rayne ›‹ words

Ray isn’t just any man talking you through it, he’s clinical, composed, and absolutely obsessed with you. He has never tolerated mess, never abided chaos – except for the ruin he pulls from you, slow and intentional, every detail controlled down to the shudder in your breath.

Always immaculate – hair slicked back, beard perfectly groomed, jaw strong and purposeful. His mouth is set in a knowing line, stormy blue eyes sharp behind his glasses. There’s something magnetic in the way he watches you, focused and steady. Every detail about him radiates control and confidence.

You see the way his eyes drag over you – appraising, proprietary – you know he’s reading every secret written on your skin. He won’t touch you until you’re exactly as he likes – neat, spread out, every limb arranged just so. He’ll brush his thumb along your jaw, not out of softness, but to keep you in line.

To remind you whose you are. "You want to be ruined, but you’ll do it my way – don’t make a mess of yourself, not unless I ask for it."

And when Ray talks you through it, every word is filth, never vulgar for its own sake, but always purposeful. He keeps you right at the edge with precision, savoring every shaky breath, your need, and most of all – your obedience.

"Prove to me you can be my good girl. Show me how well you take my cock.”

Every word is deliberate by design, crafted to extract your devotion.

“God, look at you. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you? That’s why you’re mine."

He orchestrates your surrender until you’re unraveling just the way he wants – every gasp and plea drawn out by his control.

When you’re mindless and wrecked, trembling on overstimulation, his voice cuts through the haze. “That’s it, darling. Give me just one more. I want to feel this perfect pussy clench around me. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Ray owns it all, making you crave the exquisite order of his obsession – leaving you aching to submit to him again, over and over.

———————

Each time you walk past, he’s there - so focused, so calm, so fucking hot about it. And you’re bored, dripping into your panties because he hasn’t touched you all day.

Now you hover at the edge of the room, arms crossed beneath your chest, one hip cocked out, watching him. The deep blue walls and low pendant lights bathe him in warm amber, highlighting the sharp lines of his face and the steady, graceful rhythm of his pen against paper.

The soft grey pullover sweater he’s wearing clings to his back, the fabric stretching over lean, hard muscle. When he reaches forward or shifts in his chair, you watch the defined lines move beneath the material - all quiet dominance and control.

He has the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing lean forearms threaded with veins and the solid weight of his favorite watch. His glasses sit perched low on his nose, his brow slightly furrowed as he makes notes on whatever spreadsheet he’s buried in now.

You sigh, loudly. Theatrically. But Ray doesn’t even glance up.

However, you do notice the faintest hesitation in his pen. He doesn’t react outwardly, but the subtlest shift sets across his toned shoulders, telling you he’s not as focused on his work as he’s pretending to be.

You can’t help the way your lips purse, just a little, at the realization. A quiet spark of satisfaction curls at the corners of your mouth.

Smirking, you saunter towards him, each barefoot step slow - letting the cardigan swing open just enough to tease. You stop behind his chair, stealing another moment to admire the shape of his back. There’s something so goddamn beautiful about the way he works - you could watch him like this for hours, casually running empires from the dining room.

His rich scent hits you as you approach - a hint of cedar from his cologne, clean detergent, and the lingering warmth of musk that always clings to him. It sinks into your lungs, leaving your head spinning in the best kind of way.

You shift in beside him, close enough to be felt, your voice soft and spoiled, almost petulant as you speak. “You’ve been working forever.”

He hums, his pen still moving. “Because someone has to make sure the money’s clean, darling.”

His pinky ring catches the light as he writes, glinting with every movement - precise and practiced, like everything he does.

Reaching out, you trail your finger slowly across his back, gliding from one broad shoulder to the other. The soft knit of his sweater shifts beneath your touch, and you feel the tension ripple beneath it.

“Are you insinuating that I’m dirty, Raymond?” you tease, your voice dipping low as you lean down, lips brushing his ear. Your teeth graze the shell of it, just a nip, soft and delicate - before pulling back with a wicked little smile.

Ray pauses at that, setting the pen down with a soft click, and lifts his head. He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes dragging slowly over your body - your bare legs, the cardigan slipping low, the peek of lace beneath. He blinks once - then again, fast. A tic you’ve come to recognize. It’s how he reins himself in when he’s trying to stay composed.

Something he’s struggled with more since you came into his life, but not in a way he minds.

He turns slowly in his chair, finally facing you - gaze pinned, taking his time, indulging in your sight like it’s his reward.

His hand drags thoughtfully across his beard, like he’s weighing something - his fingers disappearing for a moment in the thick, meticulously kept scruff. Then he tips his chin and gestures toward his lap with a nod. “Come here,” he commands.

You bite your lip, eyes wide and a little too innocent, even as you let the cardigan slip a touch lower off your shoulder - just enough to offer a better view of your breast. Your tone is soft and sweet on the surface, but it’s laced with mischief. “Thought you were working.”

“I am.” His voice drops, low and sharper now. “Don’t make me ask again.”

A soft, excited meep slips past your lips - something small and involuntary, because you love it when he gets like this. You obey instantly, straddling his lap without hesitation, settling yourself over one thick, tailored thigh.

Ray raises an eyebrow when he realizes where you’re sitting. “What exactly are you doing?” he asks, voice edged with intrigue - his eyebrow still lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's this close to smiling.

You rock your hips once, just to test him, and the pressure is perfect. Denim against lace. His firm muscle pressed right where you need it.

Your arms curl around his neck, fingertips brushing the nape of it, leaning in close. “Getting creative,” you purr, dragging your lips over his jaw. “Since you’re too busy to fuck me.”

Ray doesn’t move, but his hands come up, gripping your hips. And then his thigh flexes beneath you, just once - enough to make you feel it. He watches you like something primal and a little bit entertained, a faint sound catching in his throat.

“Go on, then,” he orders, his tone is dry with a tinge of amusement as he indulges you. “You’re already making a mess of my evening. Might as well make a mess of my fucking trousers while you’re at it.”

Glancing up at him through your lashes, your mouth curves into a smile that’s playful, sheepish, and just a little smug. Ray hates mess. Hates anything unclean or out of order. But you? He wants the mess when it’s yours.

You start to move slowly at first. Hips rolling in lazy motions, grinding yourself down on the solid muscle of his thigh. The friction is divine, and every drag of lace against denim makes you press down harder.

He’s focused, tracking each twitch of your lip, every flutter of your lashes, all the tiny reactions in the way you rock against him. You let out a breathy moan, soft and helpless, grinding down exactly right - and his composure falters. His jaw tics, his long fingers flex against your hips, like the sound and feel of you is almost too much for him.

Your eyes lock - his are dark and calm, yours wide and hungry. He doesn’t blink or move, just holds you there on his leg with his firm grip and consuming stare. Your pulse hammers in your throat - you shouldn’t like being watched this much, but you do. There’s something raw and electric about the way he looks at you.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm builds, pressure curling deep in your belly. The cardigan slips off one shoulder with the increased movement, your body flushed and glistening with heat underneath it. Ray tilts his head slightly and adjusts his glasses like he’s refocusing.

Both hands move up your body, one arm wraps around your waist, keeping you balanced. The other slips beneath the wool draped around your unexposed shoulder, guiding it down your arm.

Your chest is bare to him now, your nipples stiff from the air and your own need. He studies you with quiet obsession - his hand slides up to cup one breast fully, his thumb brushing over the swollen peak while he watches your breath hitch at the contact. He squeezes, enough to make your body jolt, then repeats the motion on the other side. The sound he pulls from you is almost pathetic - high and fragile enough to make him smirk.

“You know how good you look like this?” he praises, slate-blue eyes locked on your chest as his thumb teases you again. “These perfect tits out. Cunt soaked for me.”

His cardigan pools around your elbows as your pace stutters, hips grinding faster and harder as you chase the pressure. Every movement of your clit sweeping over his thigh sends pleasure rolling through you.

Desperate, broken noises spill from your lips, gasping as your grip tightens on his shoulders, nails biting into the soft material of his sweater - completely losing yourself on the muscle he’s tensed just for you.

“Can’t help but act up when you want my cock, can you?” he growls low, his thigh flexing hard beneath you again.

