It was some light little summer thing, made for the heat, skimming your thighs as you stood beside the other girls with one hip tipped to the side. You were only half-listening to whatever they were talking about, a popsicle melting slowly in your hand beneath the afternoon glare.

The lot stayed busy, so no one noticed how often he kept looking at you.

Mechanics moved in and out of the garage. A prospect wrestled boxes across the pavement. Bobby shouted some smartass remark from the other side of the yard and got a burst of laughter for it, giving Jax enough cover to keep watching without anyone realizing you had his full attention.

You glanced over, because of course you fucking did.

The moment his eyes caught yours, the whole lot seemed to blur around him. A glossy line of syrup slid toward your fingers, your tongue catching it before it could make a mess, eyes still locked on him. The sight went straight to his cock—so sudden it made his stomach tighten and his jaw work.

Your attention dropped back to the cold treat, completely unaware that he was losing his goddamn mind over something so stupid.

Jax watched your lips wrap around it like it meant nothing, drawing it back in with a slow pull. There shouldn’t have been anything seductive about it.

You stayed half-turned toward the conversation, talking and laughing, barely sparing him another look.

By evening, Jax had been hard off and on for hours, unable to stop thinking about the curve of your mouth. He buried himself in club business, smoke, and whiskey, but you kept slipping through anyway.

All he wanted was to get you out of his head for one fucking minute. Find somebody. Get off. Think of anyone else.

He downed the last of his Jack and pushed away from the bar, where a girl was already waiting for a reason to follow. He gave her one, because she was there, and you were the thing he wasn’t allowed to want.

Behind a closed door with the low noise of the clubhouse bleeding through the walls, she was on her knees between his legs, reaching for him with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who had chosen her. She knew what it meant to be picked by Jax Teller.

Her hand closed around his cock, firm and practiced, stroking him from base to tip, her thumb smearing the bead of precum gathered at the head.

Jax braced himself against the counter behind him, shoulders tight, trying like hell to stay in the room.

He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to picture anything.

But as soon as her mouth closed around him, it was over.

One blink, and it was you kneeling there, looking up at him with the same soft, half-distracted expression that had been driving him insane since earlier. You looked completely unaware of what you’d done to him, no idea how close he’d come to losing his shit over your mouth wrapped around a fucking popsicle.

Your lips stretched around him, slow and warm, taking him in without rushing, tongue following the underside of his cock while you stroked what you couldn’t fit until his fingers curled against the counter.

His hips pressed forward, chasing the heat of your mouth while you took him deeper, a soft rush of air brushing over his skin. The tight, wet pressure of you around him sent pleasure rolling low through his body, a rough sound leaving him as he tried not to lose himself in the thought of being buried in your mouth like this.

“Jesus...” The word scraped out of him.

She heard encouragement in it and gave him more, her grip tightening as her mouth started moving with an eagerness that fractured the fantasy.

It was wrong immediately.

Jax slid his fingers into her hair, ringed knuckles tangling there until she slowed down.

“Easy,” he muttered.

She lifted her head, lips slick and breath uneven, waiting for direction.

In that brief moment, he saw her clearly. She had none of the pull you had, the dangerous way every innocent thing turned obscene in his head. None of the unconscious sweetness that made everything you did feel intimate, even when it wasn’t meant for him.

His mouth twisted, more at himself than her, but he didn’t let himself sit with the disappointment for long. He guided her lower, chasing the fantasy again even as he hated how badly he needed it.

Behind closed eyes, your thumb moved over his sensitive head before your tongue followed, tasting him with an attention that felt almost cruel. You sank farther, taking every inch you could.

Your eyes started to water, lashes fluttering, but you didn’t stop, easing past the strain of it until he felt that full, choking pull around him, enough to make his whole body lock up.

“Fuck… baby…”

The affection slipped out before he could stop it, your name sitting dangerously close behind it, but he bit it back, teeth clenched.

You pulled away only to catch a breath, lips dragging over his length before your tongue flicked against the tip, taking him again.

Your palm slid up his stomach, over the lean line of him and the slight softness low on his belly, fingers pressing in as his body tightened beneath your touch, holding him in place like you wanted him right where he was.

It wasn’t just the way you swallowed his cock. It was the control in it, the thought of you learning every sound he made and using each one against him, dragging it out because you liked feeling him come apart under that kind of attention.

His hand fisted in the other girl’s hair, chest hitching as his hips jerked forward. He chased it, needing it to be you so badly he almost said it out loud.

“Yeah… just like—”

He caught himself with a jolt, a hard blink cutting through the fantasy.

Just like you.

The thought settled ugly in his chest. She was doing exactly what he wanted, but none of it belonged to her—not since he closed his eyes.

Not her. Not this.

Your name burned at the back of his throat, ready to give him away completely, but he forced it down hard enough to hurt.

The pressure built fast after that, coiling low in his stomach until his breath started catching in short, uneven pulls. His body went rigid, one helpless thrust taking him over as a broken “fuck” tore out of him, the release hitting messy and overwhelming, dragging through him in brutal waves—still nowhere near enough.

You kept him buried there through all of it, mouth sealed around him as he came hot against your tongue. The hum that followed felt filthy, like you liked the taste of him, and the little vibration ripped a final wrecked sound out of him.

For a few seconds, he let himself have it.

Your mouth. Your eyes. The feel of you holding him there.

The lie of having you.

But when he finally steadied, the fantasy went with it. She lifted her head, lips swollen and flushed, looking up at him like she expected praise.

The comedown was immediate.

She wasn’t you.

Just someone else kneeling at his feet while he stood there half-wrecked over a woman who hadn’t touched him at all.

The hallway opened into the main room, music and laughter washing over him as soon as he stepped out. Jax dragged his palm down his face, trying to pull himself back together, shoving you somewhere deep enough that nobody could see what you were doing to him. But when it fell away, his eyes went straight to you anyway.

You were watching him.

The girl came out behind him, close enough that no explanation was needed. Her hair was mussed, mascara smudged beneath her eye as she smoothed down the front of her dress, too late to make any of it look discreet.

Your expression barely changed, and somehow that was worse. You didn’t glare at him or look hurt, but your eyes moved to the croweater at his shoulder, taking in her appearance and the way she hovered like she suddenly mattered.

A pinch pulled between your brows, too small for anyone else to notice, but enough for Jax. Not jealousy. Nothing that simple. Nothing you had any right to even show.

Before it could turn into anything, you gave your attention back to the room, already pretending what you’d seen didn’t matter.

Like you remembered you weren’t his.

He stood there with his tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek, bitterness settling beneath his ribs. After all that, he’d gotten exactly what he’d gone looking for, but it hadn’t helped worth a damn.

Because he remembered too.