by Lane Hart
Chest still heaving, Jax stands up and comes around the bed to my side. He rubs his thumb gently over my sore cheek and then his fingertips trace down along the sides of my neck. "Are you okay?" he asks, his dark eyes still sizzling like hot lava after his eruption. I nod, and he pulls me against him, his arms going comfortingly around me. I let myself melt into his warmth for just one peaceful second.
"Camera. Record now," I say softly against his chest. Reaching into his pocket, Jax pulls his phone out with one hand and brings up the video application, hitting record. Keeping the phone out of sight he holds it against his leg.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jude asks with a kick to Elliot, who's still on the floor. "Were you trying to fucking kill her?"
Elliot sits up, his face bloody, glaring daggers at me or Jax, maybe both. "You're fucking done, Page! I'm reporting your ass to the Bar, and you'll never practice again."
"You do what you think you need to do," I say calmly for the recording. "And I'll do what I need to do, get a warrant against you for attempted murder. It'll be really hard for you to win elections from prison."
"No one will believe you."
"Look at her fucking neck!" Jax yells at him. "Your handprints are still on it!"
"I'll tell the police it was you. That you choked her, and she lied and blamed it on me because she was fucking you!"
"Jude and I just had to pull you off of her because she was passing the fuck out. It'll be the three of us against you."
"I've got better lawyers," Elliot replies, swiping a hand over his oozing lip and staring down at the blood. "She's fucking you, and he's your brother, both worthless witnesses."
"What if we hadn't been next door and heard Page scream for help? What if I didn't have a key to get in? Would you have killed her, then blamed that shit on me, too?"
"Probably," Elliot finally admits.
"Well, then it's a good thing we've got your confession recorded," I tell him.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he snarls.
"Say cheese motherfucker, you're on candid camera," Jax tells him, showing him the phone. "And damn, I fucked your face up. If you ever lay a hand on her again you won't walk away. They'll have to carry your ass off on an ambulance, probably to the morgue."
"Did you just threaten me on video?"
"Yeah I did! You could've killed her, you dumb son of a bitch. If you're not smart enough to learn from this lesson then the next time you'll pay for it. Now get the fuck out of this room, and if you say one goddamn word to anyone about her or me, this video goes live for all your constituents to see."
Pulling himself up on the foot of the bed, Elliot finally gets to his feet, cupping a hand over his still bleeding nose. "This isn't over," he warns before finally leaving.
"Jesus Christ!" Jude exclaims, coming over to examine me closer. "This is what fucking being strangled looks like right after it happens." He and Jax both take pictures of my neck with their phones while it's fresh.
"You alright?" Jude asks. "You sure you don't want to call the police?" I nod, even though my eyes begin to water. The reality of the situation is finally starting to hit me. "I'll head on out. Let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says. I nod again.
After he's gone, Jax stretches out on the bed and pulls me against his chest. I can't hold it in any longer. My tears turn into messy, embarrassing sobs on the front of his shirt, but Jax doesn't comment, he just tries to comfort me.
Everything is going to hell, all because I crossed a line I shouldn't have.
"Shhh. It's okay," Jax says against my hair. "That was some seriously scary shit. All I keep thinking about is that Jude and I were about to leave. If we hadn't…if he'd…God, I hate that bastard so much."
I nod my agreement.
"Look, he's not going to say anything, you know that, right?"
"Yes. But someone will," I tell him "Eventually. And we won't have blackmail on them."
"Then we'll be careful," he assures me.
I shake my head. "It's too dangerous."
Jax loosens his grip to pull back. "What are you saying?"
"Can we just stay here and hideout until my neck heals? I don't want anyone seeing it and accusing you of doing this. Then we can go home, but this stops until after your trial."
"I want more than that, but I get it. If that's what you want then…okay. But I'm going to try and change your mind over the next few days," he says with a smile.
Chapter Eleven
Jax
Page is sitting at her desk across from me in her office, asking me a million questions. They're basic questions we know the prosecutor will likely ask me at trial, and Page wants to work on my "attitude."
"How many women have you slept with?"
"Huh?" I ask, lost in thought remembering how damn good it was to sleep with the woman in front of me. "He can ask me that?"
"Maybe. I'd like to know for curiosity's sake," she says with a shrug and a blush.
"A lot. More than a lot. Three or four a week, for say ten or eleven years. You're good at math, what's that come out to?" I ask with a smirk.
"One thousand, five hundred and sixty on the low end and two thousand, two-hundred and eighty-eight high end," she mutters.
"Okay, so between one and two thousand."
"You're joking right?" she asks, her fingers pausing over the keys on her laptop.
"I don’t keep a running tally."
"God, Jax! That's...that's disgusting!"
"Hey, I didn't hear you complaining Miss Two Thousand, Two-Hundred and Eighty-Nine, would it be?"