You whimper, your head shaking from side to side with hopeless want. He can see how far gone you are - pupils blown wide, sweat clinging to your skin, your pink mouth parted in a silent, pleading gasp. But you don’t let go. Because he hasn’t told you to.

And you’re waiting - just like he’s taught you too.

You’re grinding frantically against him now, breath catching on every exhale, lost in the burning haze of need. Your orgasm is just out of reach, held hostage by the absence of his permission - while he watches - composed, relishing in it.

Ray is savoring this - the way your release belongs to him. He loves to own these moments, making sure your orgasm isn’t just something you take, but something he gives.

And then his voice slices through it all. “Do it,” he instructs, quiet and absolute. “Make a mess, love.”

His order is your undoing - your hips jerk forward, involuntarily, chasing that final bit of friction. The tension coils so tightly it’s nearly unbearable - your breath shatters, legs trembling as your entire body locks up in ecstasy. You cry out, grinding against him as your orgasm burns through your core, blurring your vision and leaving you slack with pleasure. You soak his thigh completely, the mess is hot and unfiltered, gushing through the lace and darkening the fabric beneath you.

You’re panting against his chest, eyes fluttering open slowly, still floating in that haze. And when you finally look up at him, his gaze is dark and heavy with desire - like he’s drinking in the sight of you ruined and breathless in his arms and loving every second of it.

“Needy little thing,” he remarks, not even trying to hide the amusement in his tone at your behavior.

Ray’s hand moves to your jaw, fingers curling gently around it as he guides your face closer to his, leaning in to press a kiss to your damp temple.

He shifts beneath you then, lifting you off his lap with gentle care. You whimper softly at the absence, legs still shaky, and he steadies you while you find your footing.

That’s when you see it, the shape of him - hard, thick, and straining beneath his trousers. Your breath catches, and you nibble on your lips as your thighs instinctively clench. You're still aching, still needy, because he hasn’t fucked you properly yet.

But Ray knows this, and without a word, he reaches for the cardigan still hanging from your arms. He slips it down slowly, knuckles grazing your sides as the wool glides over your skin, removing it and folding it over the back of the chair - neat and methodical, just like him.

With a quiet shift, he removes his glasses - holding them delicately in one hand - while his other bunches the fabric of his sweater between his shoulder blades. In one smooth motion, he pulls it up and over his head, muscles flexing as golden skin stretches across his torso. His chest is broad, lean, and defined in a way that’s always present beneath whatever crisp layers he wears. His stomach muscles contract with the motion, and as the fabric clears his head, it tousles his perfectly styled hair - leaving it just slightly disheveled.

He drapes it over top of the discarded cardigan, still holding his glasses, still watching you, before he slides them back on. His eyes trail down your body, devouring every inch of you standing there in nothing but those lace panties, chest flushed from release, plump lips parted, legs pressed together like you’re trying to hold in what’s left of your composure.

Ray looks down at you for a moment longer, like he can’t quite believe how pretty you are like this. His hand lifts, brushing the pad of his thumb slowly across your bottom lip, feeling the softness. He watches you like he’s starving, the quiet intensity in his eyes makes your pulse stutter. Your mouth parts, and you take his thumb between your lips - just to show that you’ll let him do anything.

And then almost like a switch, his expression changes, eyes darkening with intent as he instructs, “Turn around.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation.

He places one hand between your shoulder blades and guides you forward until your bare stomach meets the edge of the table. His palm flattens gently against your back, and with that same calm control, presses you down and bends you over without a word of resistance.

You brace yourself on the table, breath shallow, chest rising and falling against the cool wood. Behind you, there’s the quiet clink of his belt coming undone, the low slide of leather through denim - the sound alone makes your stomach flip.

Just as your breath steadies, you feel him at your hips, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He drags the lace down slowly, letting it slide over the curve of your ass, your thighs, until it catches around your ankles. The fabric is damp, clinging slightly from how soaked you are, and you feel the low rumble of approval from his chest as your foot moves to kick them aside.

He pushes your legs further apart with a nudge of his toe, causing you to gasp softly. But you move easily and eagerly - parting your thighs wider for him, desperate to be filled. The cool air against your bare cunt only intensifies the ache between your legs.

The heat of his body crowds in around you as the weight of his cock brushes your inner thigh. He guides himself through your dripping folds, dragging his tip slowly between your swollen lips, smearing your release all over his length. His precum mixes with you - warm, sticky, and lewd.

One slow roll of his hips, and he’s pressing inside you - holding, letting you feel the stretch begin. The first few inches make your knees buckle. He’s thick and unforgiving, filling you up like it’s the first time all over again. You clench around him, greedily trying to take more, but he holds steady - giving you only what he wants.

Then he sinks in - and the most delectable, shameless sound escapes your body. Ray grunts at the feel of you, his hand coming to your hip, holding you firmly as he starts to move.

He fucks you with long, deep strokes - dragging the length of himself all the way out before thrusting back in, a bit harder each time. The pressure, the fullness, the overwhelming movement of him, slams into you all at once.

His grip tightens around your waist, one hand trailing slowly up your back, firm and steady, pinning you to the table.

You whimper, fingers digging into the edge of the table - no matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how wet or ready you are, the feel of him inside you always leaves you wrecked. So much and not nearly enough - an exquisite kind of ache.

A moan tears from your throat, loud and greedy, while Ray sets his pace - punishing and devastatingly precise. The table shifts beneath you, legs creaking in protest, and somewhere under your cheek, you feel papers slipping - documents he’d been buried in all evening, now pushed askew by the force of your body jolting against the wood.

“This what you needed?” he taunts, his voice a mixture of gravel and silk. “After all that whining - this what you were after?”

You nod, gasping his name as he drives deeper, harder, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs. His own breathing grows heavier, but his control never wavers - one hand stays locked around your waist, the other ghosts up your spine.

“Listen to you,” he utters, dark and amused. “Can’t even take a proper fuck without crying for it like a filthy thing.”

A high pitched whimper tumbles from your lips at his words, mouth open against the table, fingers still clawing at the edge for something to hold onto while he drills into you - measured and merciless.

Ray goes on, his breath brushing across your skin. “Couldn’t behave yourself. Grinding this cunt all over my fucking thigh, desperate for anything I’d give you.”

His fingers slide up the back of your neck and tangle into your hair, curling tight - not forceful, but to keep you right where he wants you. He leans in until his mouth hovers at your ear, the heat of him sending goosebumps down your spine.

“But you like being like this, don’t you?” he rasps, his voice rough and raw.

Another thrust and your voice stutters from your throat as he fucks into you like he owns you, hitting your g-spot, over and over, making your legs quiver under the pressure of it, your body clenching tight. You’re dripping for him, so wet he buries himself in your drenched heat, every thrust slick and loud.

He pants, “Soaked and spread out for me,” hips snapping forward again, “My perfect, messy girl.”

You sob out his name, wrecked and breathless - his only response is another relentless thrust of his hips and a low snarl. You feel him everywhere - wrapped in your hair, pressed along your spine - mouthing filth into your skin like its devotion.

He straightens up behind you while his pace quickens, skin on skin echoing off the walls. You gasp, your head turning just enough to look over your shoulder - and what you see nearly undoes you all over again.

Ray’s brow is furrowed, jaw clenched, sweat beading along his temple. He’s flushed, focused, and fucking you so purposeful, it could only be him. Without breaking his stride, he lifts one hand to his face, slipping his glasses off.

He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, a low exhale slipping between his clenched teeth. Then, hurried, he slides them right back on. You watch his lashes flutter once, then twice, and again in quick succession.

Because he needs to see.

Needs to watch the way he sinks into you with every push - how soaked your cunt is, how you clutch around him like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

The sight of him above you, bare-chested and sweating, muscles flexing with every snap of his hips, working his cock into you - steals the breath straight from your lungs and makes your head spin with how utterly gone you are for him.

You feel it building again - quick and heavy - your body still strung out from riding his thigh, the teasing, the stretch of him. Your clit throbs, your arousal making a mess of both your thighs and the table beneath you.

