair across the table from him and slowly pulling it out. You cautiously lowered down and took a seat in it, uncertain about his reaction to what you were dying to ask him. Still distrustfully eyeing you, Dex pushed the second coffee mug and the pastry closer to you along the table, the cup and plate softly sliding against the wooden surface. You couldn’t help but notice that he'd gotten you your usual order here, but that wasn't a surprise considering he seemed to know quite a few details about you.

“You look uncomfortable and tense,” Dex observed. “Which is different than how you sounded last night when we’d spoken on the phone. Why?”

Your eyes flew up from the coffee he’d set in front of you and landed on his face, staring nervously at him through the line of your lashes. Leave it to Dex to cut through the awkwardness and get straight to the point. You supposed you could lie about your sudden strange behavior this morning, make up something about work having put you on edge today, but what would be the point? You wanted to learn the truth about him–to learn anything about him.

“Which vigilante are you?” You answered his question immediately with one of your own, speaking in a hushed tone so that you wouldn’t be overheard in the half-empty cafe. When his eyes narrowed further, you ignored the roiling in your gut as you leaned forward over the table, acting bolder than you currently felt. “Are you Bullseye?”

A heavy silence dropped over the pair of you like a weighted blanket, coating the conversation in a thick tension that you couldn’t ignore. Dex’s lips pursed into a thin, disapproving slash across his face, but the rest of his expression went entirely blank, his eyes fixing you with that calculative stare you’d often felt studying you in the past. You continued leaning towards him, not touching your coffee or the croissant as you waited with bated breath for his answer, your heart thrumming in your throat. 

Would he lie or would he tell the truth? Despite how much Dex seemed to know about you, you barely knew anything about him, and you were desperate for him to reveal some personal truths for once. Would he be willing to be open and honest with you, or would he lie to your face like you expected? Because his response to something so deeply personal would tell you whether or not you could trust him when he said he didn't want to hurt you.

After a long pause, he slowly leaned forward, mimicking your posture as he clasped his hands along the table. “What makes you ask that?” he questioned slowly.

“My co-worker found an unmasked photo on the internet this morning,” you explained, still speaking softly. “From a few nights ago. It’s grainy and in profile, but I know that face. So,” you continued quietly, feeling the adrenaline bubbling within your veins as you held his stare, “is that you?”

The corner of his lips twitched three times in succession, and you bit the tip of your tongue in anticipation. You were used to men lying to you, twisting things around until they'd warped your mind to fit their version of reality. So why would Dex be any different? Especially considering how dangerous it was for you to know his alter-ego's actual identity beneath the mask.

“Yes.”

The sudden affirmation startled you, and you perked up in your seat immediately. One of his brows quirked at your response, those intelligent eyes closely watching your reaction. 

“You…are?” you hesitantly clarified.

“Yes,” he repeated.

Well, that was unexpected. Caught so off guard by his shockingly blunt honesty, you mutely blinked back at him as you tried to meld the dangerous and cold reputation of Bullseye with the eccentric and attentive man you'd come to know as Dex. 

You supposed there had always appeared to be something else lurking beneath the surface with him, you'd felt it the first time you'd run into him. His presence initially set off warning bells within your body like some innate, deep-seated thing inside of you just knew that he wasn't entirely safe, yet somehow you'd gradually begun to feel safe around him anyway as the weeks had passed. 

“And now you're scared,” he stated.

You shook your head slowly, a crease forming between your brows as you studied him in return on the opposite side of the table. You weren't exactly scared of him now, more bewildered by him and your own feelings. Especially because he'd told you the truth so easily, without dancing around the topic or making any attempt to circumvent the conversation. 

“No,” you answered truthfully. “I was originally when I recognized your face in that photo, but now I'm just…confused.”

Dex's head very slowly canted to the side. His penetrating gaze prodded you so intensely that you felt the hair along your forearms raise, prickling to attention under his scrutiny.

“About what?” he pressed.

Pulling a deep breath into your lungs, you finally reached out towards the croissant he'd ordered for you. You tore off a piece of the flaky pastry, the butter coating your fingertips. 

“I know I probably should be afraid of you,” you explained, focused down on the bit of croissant pinched between your fingers. “You are following me around, and you're…not really known to be like Daredevil or–”

A sharp, derisive snort met the vigilante's name and you paused, eyes drifting up to meet his. Dex rubbed a hand across his mouth, visibly growing agitated at the mention of Daredevil. A curious detail you mentally stored away for another time.

“I panicked at first seeing your face in the photo,” you admitted. “You don't have the most heroic reputation. But you've also never done anything to hurt me. And for some reason, I want to believe that you won't, but that almost feels like going against every instinct I have telling me otherwise.”

Dex didn't respond, his hard eyes still intently watching you as his thumb continued running contemplatively along his lips. You plopped the bit of pastry into your mouth, chewing while slowly settling back into your chair. You didn't completely relax as you ate, but your concerns for your own safety slowly ebbed away, quickly becoming replaced with other thoughts.