"Definitely regretting that slip in my judgment," she mutters under her breath.
"Hey!" I scoff.
It's been weeks since I last woke up with Page in my arms, both of us naked, going at it before our eyes ever open, more times than we could count. It had been the best few days of my life, being able to get to know Page and just be together. Her dad had called and left a few messages, which I could tell upset her. So one afternoon while Page was in the shower I'd listened to the messages. Her dad bitched about her breaking up with Elliot and how she needed to make amends with him. I called Miles Davenport back on my phone and informed him that the asshole almost killed Page and then sent him the video as proof. Page still hasn't figured out why her father is suddenly sweeter than honey to her, even though he has to know what the two of us are up to and how it could end Page's career.
So yeah, I'd been on top of the world sharing every second with an incredibly gorgeous woman. A woman I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with, something I didn't think was even possible. But then we had to return to the real world where attorneys and their clients can't fuck. That brief taste of heaven was just enough to drive me insane, desperate to have it again.
"If the prosecutor asks, give a vague answer like, 'a couple a month for the past few years.' Nothing more specific," Page says, bringing me back to our trial prep.
"Got it," I reply with a wink. "So, princess, how many guys have you been with?"
"Just four," Page says to me on an exhale.
"And those four include the jackass senator and me?" I ask in surprise.
"Uh-huh."
"Wow." I laugh.
"Hey, I'm proud of the fact that I'm not a whore."
"Unlike me?" I offer.
"You're not really a whore since you don't get paid. So you're more like a manslut."
"Oh, well, thank you for that distinction, princess."
"Just trying to be accurate. So, moving on, tell me about your childhood."
"Why do you need to know about that shit?" I snap. I realize I've probably been more caustic than necessary when Page actually flinches in her seat. The topic is just not one that's up for discussion.
"The prosecutor will want to know if you got into any trouble when you were a juvenile. Any sort of sexual act or violence in your youth might be deemed relevant. I don't want any surprises."
"I can assure you that my juvie recor
d consists only of assaults. On other boys."
"Why'd you get into fights with other boys?" she asks with a tilt of her head.
"Because they said shit that pissed me off."
"What'd they say?"
"That’s none of your fucking business!" I snarl.
"What the heck, Jax? You snap like that in the courtroom, and you're going to end up behind bars!" Page exclaims, standing up from her desk and pointing to the door. "Get out of my office, and don't come back until you can go more than five minutes without being a complete jerk!"
I stand up and start for the exit, telling her over my shoulder, "Then you probably won't ever see me again!"
I know I'm more cranky than usual. It's been two weeks since I laid a finger on Page, after getting to fuck her rocking body seven ways to Sunday for five long days in Atlantic City. The withdrawals are only getting worse instead of better. There's only one other way to burn off the horniness - hit the gym and hit it hard.
After I change into a pair of shorts, I go find Jude. He's always at the gym.
"Cage?" I ask when I find him hitting a long bag.
"Hell yes," he answers, rolling his shoulders back. Other than the heavyweights, he's the only one that will go at it with me. Pussies.
Hands wrapped up, gloved and ready, Coach Briggs is all set to ref for us. Basically, he just tells us what we suck at. "Alright, I want a good, clean fight. Touch gloves, then on my signal."
We bump gloved fists and then it's on like Donkey Kong. My baby brother is a fast son of a bitch, so I have to swing twice as many times as I do with other guys to actually hit him. Fortunately for me, if you swing enough times you'll finally land one. Sometimes one is all it takes. Not today. Jude takes the body shot in stride. He lands a few painful leg kicks on me since he's always been better at those, but eventually I sweep his feet out from under him. Once I mount him, he doesn't have anywhere to go, and since I outweigh him, that means he's left taking a face full of my fists, one right after the other. He tries to block them for a while, but when he can't hold his gloves up in front of his face any longer, I call it quits.
"You're done," I tell him through the mouth guard.
"Bring it!" he responds. He always was a glutton for punishment.
"I would have called it anyways, Jude. You weren't protecting yourself worth a shit," Coach tells him. “You should've tried to get Jax off his feet from the get-go."
I stand up, leaving Jude laid out on the canvas.
"Who's next?" I yell to the other boys in the gym.
"You and Page have a fight?" Jude asks once his mouth is free of plastic.
"No."
"Yeah you did. What'd you do this time?" he asks, still flat on his back.
I yank my mouthpiece out to respond. "I may or may not have yelled at her."
"And let me guess, she didn't deserve it?"
"No, of course not. Then she kicked me out of her office. Told me not to come back until I can go five minutes without being a jerk."
"I guess you'll never see her again." He laughs.
"That's what I told her."
"How's the whole, not fucking her until after the trial thing going?" he asks.
"Absolutely awesome."
"Sounds like it."
"Not that you'd know anything about that, right? Still carrying your V-card, little bro?"