“That's it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride. “Squeezing me so good, going to milk every drop out of me.”

You nod urgently, hips jerking, the tops of your thighs bumping the edge of the table, his name slipping past your mouth in broken cries.

You can’t wait - not this time.

“Please… please, let me! I need to come, Ray - please!”

You’re begging before he even gives the word, too desperate to hold it in, too strung out to care. You typically know better, but right now, all you can do is plead.

Your desperation punches right through his composure. He groans, low and ragged, his usual soft tone completely abandoned. And that’s when his fingers slide low - finding your clit, rubbing it just right, coaxing your orgasm forward while his cock pounds into your perfect spot.

You cry out for him - broken and high - as your orgasm slams through you like a wave, your vision going white at the edges. You pulse around him hard, soaking him all over again, the slick sounds between you turning obscene.

But Ray doesn’t stop.

His thrusts keep coming, dragging you straight into overstimulation. Whining, you tremble beneath him as your body jerks, raw and ruined - tipping past the edge until you're spiraling all over again.

He groans out, pace faltering, hips snapping faster as he loses his own control. “Fucking hell - look at you,” he pants. “Can’t stop making messes all over me.”

You’re still pulsing around him, fluttering and tight, and it tips him. With a hoarse sound, he drives into you one last time and spills deep, flooding you with his release. You feel every throb of it, every warm pulse as he fills you with his cum, groaning again, hips rocking slowly, like he can’t stop, like he needs to feel every last drop sink into you.

His movement softens, breath ragged against your back as he stays buried, grinding lazily through the aftershocks. With a final exhale, he lets his weight settle over you gently, his chest pressed to you, his body flush with yours.

His lips land on your shoulder - light and slow - kissing you there once, then again - a little lower, a little longer. The brush of his thick beard against your skin is warm and scratchy, pulling you gently into the afterglow.

You shift slightly beneath him, and he finally, gently pulls out - his softening cock slipping free with a low groan, followed by the slow warmth of his release trickling down your thigh.

He presses a final kiss to your shoulder, then lifts up from you just enough to move. One hand stays on your back while the other slides around your waist.

“Easy now,” he soothes, voice low and spent.

With a careful grip, he helps you upright, guiding your body back against his chest, steadying you as your shaky legs try to find themselves again. His arm wraps fully around you, keeping you close.

You lean into him, flushed and breathless, your skin damp, a gorgeous grin spreads across your lips - it’s lazy and satisfied, like you’ve just been thoroughly, completely fucked out of your mind.

Ray glances down, catches the look on your face, and shakes his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. “Christ, love. You act like this wasn’t your plan the second I opened my laptop.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence - but the mischief in your eyes gives you away completely. “It wasn’t!” you protest, far too quickly - your voice softening, sweet and smug, before adding “…But you left me unattended.”

Ray lets out a quiet breath as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to the space between your cheek and your ear - softly inhaling your scent, a private little indulgence.

“I ought to fucking know better,” he mutters against your skin, but here’s no bite in it, only fondness and amused surrender. The kind of affection reserved for someone who keeps getting away with it… because he wants them to.

As he steps back, his ringed hand slips from your waist to your ass, delivering a firm little swat that makes you gasp and laugh.

“Minx,” he mutters dryly under his breath - like its fact.

Dean O'Gorman Characters:

Fili (The Hobbit)

Anders Johnson (The Almighty Johnson's)

Will Johnson (Wanted)

Ford Lampton (The Bad Seed)

Evan Lace (Westside)

George Lowe (Hillary)

You were his good girl with a sinful mouth and absolutely no shame when it came to wanting him, saying things that had his cock hard well before you even got through your first drinks.

Tonight you looked like temptation in a little black sundress dotted with tiny white flowers. It clung in all the right places, hugging the curve of your waist, dipping low at your chest, and swishing sweetly around your thighs. The fabric was light and easy to move in, but Jax couldn’t stop staring at the way it framed your body, the way your tits rose and fell when you laughed, how your ass bounced with every step, round and perfect beneath the hem that kept riding up just enough to drive him mad.

The dive bar off 12th was dim and reeked of spilled whiskey and stale smoke. You were tucked into Jax’s side, his arm heavy across your lower back as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, trailing up and down your exposed thigh.

You smiled at him like you were proud of yourself, because you were. Your fingertips dragging slowly over the tattoo on his forearm, a light, teasing touch that made his muscles twitch beneath your nails.

You leaned in close again, pretending to reach for your drink, but your lips brushed his ear instead.

“You know I’ve been thinking about your ink all night,” you purred. “Just wondering what it’d feel like to run my tongue over every single one… nice and slow.”

His laugh came out low, more breath than sound as his fingers inched higher up your thigh, dragging the hem of your dress with them. You felt the shift in him at your words, like flipping a switch without even trying.

“Yeah?” he rasped, the words barely catching on his breath.

You nodded, your lips brushing the edge of his stubbled jaw as you leaned in. “Especially the one you keep covered. The one no one else gets to see.”

That did it.

His hand stilled on your thigh, fingers tightening just a little. His defined jaw shifted, a small clench, and he didn’t speak right away. Just stared at you, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted, his breath measured like he was trying to keep it together.

You could feel the heat coming off him now, radiating through the space between you, clinging to your skin, thick and pulsing. His thumb moved absent-mindedly, dragging along the inside of your thigh as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low challenge, “Prove it, darlin’.”

The bathroom door slammed behind you both.

The second it clicked shut, he was on you, his mouth crashing into yours, hot and demanding, tongue parting your lips, sliding deep like he needed to taste every filthy word you’d whispered in his ear all night. His golden stubble scraped against your soft, plush lips, leaving a burn that only made you want more. You could feel the heat of his breath, the press of his mouth moving hard against yours.

One big palm cradled the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips devoured yours. His other hand was already at the hem of your sundress, bunching it up over your hips with urgency, exposing everything he already knew wasn’t there. His fingers brushed your bare skin and he groaned into your mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, taking a step back just to look at you. “This body. This ass. You really came out lookin’ like this… for me?”

You smirked through your own breathy moan, your body aching for more of him.

Jax grinned against your skin, teeth scraping lightly along your throat. “Fuckin’ naughty,” he muttered, like it turned him on more than he could stand. His hand slid between your parted thighs, fingers dragging through your slick. “So wet already… walkin’ around just beggin’ for it.”

You whimpered, grinding down on his touch, but he held you there, teasing, controlling.

“Bad girl,” he rasped. “That’s what you are.”

“Yours," you declared, hips tilting into his touch while his fingertips danced across your clit.

His grip tightened on your bare ass, voice thick with need, his teeth nipping at your ear. “Yeah. Just how I like you.”

You dropped to your knees before he even had to ask, fingers working his belt with practiced ease. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, the tip already wet and glistening with precum, and the sight of it made your mouth water.

Jax braced one hand on the wall behind you, the other curling into your hair - he was trying to keep it together, but the second your breath hit the sensitive head, he swore under it.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Your eyes lifted, lashes fluttering just slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, knowing exactly what you were about to do to him.

He was fucked the moment your lips parted.

You started slow, leaning in to taste his precum, then swirling the head, letting it sit on your tongue before slipping your lips around him with a soft, wet suck. Just his tip at first while your hand wrapped around the base to stroke in time with your mouth.

He looked down at you like you were everything he craved, yours were the only eyes he ever let see him like this; wild and unrestrained.

Your throat tightened as you sank lower, your lips brushing the base, jaw relaxed and full of him, using enough suction to make him fight the urge to thrust.

Jax watched everything. The way your lips stretched around him, how your cheeks hollowed when you sucked him deeper. The naughty little glint in your eyes that told him you wanted to ruin him, that you enjoyed it. Craved it, even.

No one had ever worshipped his cock with this kind of confidence. This filthy, practiced rhythm that felt like it was designed just for him.

His eyes never left yours. Blue, dark, and possessive.

Fucking proud.

“That’s right,” Jax groaned, voice breaking. “Goddamn… look at you.”

Eyes wide, full of him, your mouth stretched and glistening, spit trailing from the corner of your lips as you worked him with eager devotion. You bobbed your head in a smooth rhythm, tongue swirling, jaw relaxing to take him deeper with each pass.

You moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his cock, and it nearly buckled his knees. You let him slip deep into your throat, gagging just enough to make your eyes water, pulling back with a wet pop and a gasp just so you could start again.

Your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t take, fingers slick with spit, working in perfect sync with your lips. You swirled your tongue under the head every time you came up, then took him back down, sloppier and wetter until he couldn’t fucking hold back.

Jax was staring down at you, jaw clenched, heart pounding, sweat beading at his temple.

Your hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging in as you moaned around him, sending another vibration through his cock that made him hiss above you and throw his head back.

He was unraveling, right there in a dive bar bathroom, pants around his thighs, with you on your knees like you lived for this.

“Fuuuck babe,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Keep doin’ that, I’m gonna fuckin' come.”

You didn’t stop, only sucking him harder and slower, wanting nothing more than to drag it out of him. But that only made him snap.

He came hard, groaning your name through clenched teeth as he spilled into your mouth. You took it all, swallowing him down like it was nothing. Your tongue flicked against the tip as he pulsed in your mouth, sucking every last drop, your eyes still locked on his like you owned him.

And in that moment, you fucking did.

You collected every bit of him before swiping the corners of your mouth with your thumb, that same thumb slipping between your lips as you sucked it clean, a wicked little smirk curving across your still-swollen mouth.

Jax just stood there, completely fucking spent, watching you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Like no one had ever looked so goddamn beautiful on their knees in front of him, your perfect swollen lips, eyes gleaming, still tasting him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, head falling back for a moment as his chest rose and fell like he’d just been knocked breathless.

He tucked himself back in quickly, then reached down to steady you with both hands as you pushed up from the floor.

You licked your lips one last time, slow and teasing, letting out a soft, satisfied “mmm” like you’d just finished dessert, smirking as you looked up at him, entirely too pleased with yourself.

“Told you I was good with my mouth, Jax.”

Today had been the worst. He’d been leaning against the bay door at TM, cigarette dangling from his mouth, the sun hot enough to sting the back of his neck, when a car rolled in. You stepped out like you had nowhere else to be, the air shifting the second you hit the pavement.

Your white tank top clung in the California heat, thin straps sliding just a little as you moved. The fabric was stretched across your chest, making it impossible not to notice the black lace peeking over the neckline – delicate, feminine, tight against your breasts in a way that made his pulse thud harder. Your cutoffs were frayed high on your thighs, pockets just visible beneath the hem, the worn denim hugging your ass perfectly.

You pretended not to notice him at first, letting your keys slip from your hand, the faint jingle breaking the hum of the lot. When you crouched to pick them up, your top shifted with the movement, drawing his eye to the way it traced your shape before settling back into place.

Quick. Innocent, if he had been anyone else.

But he wasn’t.

When you straightened, your gaze found his, and you smiled. Not the polite kind you gave strangers, either. It was slower, touched with something sweet but edged in seduction, the kind that told him you knew exactly where his eyes had been.

And you liked it.

That smile had been under his skin the rest of the day. Through runs, through dinner, through church. It wasn’t just the way you looked, though he could trace every inch of you in his head now. It was the way you moved, the ease in every step, your quiet confidence that never asked for attention but stole it anyway. Making him wonder how different you’d be with your guard down – with your voice breaking, with your hands on him.

Jax’s head tipped back against the headboard, letting the memory spool out. At first it stayed clean – the way you’d laughed at something someone said, or the way you thanked him when he passed you a bottle of water – but in his head, you didn’t just thank him.

You stepped in close. Close enough for your perfume to hit. Close enough for the warmth of your skin to brush his, your mouth tilted toward his as if daring him to take what you both knew he wanted.

His jeans were already tight, pulse steady in his throat. He hadn’t touched himself yet, but he knew exactly where this was going, and he wasn’t stopping now.

The zipper rasped open, jeans shoved down just far enough for his fist to wrap around the thick, heavy length of his cock. He was already hard, the flushed head leaking with precum, heat pulsing in his grip. The first stroke had his eyes half-shut, breath hissing out between his teeth.

It was you. Always you.

Jax started slowly – exactly the way he’d take you if you were here, his thumb sweeping over the tip, spreading the slick down the length before curling back into the base. In his mind, you were naked in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your body molding to his skin.

Thighs parted for him, hips shifting just enough to make your breasts sway, soft curves begging for his hands. Your nipples were already tight, peaked from the brush of his chest or the weight of his stare. He’d close his mouth over one, taste your skin, and hear that sharp breath you’d pull when his tongue teased it.

You’d watch him the whole time, lips parted, cheeks flushed, your throat moving as you swallowed back the sounds you didn’t want to give too soon. He’d look up at you while his mouth fastened around your other nipple, blue eyes shadowed under pale lashes, gaze locked to yours as his tongue drew over you again.

His palms would roam over the soft plane of your stomach, down to the curve of your waist and the flare of your hips. He pictured the faint sheen of sweat there, catching the dim light. Lower, a neat strip of hair above your pussy, swollen lips glistening and ready for him – the kind of wet that coated him the second he pushed inside.

You’d kiss him first, lips brushing his, until his hand came up, rough on your jaw, guiding you down so he could take your mouth deeper. He could almost taste the vanilla gloss you wore on your lips, mixed with the faint trace of whatever you’d been drinking, swallowing the warm, throaty sound you let out when his tongue met yours.

His grip around himself tightened, his fist working faster now.

In his head, you shifted, lining him up, the head of his cock pressing into you – hot, wet, perfect. His strokes matched the imagined slide inside you, the sound in the room nearly echoing what he heard in his head.

You sank down inch by inch, that first stretch making both of you gasp – your mouth falling open against his, his groan swallowed in your kiss. You started to move, hips rolling in a steady grind that had him lifting into his fist in the same rhythm, jaw clenched.

Every drag down his length was you squeezing around him, every twist of his wrist the exact way your body would catch on his. You were riding him deep, your hips working in a slow, deliberate grind that let him feel every tight stretch of you. His hands were firm on your hips, guiding you into him, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just above your thighs.

Your breasts moved with the pace, the curve of them catching his eye even as his gaze kept dragging back up to your face. The peaks were flushed and tight, brushing lightly against his chest when you leaned forward, bouncing in a rhythm that matched the way you gripped and gave around him, over and over.

Then you tipped forward, breasts flattening against him as one hand slid into his hair, tangling deep, kissing him like you needed air from his lungs, the urgent press of your lips feeding into the pulse pounding in his ears.

Your hips picked up, grinding harder, faster, the sound of you slick around him filling the space between your ragged breaths. Then you broke, your mouth pressing harder to his, a desperate sound caught between you as you cried into him – not from pain, but from the way the pleasure overtook you, the way your body locked tight around him, trembling as you came.

Jax could feel it in the fantasy, every pulse of you milking him, soaking him, the gush of heat as you creamed all over his cock, desperate to take every inch. Crying out his name over and over.

“Fuck –” The word tore out of him in the room, rough and strained, almost a growl. His hips jerked up to meet his fist – a low, guttural moan spilling from his chest and breaking into shorter, breathless groans with every pump. That vision of you shattering on him, your pretty mouth wet against his, nails digging into his shoulders – ripped his own release out of him.

A hot rush spilling over his fist and striping his stomach in thick ropes. His voice dropped into a deep, needy groan as the first spurt hit, teeth clenched while his cock throbbed in his grip. He kept working his fist, grunting through each pulse until the last of it leaked warm and sticky over his knuckles.

For a long moment, Jax didn’t move, shoulders sinking back into the headboard, breath still labored. The air was thick with smoke and sex, his cigarette in the ashtray burned down to nothing, the taste of whiskey still sharp on his tongue. His hand rested loose on his thigh, the mess cooling on his skin, but his head was far from clear.

It should’ve been enough. It wasn’t.

You burned behind his eyelids – flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, a fucked-out little smile that told him you knew exactly what you’d done. You had to. Why else give him that look in the lot earlier? Why else let your gaze linger on him just long enough to make his cock twitch, never quite pulling away fast enough.