“What'd you do to my ex?” you asked, finally giving voice to the one thing you'd wondered for weeks. “To get him to leave me alone?”

Mirroring your posture, Dex deliberately settled back in his chair. A muscle feathered in his cheek at the question as he reached out, grabbing the handle of his coffee mug. He didn't pick it up for a drink, but his index finger began tapping an uneven pattern against the ceramic.

“Did you…?” you pressed, both brows raising at the unspoken implication.

“It was you or him,” Dex stated. “Now he can’t ever bother you, and you don't have to worry about him. Seemed like an easy solution to the situation, especially since you said the police weren’t helping.” His eyes narrowed in a challenge at you. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Pressing your lips together, you picked at the chocolate croissant in front of you again as you processed the truth. He'd never told you what'd transpired with your ex, leaving it to you to fill in the blanks, but you'd often wondered what he’d done since it had been rather effective. Now that you'd discovered that Dex was Bullseye, it seemed pretty clear that he hadn't just roughed your ex up and threatened him to keep him away from you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you'd always known that hadn't been what’d happened.

But did it upset you that Dex had killed him? 

You carefully chewed the pastry, the burst of sweetness along your tongue barely registering as you pondered the implication. Your gaze quietly shifted to the window on your right as you thought, vaguely aware of Dex's weighted stare lingering on you in the silence as you watched the few people walking past the window outside.

Your ex wasn't a good man, and you doubted your life would've been this peaceful over the past few weeks if he was still out there breathing. Even if you'd gotten the police to do anything to help you instead, it wouldn't have been remotely as successful as what he'd done. And truthfully vigilantes’ methods of solving problems were known to be rather…unconventional yet effective. It wasn’t as if you didn’t already know they tended to use excessive force to achieve a means to an end.

So did you have a problem with Dex killing your horrible ex so that he wouldn’t kill you?

“No,” you finally confessed. Your attention returned to Dex as you let the truth pour out of you. “I don't. Like you said, it was him or me. And while I still don't know how much I necessarily trust you quite yet, I suppose I'm still open to the idea of being friends so long as you really aren't trying to hurt me.”

Surprise flitted across his features far too fast for him to hide his reaction. That obviously hadn't been what he'd anticipated you to say when you'd sat down and asked if he was Bullseye this morning, and in all honesty, you hadn't anticipated things to go this direction, either. But it was the fact that he continued to tell you the straight truth without trying to twist reality or manipulate you despite the light it might paint him in that had you somehow further warming up to him. 

“You are?” he asked with a tinge of uncertainty.

“Yeah,” you answered. Picking up the coffee mug, you raised it to your lips as a small smile played across it. “You're honest and straightforward with me. I like that. Most people aren’t.”

“I don’t waste time with lying,” Dex automatically replied. 

The steam billowed over the top of your mug towards you, the warm cinnamon scent enveloping you as your smile grew a bit wider at that revelation. He didn’t like to lie? That was an unusually refreshing trait to learn about him. Considering what he’d already confessed to you without you trying hard to pry it out of him, you believed that wasn’t a lie either. And with how often men tended to lie to you, you found that a rather attractive trait of his.

“Well, I’ll admit that I also came here for another reason,” you confessed. 

Raising the mug to your lips, you finally took a drink of the warm latte in your hands. As you swallowed down the coffee, you saw Dex’s curiosity pique on the opposite side of the table, his eyes suspiciously studying you. 

“Which is?” he cautiously questioned.

“Now that I know how much you dislike Fisk,” you said, setting the mug back onto the table, “I’ve got a proposition for you. If you’re interested, of course.”

Dex’s eyes remained wary slits as he watched you. “And that would be…?” 

Your yellow nails danced cheerfully against the ceramic of your mug, making a melodic little clink clink that faded into the music playing softly over the cafe’s speakers. “How do you feel about helping me gather information on Fisk’s task force?” you suggested. “I want to create an anonymous, untraceable blog to spread some real news. Because I think this city deserves to hear the truth about what he's really doing, don't you?”

For a long moment, Dex showed no outward reaction to what you’d said. He sat there in silence, his eyes sweeping their way around your face as if it would give away some sort of secret. You wondered if he was about to reject the idea until you watched a genuine smile edged with something dangerous slide its way across his mouth almost in slow motion. Something about it made your stomach suddenly dip in response, a devious grin breaking out across your own face to match.

“I think you’re right,” Dex agreed, nodding his head slowly. “I do think New York deserves to hear the truth about Fisk.”

