Page 57 of Puck Tease
The calculation was happening behind his eyes, a frantic scramble of numbers and consequences. The muscles in his jaw worked, his throat bobbed. He realized I was right. The leverage, the weapon, was useless. The video held no power if I no longer cared about the fallout.
He was losing.
"You're not leaving," he said, his voice different. The command was still there, a thin thread, but the arrogance had shredded, replaced by a dark, frantic edge. A tremor ran through the words.
"I am."
I tried to push past him, my shoulder bumping against his unyielding bulk.
Jax dropped the phone. It hit the carpet with a soft thud, a hollow sound in the sudden silence.
He grabbed me.
Not my arm, not my shoulder. Both arms wrapped around my waist, a steel band. He tackled me, the sudden force sweeping my legs out from under me.
We hit the bed hard. The mattress groaned in protest, springs shrieking. My duffel bag flew from my hand, its contents spilling onto the floor – jeans, t-shirts, boxers scattered like fallen leaves.
"Get off me!" I yelled, thrashing, my limbs flailing against his weight.
"No!" His voice was ragged, desperate.
He pinned me down, a crushing weight. He was heavier, stronger, a solid wall of muscle. He straddled my hips, his thighs locking my legs to the mattress. He caught my wrists, pinning them above my head, his fingers tight, unyielding.
"You don't get to leave," he breathed, his face inches from mine, his pupils blown wide, eclipsing the blue, making his eyes almost black. He looked deranged, a wild, untamed animal. "You belong here."
"I'm not your toy anymore, Jax. The game is over." My voice was hoarse.
"It's not a game!"
He kissed me.
It wasn't like the other kisses. Not the slow, deliberate claiming for an audience. This was violent. Desperate. He mashed his mouth against mine, teeth clashing, a bruising, consuming hunger.
I turned my head sharply, breaking the contact, gasping for air.
"Stop!"
"Why?" he panted against my neck, his breath hot, ragged. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you hate me!" I screamed, the words tearing from my throat, hot tears pricking at my eyes. "Because you treat me like trash!"
Jax froze. He pulled back, his head lifting, looking down at me. His pupils were still wide, black pools reflecting my desperate face.
"I don't hate you," he whispered, the admission raw, broken.
"You blackmail me. You humiliate me. You use me."
"Ineedyou."
The words just sat there, thick and ugly, clogging the room.
"I need you," he repeated, the confession tearing out of him, ragged and torn. "I can't sleep unless I can hear you breathing. I can't play unless I know you're watching. If you leave... if you leave, I'll fall apart."
He released my wrists. His hands, trembling, cupped my face, his thumbs brushing away the first wet tracks of tears.
"Don't go. Please. Don't go."
I stared up at him, the unfamiliar vulnerability in his eyes a punch to the gut. This wasn't the Captain. This wasn't the bully. This was a terrified boy, his carefully constructed walls crumbling, realizing he’d pushed the only thing he cared about too far.