His phone sat on the nightstand. He didn’t have your number, but he could get it with one text or a call – send something reckless, cross a line he couldn’t uncross.

Instead, he lit another cigarette, took a long drag, and let the burn settle low in his chest.

Jax would see you again soon. He always did.

If He Could… Watch You

Jax Teller Masterlist

Ray’s hands are confident when they caress you, moving with the unhurried precision that makes you feel like he’s cataloguing every inch of you in his head. He works from your shoulders down, pressing into tight knots until they melt. His touch is deliberate, slow drags of his fingers along tired muscles, circling his thumbs just deep enough to make you sigh into the pillow.

Every so often, he leans in and lets his mouth trail lazy, open-mouthed kisses over the places his hands have just claimed, the nape of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the sensitive dip of your lower back.

And when he tells you to turn over, it’s not a request. Ray guides you, his knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh as you shift, and the weight of his gaze alone makes your breath catch. The heel of his hand drags down your arm, over the inside of your wrist, where he pauses to press his lips. “Love the way your pulse jumps here,” he purrs, kissing it again before moving on.

Ray’s thoroughness is its own form of seduction; he misses nothing and lingers everywhere. He maps you – the hollow of your throat, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips – each one worshipped by his hands, his mouth, and that maddening patience of his.

By the time his lips move lower, you’re already arching for him, chasing the promise of what you know is coming.

“Breathe,” he commands, the softness in his velvety tone edged with authority. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing you feel is the unhurried press of his mouth – the deep, luxuriant glide of his tongue moving with intent. Every stroke is drawn-out, as though he’s savoring the taste of you, unwilling to rush a single moment of this. His free hand smooths over the inside of your thigh, pulling you deeper into the sensation, while the other settles low on your stomach anchoring you in place.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling there as he works you closer to the edge. His full beard is wet, the coarse warmth of it brushing against your clit with every movement. Ray hums when you moan, a sound he knows he’ll replay in his head for days. “That’s it,” he urges with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Each flick, every slow circle is meant to unravel you, to coax the last bit of tension from your body. He teases with just enough pressure to make your hips lift into his mouth, then eases back to graze you with feather-light laps, letting the anticipation coil in your belly until you’re trembling. The warm sweep of his tongue is only broken by his soft, almost possessive hums; each vibration dragging another gasp from you.

Ray drinks in every sound, every subtle movement, adjusting accordingly with that uncanny precision of his until the tension finally bursts. It’s sharp and all-consuming; heat flooding through you in waves that steal your breath. Your hips jerk against his mouth, your fingers tighten in his hair, but he doesn’t relent. He keeps you pinned, tongue and lips working you through every wave as broken moans and whimpers spill from you, your vision blurring and bursting white behind your eyelids. He only slows when you’re boneless beneath him, mouth still on you, drawing out every aftershock until the final shudder fades.

His jeans are still on the floor, his kutte is draped over the back of the chair in the corner, but he hasn’t reached for either yet. Instead, he’s just… lying there, his body loose and unguarded in a way you’re not used to.

You shift slightly, dragging the sheet higher over your bare skin. “You good?”

His arm lowers just enough for his eyes to meet yours, heavy-lidded and unreadable. You take him in— the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his stubble frames the faint smirk that doesn't fully settle on his face. There's a moment of hesitation before he quietly says, “Yeah.”

That’s it. No explanation, no excuse for why he’s still here.

You nod, settling back against your pillow, pretending this doesn’t feel different. Pretending your heart isn’t skipping at the idea of him staying, even for just a little longer. 

A few minutes pass in silence, the kind that isn’t awkward, just comfortable. Jax exhales deeply, rolling onto his side, propping his head up on his hand to face you. His other hand reaches out, his rough fingers tracing a slow path along your arm.

It’s not entirely sexual, just softer, something neither of you have ever really done before.

You swallow, your gaze locked on his. His stormy blue eyes hold something you can’t quite pinpoint. There’s a flicker of hesitation, something caught between want and uncertainty, like he’s not sure if he should be here, but he doesn’t want to leave either.

“Didn’t take you for the type to linger.” You murmur, chewing on your bottom lip, immediately regretting opening your mouth and potentially ruining the entire moment. 

He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. His fingers keep moving, light and tender. “Guess I don’t feel like leaving yet.”

The admission sits heavy between you. Jax searches your face like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. But you don’t.

“Okay,” you assure him, a lazy smile gracing your lips. 

Eventually, his hand stills, his fingers lingering just a moment before he lays on his back again. His eyes shift toward the ceiling, his expression indiscernible, like he’s sorting through thoughts he’ll never say out loud.

You try to make whatever decision he’s grappling with a little easier by embracing the fact that he hasn’t left yet— something that, to your own surprise, you’re completely okay with.

You mold against him, the soft curves of your body pressing into the hard planes of his, draping the plushness of your thighs over him as you nuzzle closer. His arm wraps around you, his body relaxing against yours— like maybe he needed the silent reassurance that it’s okay, that this is okay. His lips brush over the top of your head, and he pulls you in even closer.

Your fingers trace along the ridges of old scars that are etched into his abdomen. You don’t ask where they came from, already knowing enough about his life to understand that each one carries a reminder of unsaid choices.

Your palm smooths over a particularly deep scar near his ribs, your thumb grazing over the raised skin in slow strokes. His breathing hitches for just a moment before settling, and then you feel it, the silent acceptance— the way he lets you in without any words.

For however long, you just exist together, finding an unexpected comfort in something that neither of you has tried to make sense of. 

Jax is awake before the sun, dim light from the early morning barely filtering through your blinds. The warmth of your body is a quiet comfort, your breath steady and soft against his forearm.

And fuck, the way you’re nestled against him is already doing things to him.

His arm is draped lazily over your waist, fingers resting just above your navel. Your back is pressed flush to his chest— your plump, naked ass tucked right against his morning arousal. You fit beside him so perfectly it almost feels intentional.

His cock twitches at the contact, a slow throb of heat spreading through him. He lets out a breath, his lips brushing against the crook of your neck, and when you don’t stir, he lets himself indulge a little.

Jax presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, breathing you in, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. His hand moves, tracing lazy patterns along your stomach before sliding down, fingers grazing your thick hip, then lower, over the curve of your ass.

You shift slightly, a sleepy little sigh escaping you, but you’re still lost in sleep.

Jax smirks against your skin, tilting his hips just enough to drag his cock along the crease of your ass, teasing himself more than you. His fingers trail between your thighs, skimming your dimpled skin, not quite touching where you need him, but enough to make you stir again.

A soft, breathy sound slips from you, your body instinctively pressing back into him.

His smirk spreads into a wide grin, his breath feathery against your ear, goosebumps rising across your skin. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

You hum, still half-asleep, but the shift in your breathing tells him you’re waking up now. He keeps his touches light, his kisses are unhurried, his fingers caressing between your thighs.

He feels it the moment you start to give in. The way your hips shift, how your thighs part slightly, your body already anticipating him.

Jax groans, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers grazing your slick heat. “Fuck,” he mutters, his cock jolting against you. “Already wet for me?”

Your only answer is another soft sigh, your body pressing closer— inviting him in.

Jax presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with it before sinking in, slowly filling you inch by inch. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he bottoms out.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the sheets as he holds himself there, savoring the way you clench around him, warm and snug.

Jax groans, pulling out just enough before pushing back in. His movements are measured, dragging out the sensation, making you feel every thick inch of him. The slow pace is intoxicating— each deep, unhurried thrust sending waves of pleasure through you, leaving you aching for more.

His arm tightens around your waist, making sure there’s no space between you. His lips never leave your skin, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck. His breath is ragged as he savors the way your body responds to him, how you let him take his time with you.

He keeps it unhurried, his arousal heightened by the consistent moans that slip from you while he moves inside you. His hand slides up, cupping your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sets a lazy rhythm. He feels every reaction— the way your back arches, the way your body tightens around him, the way you crave him.

“You like that?” he rasps against your jaw, his voice still husky from sleep.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, your hand covers his, guiding his grip tighter around your breast, silently urging him on, letting your body tell him exactly how much you do.