All it took was one time; now all it takes is a text. Jax liked you because when he flirted with you, you flirted right back. He rolled up with that walk, that smirk, and hit you with the 'Hey, Darlin',' and you looked at him, steady as a stone, and said:

"Hello, Prince Charming," you quipped back. That was when you learned that nothing was hotter than seeing the big bad Jax fucking Teller flustered. Most of those girls would just giggle or twirl their hair. That's why he got so bored with them so quick. The pet names did something to him; 'baby' was common enough. Everything with two sets of lips was calling him 'baby'. But sugar was his favorite.

He's back

A text from Tig. That's all it took, as if you didn't know. You were setting up his favorite outfit; he couldn't resist you in a halter. You smirked as your makeup was set. You don't try to pretend you're any better than those other girls hanging around the clubhouse but there was one thing that made you know it set you apart.

You knew how to speak to him.

Sauntering in the clubhouse like you own it, you see him. Ignoring the flutter of your heart at the sight of his smile. Waiting until he's alone before you go in to him.

"Hey, sugar," you greet breezily in his ear, rubbing his shoulders. He smirks as he tries to sip his drink; you feel him visibly relax.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with that wolfish smirk, leaning back to look up at you.

"I heard you were back," you say innocently, sitting next to him, wrapping your hands around his neck. "And, sue me, I missed you. Wanted to welcome you back properly." In case he had any doubts, you reached over and ran your hand through his hair. "I missed you, baby." He didn't say it back, but judging by the way his hand snaked up the side of your thigh, you knew he agreed.

"Fuck, I love when you do that," he groans, leaning into your hand.

"That's not the only thing I do that you love," you tease, stroking his face. "You're growing your hair out again; I like it." his hand goes higher up your thigh, straight up your skirt. "I think you missed me too, didn't you, sugar?" You try to hold it together as he snakes one finger around the elastic of your panties. "You think they know? All your brothers, all these fucking groupies sniffing around you? The Prince Charming? The Big Bad VP of SAMCRO, and you melt every time someone calls you sugar? Every time I call you sugar? My Prince Charming, even for a little while? Do you think they know- oh, shit," you gasp as he slides his finger along your slit. Gripping the back of your hair with his other hand.

"Get upstairs," he growls in your ear. "Now." You nod; he grabs your arm in response. "Hey, what do you say?"

"Yes, sir," you answer in his ear. Right where you want to be, you take your time, making sure every last crow eater sees you saunter up to Jax's room.

He's right behind you, rushing you into the room kicking the door slammed shut attacking your mouth in a kiss.

"Had to shut you up before you drove me crazy," he said, ripping his cut off throwing it on the chair.

"Too bad I was just getting started," you quip, taking your top off and your earrings. He grabs you, holding you flush against him, holding your chin, forcing you to look at him. "There are those eyes, so blue I can drown in them. Welcome home, sugar."

"I'm not home yet," He growls and crushes your mouth with a possessive kiss, pulling down your skirt. He moves on to your neck, and you can't help yourself.

"Fuck, look at you," you moan as his hands grope you. "You're so gorgeous, had everyone in that room dreaming of your lips, those hands, that wide, beautiful back, oh," you let out a moan as his fingers go in where they promised earlier. "You're so perfect, you're incredible, you know just what to do to make me come apart, oh my god, Jax," he kissed you all down your body, spreading your legs. Nibbling and kissing your inner thighs, you pulled his hair to guide him where you wanted him the most. "Uh, oh holy shit," his tongue circled your clit, making your legs shake. Nothing got him off more than your praise except what you did when you came. "Jackson..." you begged, letting it out. He kept a relentless pace, gripping your thighs to keep you still. You arched into him, letting the sensation wash over you.

"Jackson!" you called out, not caring who heard; your reaction only egged him on. "Jackson, oh my god please!" Almost nothing fed that massive, insatiable ego of his more than you screaming his full name for all to hear. You belonged to him at that moment; he got up unceremoniously, wiping his face wrapping his hand around your throat. Sliding himself in giving you almost no recovery time.

"Who's the best baby?" he growls in your ear, angling his hips on the spot that makes you see stars. "Who makes you feel this good?"

"Jackson," you said in a gasp, arching into him. He filled you up to his length, sliding in and out like a toy. You scratch his back, whining under him, trying to keep up. "fuck," you try to breathe through it; his size is a shock every time. The walk was never an act.

"Louder, baby," he said, slamming into you, making you wrap your legs around him, lost for words. He grabbed the headboard to steady himself, looking into your eyes, and you had no words except one that was the only one that mattered. "Who do you beg for? Who do you come for? Say my name. Say it."

"Jackson!" you scream, going over the edge. He wasn't far behind, pulling himself out and coming onto your stomach. Wordlessly, he gets up and grabs a towel before coming back to bed. You smile at him a little as he gently wipes you off. "Oh shit, I missed that. No one does it like you do, baby. They all try, but nothing beats you."

"Good to be home," he whispers in your ear, kissing your shoulder. As if he's trying to kill you, he wraps his arms around you. "Missed you too, darlin'."