Jax curses under his breath, his grip on your breast tightening, giving you exactly what you’re asking for. Then, his hand begins to slide down, his fingertips dragging over the soft swell of your stomach. The heat of his palm leaves a burning trail in its wake as he moves lower. 

When his fingers finally slip between your thighs, you gasp, your breath hitching as he finds your clit. He strokes it in gradual, teasing circles— his touch light and agonizing.

His fingers press down just enough to send an another shot of pleasure rippling through you, heat spreading through your limbs. Your breathing grows uneven, your pussy tightening around him with each thrust, his touch keeping you on the brink. 

Your hips begin to move more frantic, more desperate, grinding against him with an urgency you can’t control, chasing the release that feels just out of reach. You need him to push you over.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he breathes out. “Keep doin’ that, grind on me just like that.”

You whimper, rolling your hips, feeling the delicious friction of his cock hitting that perfect spot. The movement rips a groan from his throat, holding you firm as he thrusts deeper, making sure you feel every drag of his thick, throbbing length.

His fingers press firmly against your clit, his low grunts hot against your neck as the pressure builds, pushing you closer. It's maddening— just enough to keep you on edge, to make your pussy flutter around his cock.

His voice is nothing but a rough whisper against your skin, “Feels so fuckin’ good, huh?”

You can’t speak, can’t form a single coherent thought. All you do is moan, letting him take what he wants while your noises beg him to give you what you need. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his voice filled with need— the command sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers never stop their torturous pace against your clit, until his words give you the final nudge that sends you spiraling.

Your body clenches as your orgasm crashes over you in waves, spreading outward, leaving your entire body trembling. Needy, breathless moans of his name tumble from your lips as your walls convulse around him.

The pleasure is overwhelming, your nails dig into his arm that’s wrapped around you as you fall completely apart with him buried so deep inside you.

Jax groans, low and absolutely wrecked, his hips stuttering as he feels you come undone around him. “Fuck,” he grits out, his grip on you tightening— your body milking him, dragging him toward his own breaking point.

The way you tighten around him, pussy soaked and perfect, has him thrusting into you a little harder, his pace turning more frantic. His breath is ragged against your shoulder, his lips still pressed to your flush skin as he groans your name. His grip on your hip is firm, but as the pleasure builds, his hand moves, searching— reaching for something more.

Without hesitation, you meet him halfway, your fingers sliding into his, intertwining and then gripping him just as tightly. It’s instinctive, but the moment your hands lock together, a spark ignites— new and unfamiliar.

This isn’t just sex.

It’s intimate. Deeper than just the way he’s buried inside you, it’s the way he moves— purposeful and consuming.

His body tenses, muscles tight, sweat glistening on both of you as his release crashes over him. “Fuck, darlin’,” he groans, plunging himself in your sensitive cunt. His cock throbs, pulsing as he spills inside you, warmth spreading as he empties himself with a shuddered exhale.

His thrusts slow, his damp forehead pressing to your shoulder. Your breaths are heavy— bodies still slick and tangled. Even as the aftershocks fade, his grip on your hand doesn’t loosen. 

Jax stays wrapped around you, his body still flush against yours, his breath steadying as the glow of the morning creeps into your bedroom.

You sigh, satisfied, your body still humming from the aftermath of him, the intimacy of it all hanging between you. He presses a lazy, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his stubble scratching delicately against your skin before he rests his head there.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence is comfortable. Easy. Filled with something neither of you is willing to define but both undeniably feel.

Then, with a smirk you can hear in his voice, Jax finally breaks it.

“Ya know,” he muses, shifting just enough to nuzzle his nose against your neck, “if wakin’ up like this is what happens when I stick around, I might have to spend the night more often.”

You scoff a quiet, amused laugh, tilting your head slightly to look at him over your shoulder. “Oh yeah?” you challenge, arching a playful brow. “You sure you can handle that? Wouldn’t want this accidentally turning into a thing.”

Jax grins, his fingers giving the generous curve of your hip a light squeeze. “Shit, babe,” he drawls, pressing another lazy kiss to your skin, “I think we passed that point the second I didn’t sneak out.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips as you settle back against him, blissed out and content, letting the comfort of him sink into you.

Neither of you say it out loud, but the thought lingers between you.

The wedding of Opie and Lyla gave you the perfect excuse to step outside of your usual wardrobe. It wasn’t often you got dressed up, but tonight you were making a statement.

The dress you’d picked hugged every curve just right, the fabric skimming over your full, voluptuous figure. The neckline framed the soft swell of your cleavage, accentuating the plushness of your chest. The fabric clinging to the curve of your waist, highlighting the flare of your hips. Thick thighs, a perfectly rounded butt, and a hemline short enough to show off the best of what you had to offer.

Judging by the lingering glances and appreciative smirks from the men scattered around, so did everyone else, but those in the inner circle knew you were off limits.

And while others might have been watching, one pair of eyes never left you.

Jax.

He was standing across the room from where you were, beer in hand, the easy conversation with his brothers nothing more than background noise as he watched you. His expression was carefully blank, but his gaze was scorching.

You could feel his stare like a brand against your skin, his jaw tight as he tracked your every move. You could feel it following you, growing darker with every laugh or look you exchanged with a man that wasn’t him.

And you weren’t his. Not officially. But you knew that look.

Possessive. Jealous.

So, you decided to have a little fun with him. You knew it was dangerous to tease like this, but you didn’t care. You looked good and felt good and loved the attention.

And he was watching.

And it turned you on.

You’re mid–laugh, the man in front of you saying something that barely registers in your mind when suddenly, Jax is standing close, his body crowding into yours in a way that makes it clear he’s staking his claim.

“Entertaining guests tonight, darlin’?” he mused, his smirk lazy and unmistakably possessive.

The stranger stiffened, his confidence shrinking under the weight of Jax’s casual dominance. “Uhhh,” he stammers, shifting uncomfortably as Jax’s attention never wavers from you. “I didn’t realize –“

He steps in closer, the heat of him curling around you, that damn smirk still playing across his lips.

“You realize now,” Jax cuts him off, staring at you while he speaks, before glaring back in his direction. A silent warning.

The guy mutters some excuse and quickly backs off, disappearing into the crowd.

You arch an eyebrow at Jax, unfazed. “Was that really necessary?”

His hand snakes around your waist, fingers digging into your curvy hip, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You tell me,” He breathes out, dragging his tongue across his lips as his eyes trace every dip and swell of your body, drinking in the way your dress hugs each soft curve.

“Walkin’ around here lookin’ like that,” he continues, voice dripping with seduction, “smilin’ at guys like you don’t know exactly what you’re doin’.”

You tilt your head, your smile indicating something between amusement and challenge. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” you tease innocently. “I’m just having fun.”

Jax was about to turn away when he stopped abruptly. Without a word, his hand slid down your side, tracing the dip of your waist before he cupped a firm handful of your ass.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your body going rigid for a moment as his fingers flexed against your skin. The warmth of his palm burned through the thin material of your dress – or, more accurately, the lack of anything else underneath it.

The realization hit him immediately.

His grip only tightened, just enough to make your pulse stutter, and then came the lightest, sharpest smack. The sound was soft, but it sent a flutter through you, heat rushing to your cheeks – wetness pooling between your thighs.

He leaned in close, his voice a low rasp as he whispered against your ear. “Well, now… that’s interesting.” It sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps blooming in its wake.

You fought the grin threatening to spread across your face as you tilted your head just slightly, giving him a sidelong glance.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “Interesting? I’d say efficient.”

You feel his fingers twitch against you, as if fighting the urge to grip, to claim. His jaw ticks, nostrils subtly flaring as he exhales the breath he was holding. And for a second, you see it – a flicker of something wild and primal in his expression.

He wants to drag you away right now, to show you exactly who you belong to. The way he looked at you was unbearable, all-consuming – like he was already stripping you bare, mapping out exactly how he was going to wreck you.

His smolder faltered for just a moment before he let out a low chuckle, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he devoured you with his stare.

But before he can act, a burst of laughter and excited chatter breaks the moment.

Girls from Diosa descend, a whirlwind of perfume and giggles as they grab your arm. “Come on, girl! Let’s dance!” one of them squeals, tugging you away.

You go willingly, but not before looking back at Jax, catching the way his eyes burn into you. His frustration is barely concealed beneath the cool exterior he’s struggling to maintain.

You pout at him playfully, your teeth grazing your lower lip as a slow, knowing smile tugs at your mouth. With a casual shrug, you throw in a wink for good measure. You know exactly what you’re doing. And so does he.

Teasing Jax like this is a dangerous game, but damn if it isn’t a thrilling one.

That signature smirk of his – cocky and effortless – is planted firmly on his face. He tilts his head slightly, running his tongue over his teeth, tapping two fingers absently against the side of his beer bottle. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t call you back. No, Jax is patient when he wants to be.

But that look he gives you? That easy, infuriating, I’ve already won look?

That’s the warning.

The whiskey spreads through you like fire, warm and intoxicating. The buzz hums in your body, making your limbs loose, your inhibitions slipping further away with each sway of your hips. Laughter bubbles from your lips freely, the excitement of the night pressing against you in the best way.

But what makes the heat burn even deeper is him.

Jax still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. Even as you lose yourself in the music, your body alive with the rhythm, you can feel it – that heavy stare cutting through the space between you. Every time you glance his way, your eyes meet, and the tension pulls tighter.

A song later, the warmth of the dance floor gives way to the cool air by the bar, and you lean against it, skin still tingling, waiting for another drink to keep your buzz going.

And that’s when it happens.

A careless bump – simply hard enough to knock you off balance. Cool liquid splashes down your arm, the sharp scent of bourbon filling the air as it seeps onto the floor.

“Shit,” the guy mutters, shaking off his hand. He’s drunk, unsteady on his feet, but instead of an apology, all you get is an annoyed scoff as he finally looks at you.

His gaze drags down your body before his lip curls into something close to disgust. “Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. “What the hell are you even wearing?”

His meaning is clear. The way his eyes linger – judging and dismissive. It’s not about the dress; it’s about you in it. The implication stings, but not as much as the arrogance dripping from his tone.

You blink, the hazy warmth of whiskey quickly shifting into irritation. “Excuse me?”

He waves a dismissive hand in your face, his words slurred and full of condescension. “I mean, come on. Look at you.”

You let out a sharp breath, your temper flaring, your shoulders lock as fire flashes behind your eyes. But before you can put this asshole in his place, a shadow looms behind you.

You don’t even have to turn to know he’s there. Jax’s presence wrapping around you like a second skin.

The moment he steps beside you, his hand sliding around your waist, the humiliation burns away. His fingers press into your side – firm and possessive.

Your pulse jumps. The air shifts. And suddenly, you’re not exposed – you’re protected. A silent reminder that you are his.

The drunk finally registers Jax’s presence, his bleary eyes flickering up, and whatever drunken bravado he had before? Gone.

Jax tilts his head, his lips curling into something wicked. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to – because the calm way he speaks is even more unsettling.

“She botherin’ you, man?”

His glassy eyes dart between the two of you, panic flickering behind them, unfocused, as he finally starts to grasp his mistake.

“Nah, man,” he stammers, lifting his hands slightly as if that might undo the last thirty seconds. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Jax hums, slow and thoughtful, his fingers twitch against you. He’s still relaxed, still perfectly in control, but there’s a dark edge to him now.

“That right?” he drawls, tilting his head the other way, his grip on you tightening just enough to send a message. “See, that doesn’t really work for me.”

He stiffens, blinking fast like he’s trying to clear the alcohol from his system. “I – I didn’t mean – “

Jax clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah, you keep sayin’ that” he muses, his tone still deceptively casual. “But what I heard? Was you talkin’ shit to her.”

The guy’s mouth opens, but Jax doesn’t give him the chance.

“So, here’s what’s gonna happen,” he continues, his voice calm, like he’s explaining something simple, like he’s giving the guy a choice when you both know he isn’t.

“You’re gonna look her in the eye,” Jax instructs, tilting his head, that easy smirk playing at the edges of his mouth, though there’s nothing amused about the look in his eyes. “And you’re gonna apologize. And you’re gonna mean it.”

Jax’s fingers tap twice against the guy’s sternum before he steps back just enough to let him breathe – but not enough to make him comfortable. His stance stays loose, shoulders relaxed, but there’s an unmistakable charge in the air, the kind that makes it clear he’s still deciding how this is going to go.

The idiot hesitates just a second too long.

Jax’s smirk fades, his jaw shifting as his tongue runs between his lips, slow and calculating. His fingers flex once and the subtle roll of his shoulders speak volumes.

The guy’s eyes widen. “S–sorry,” he blurts, stumbling over the word as he looks at you, his voice uneasy. “I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have said that.”

Jax doesn’t respond right away. He just watches, his blue eyes sharp as they give the guy a once over, sizing him up like a predator watching their prey. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, the corner of Jax’s mouth twitches, his menacing smirk creeping back into place. He tilts his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, his voice taunting.

“There we go,” he says, amusement flickering in his features. “Not so hard, huh?” His hand claps against the stranger’s shoulder, just a little too heavy, before he steps back fully, like he’s already lost interest.

The guy nods frantically, desperate to get out of the situation. “Yeah, yeah, my bad, dude. Won’t happen again.”

Jax doesn’t say anything else, just gives the slightest nod over the man’s right shoulder.

That’s all it takes.

Before he can even process what’s happening, Chibs and Happy are already in motion, leading him away. No fuss, no disruption – a quiet removal, seamless enough that no one at the reception even notices.

Your lips twitch, heat pooling low in your belly as you watch Jax handle it with effortless dominance. The way control rolls off him in waves makes your mouth water with want. Arousal spreads through you like wildfire, licking at your skin, making you hyperaware of every inch of space between you and Jax – space you desperately want to erase.

He doesn’t move for a second. His hand lingers on you – claiming and unmistakable. His fingers tighten at your waist, and then he leans in, his lips brushing just below your ear before nipping at the sensitive skin. “Can’t leave you alone for a second without you gettin’ into trouble, huh?”

His voice is velvet wrapped danger, smooth and lazy. It sends a thrill straight through you.

You turn in his grasp, looking up at him through your lashes, a perfect mix of innocence and desire in your eyes. The whiskey hums through your veins, but it’s not that. It’s him.

The way he stepped in like he owned you, like there was never any doubt.

Your thighs press together in search of relief, pussy fluttering. A deep ache blooming in your belly, needy for him.

Slow and sinuous you lift your arm, winding it around his neck as you rise on your toes. A delicate, teasing kiss lands against his cheek, his beard rough against your lips. Your mouth hovers just over his ear as you whisper, “Call me your damsel in distress.”

Jax exhales sharply through his nose, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. His fingers flex tighter against you, digging in to keep himself steady.

“You want me to save you, darlin’?” His tone is playful, but you hear it – that slow-burning restraint, the control that’s this close to slipping.

You don’t miss a beat. You want him so bad.

“No. I’d rather you fuck me.”

The shift is instant.

Jax stills, a sharp breath hisses between his teeth. His smirk fades – not gone, just different now. Darker. Hungrier.

And then he’s moving – fast. His grip is firm as he grabs your wrist and starts leading you away. Not rough, but absolute. No hesitation.

Just pure, raw intent.

The reception is still buzzing around you, the music, and the laughter – but it all fades as Jax weaves through the outskirts of the crowd, guiding you toward the dimly lit edge of the property. Past the glow of string lights, past the open spaces where people might see.

Then, suddenly, you’re against a wall.

The wood of the garden shed scratches into your back, but you barely register it because Jax is right there, crowding into you – his knee sliding between your thighs, pressing against you just enough to make you gasp.

His hands roam – one gripping your ass, the other curling around your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. In your peripheral, you catch a glint of his SONS ring, a reminder of who he is and what he’s capable of.

His breath is hot when he leans in, laced with beer and nicotine, dizzying. His chest rises and falls faster than usual, his grip tightening as he takes in the way you tremble beneath him. Like he feels it too – the arousal and the hunger.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls. His right hand remains on your jaw, keeping your lust blown eyes fixated on him. His other hand gripped tighter against your plush thigh, pressing into the fabric of your dress like he’s debating whether to rip it or slide it up.

You smile slyly at him, still buzzing, still feeling yourself from the whiskey and the way he claimed you before. “A little bit,” you admit, your voice dripping with daring.

Jax lets out a slow, measured breath through his nose, his fingers sliding lower, skimming the bare skin of your plump thigh.

“You’ve been a tease all night,” he rasps, his lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you, knowing what’s not under this dress?” His fingers pressing into you just a little more firmly.

You swallow hard, pulse racing. Your voice is barely a whisper as you tilt your chin up. “And what are you going to do about it?”

His last shred of restraint snapped, and his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His hands were everywhere – cupping your face, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed you firmly against the wall.

“Mine,” he growled against your mouth, the word rough and possessive as his hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your ass, and lifting you slightly so you could feel how hard he was for you.

You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he buried his face in your neck – lips, teeth, and tongue setting your skin on fire.

"Jax," you choked out, your head falling back against the wall as his mouth traveled lower – sucking, biting, bruising – until your knees threatened to buckle.

But your body had a mind of its own, pressing into him – desperate, aching – your pussy throbbing against the hard length of him, needing more.

“You like this, don’t you?” he hissed as he trailed kisses back up to your neck. “Knowing I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

A wicked smirk tugged at your lips, your nails raking lightly down his kutte. “I think you love it,” you taunted. “Knowing I’m just as fucked up over you.”

Jax lets out a low grunt while his hand slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit, grazing it teasingly, making you jolt against him.

“Shiiiit,” he draws out, his forehead pressing to yours as he felt just how wet you were for him. “You’re drippin’ for me, sweetheart.”

Before you could retort, Jax yanked you forward slightly, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. His hands moved, one splayed against your hip, the other slipping back between your thighs – teasing, torturing.

His lips found the nape of your neck, sucking and biting as he pushed your dress up, the fabric gathering around your waist, exposing you completely to him. You’re utterly intoxicated – by his touch, his scent, the unrestrained intensity radiating off him.

You hear the hurried clink of his belt, the rasp of the zipper – and then his finger slides into you – curling just right, pulling a sharp cry from your lips as your legs spread wider on instinct.

Jax grins against your cheek, clearly pleased with himself. “Good girl,” he praises, voice dripping with approval.

Then he pushes another finger inside, his pace steady – driving you higher and higher while his other hand worked himself free.

Your lips parted, a deep moan escaping as you pressed back against him, rolling your hips to feel more of his fingers in your aching cunt. “I’ve been thinking about your cock fucking me all night.” You managed to stutter out as his fingers continued their assault inside you.

“Fuck,” he groaned out, his thumb gliding against your sensitive clit.

You shuddered, arching into his touch as his fingers teased you, spreading your arousal. A needy whine escaped your lips when he pulled away – and a low, cocky grunt rumbled from his chest at you.

But he didn’t linger. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you into position as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, rubbing and teasing, driving you to the edge of desperation.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded as he held himself there, teasing – poised to take you.

“I want you, Jax. Please.” you breathed, your fingers curling against the wall as you pushed back against him.

With one sharp thrust, he filled you, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, your hands bracing against the wall as he buried himself inside you, his grip on you tight enough to leave marks.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he paused, letting you adjust to him. “You feel so fucking good.”

You could barely form words, your body quivering as you clenched around him, your breath coming in shallow pants. “Fuck, Jax! Please.” you begged again, your voice pleading.

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

He pulled back slowly, the drag of him torturously slow, before slamming back into you. The force of it sent a shockwave through your body, and you moaned loudly, your head falling forward as he set a punishing rhythm.

“Look at you,” he praised, his hand sliding up your side, cupping your breast, the other keeping you steady as he rutted into you. “Taking me so fucking well.”

The mixture of pleasure and the exhilaration of being semi-public had you spiraling quickly, the sounds of your pleas mingling with the faint noise of the party in the background. You were his – and the way he moved, the way he filled you so completely, left no room for doubt.

“Mine,” he growled into your neck, low and possessive.

And in that moment, you knew it was true.

The force of Jax's movements had you seeing stars, your body trembling against the shed as he plunged into you relentlessly. Each motion sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, building tighter until you were barely clinging to sanity.

“Jax,” you mewled, his name spilling from your lips in gasps, your breath catching with every snap of his hips.

Your nails scraped against the surface of the wall as you fought against your impending climax. “I’m close,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the pressure inside you reached its peak.

He didn’t slow. If anything, your words only egged him on, his pace quickening as he took you, each movement punctuated by his throaty grunts.

His hand snaked up, wrapping gently but firmly around your throat, tipping your head back so his lips could brush against you. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched, the pressure of his hand on your throat sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you. His movements becoming more desperate and commanding. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed into the night, mixing with your breathless moans and his rough groans.

When you didn’t respond fast enough, he pulled back slightly, just enough to swat at your exposed bottom with his free hand, the sharp sting sending another rush of heat through you.

“Be a good girl,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The combination of his words, his touch, and the unrelenting pleasure coursing through you was too much. You were helpless against his assault as you cried out, “I’m yours, Jax! I’m yours!”

His growl was pure satisfaction, his grip tightening slightly on your throat as he drove into you harder, chasing his own release.

It sent you hurtling over the edge, your body clenching around him as your climax crashed through you, leaving you gasping and shaking in his arms. The intensity of it stole your breath, your cries muffled as his hand slid to cup your jaw, tilting your head back to capture your lips in a messy kiss.

The way you fell apart around him was enough to push him to his own orgasm. With a few more hard, deep strokes – a low, raw groan tore from his chest as he came. His body tensed against yours, his grip unyielding as he spilled into you, marking you in every way he could.

For just a moment, the world was silent except for the sound of your mingled breaths, the faint hum of the party in the distance, a reminder of just how exposed you were.

Jax pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered, “Fuck, darlin’. You drive me insane.”

You managed a weak laugh, your body still trembling as you leaned back against him, letting his arms hold you steady. “You love it,” you purred in full confidence.

Jax held you, his hands resting gently on your hips as you both caught your breath. His lips brushed the side of your neck in a way that sent a lingering heat down your spine, the earlier intensity now softened into something more intimate.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough, but laced with genuine care.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder with a small, breathless smile. “More than okay.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up in a grin, and he brushed a light kiss to your shoulder before pulling back just enough to straighten your dress. His fingers lingered on the fabric, smoothing it down over your round hips and curvy ass with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

He backed up, tucking himself back into his pants, fingers working the button and fastening his belt. When you spun around to face him, your eyes met his lazy smile, the night reflected in the spark of his blue eyes.

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaning in to steal a kiss that left you breathless all over again. “In case I didn’t mention it earlier, you look fucking sexy tonight, babe,” he husked, finishing his words with a playful nip to your lips.

You giggled softly, pulling away to adjust the sleeve of your dress and run your fingers through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix it. “I’m gonna pull myself together before I head back. You should go first.”

Jax’s expression turned wicked, his lips twitching with amusement as he gripped you, pulling you flush against him. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing playfully as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “I can’t wait to taste me in you later,” he rasped, the gravelly edge of his tone igniting another pulse of heat in your core, your breath hitching at the sheer filth of it.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with a wide-eyed look before your own lips curled into a teasing grin. You bit your lip, trying to regain your composure as you smoothed down your dress one last time. “I think I’ve had enough of that party for one night. Meet me at my place in thirty minutes?”

His gaze softened, a hint of warmth dancing in his eyes as he lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “I’ll be there,” he promised, his tone intimate.

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair before adjusting the collar of his kutte, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension. There was a confident swagger in his movements, casual and unhurried as he prepared to head back to the party, but the hunger in his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer, before giving you a wink.

You slipped away toward the bathrooms, your pulse still racing and your body buzzing from everything that had just happened. The anticipation of what was still to come was almost too much to handle, but you managed to keep your cool as you disappeared around the corner.

You knew Jax was watching until you were out of sight, a faint hint of mischief still resting on his lips as he adjusted his kutte one last time before heading back to say his goodbyes.

Thirty minutes couldn’t come fast enough.