Jude finally gets to his feet but still looks worn the fuck down with his shoulders slumped in defeat. He has to curl his gloved fingers around a hole in the cage just to keep himself upright. I've told the boy he spends way too much time in this damn gym. He needs to get a life outside of this place.
"You know, maybe if you didn't make everything about fucking, Page might tolerate you a little more."
"Actually, if I didn't make everything about fucking, the woman wouldn't have anything to do with me. Getting her all worked up is the only way she tolerates me."
"Then maybe she needs some 'working up' to get through the next few weeks with your dumb ass," Jude remarks. "That or a million dollars might be enough compensation for having to put up with you."
"We can't go out in public," I remind him.
"Oh, that's right," he says with a face-palm to his own forehead. "Because out in public is where everyone goes to fuck. Go to her place, you dipshit."
That's a hell of an idea. If I show up at her place, will she slam the door in my face or let me fuck her? She'd said not to come back to the office unless I wasn't a jerk, but she didn't mention staying away from her apartment. And if I stopped by with flowers or some shit asking her to forgive me, hopefully, she'd get over being pissed off. Then I have another idea.
"There is this firefighter fantasy she told me about while we were in Atlantic City that I could play on if Jack will let me borrow one of their uniforms."
"TMI!" Jude yells, covering his ears. "Shit, now I need to go home. Bastard," he says, shoulders hunched, moping off to the locker room.
Once I put in a call to my buddy Jack, I swing by the firehouse before heading home to shower and suit up. The damn yellow jacket, pants, and black rubber boots are heavy as fuck. I could wear this mess instead of weights to workout at the gym.
After I get off the elevator on Page's floor, I put on the helmet and unzipped the big yellow jacket, revealing my bare chest and stomach covered only by the thick black suspenders. Taking a deep breath that she won't slam the door in my face, I knock. It feels like forever before the door finally opens. Page's mouth is wide ass open as she looks me up and down, her cheeks reaching second-degree burn status.
"Jax...what the...Oh. My. God," she stutters. Finally closing her mouth, she glances over her shoulder into the apartment, then back at me. "Um, now is not a good time," she tells me softly, almost a whisper.
"There's someone else in your apartment?" I ask with barely contained rage.
"Yes-"
"What the fuck, Page? It better not be the fucking Senator or so help me, God, I will go get an ax and chop off his-"
"Page? Who's at the door?" a feminine voice asks from inside, to which Page slams the door in my face.
Well damn, that hadn't turned out as I expected.
Shaking my head before hanging it in defeat, I about face to the elevator. I hear a scuffle in Page's apartment, then the door is yanked open again. When I turn around, a forty-something woman is sticking her perfectly coiffed blonde head out the door. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
"Are you here to see Page?" she asks.
"No," Page quickly responds from the other side. "He had the wrong apartment." Her denial stings.
"But he looks familiar. Oh, I know! Are you that Jackson Malone fellow?" she asks, stepping out into the hall to reveal a cream colored, trendy skirt suit that probably cost more than my motorcycle.
"Yes, ma'am, I am," I respond.
"Kill me now," Page mutters.
The woman comes down the hall, examining me with one raised eyebrow. "Well, don't be shy. Come say hello, Mr. Malone. I'm Page's mother, Cindy Davenport."
Oh shit. I could make a run for the elevator, which I'll have to stand and wait for. I could hit the steps, or I could turn around and go back.
"Come on, dear. We haven't got all night."
Oh fuck a duck, this can't be happening.
Shoulders slumping in embarrassment I walk back to the apartment.
"Oh my," her mother says. "Aren't you a treat?"
"Mom!" Page exclaims. "Weren't you heading out?"
"But I haven't had a chance to talk to Mr. Malone. How are you, dear? Such dreadful lies causing you all this trouble."
"I'm doing pretty well, Mrs. Davenport."
"Mom, I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" Page says, gently pushing her mother down the hall, past me, and toward the elevators.
"Should I go, too?" I ask, still pissed that she didn't want me to meet her mother. Is she ashamed of me, or does she just not want anyone else to know about us for her license's sake? It's not like her own mother woul
d report her to the Bar.
"No. You can stay. We have those cross-examination questions to practice and all," Page tells me, and the majority of my anger fades away.
"Good to see you so hard at work after hours on his case, dear," her mom says with a smile before the elevator thankfully whisks her away.
Page closes her eyes, rubbing a hand over her face and sighing.
"Bad timing?" I ask. Nothing kills arousal like mothers.
Squaring her shoulders, Page seems to collect herself and her confidence when she walks towards me. She surprises the shit out of me when she actually jumps on me, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. My reflexes are quick, so I grab her ass to hold her up at the same time our lips meet, hot and hungry.
Easily carrying her tall, lean weight, I make it inside her apartment and shut the door with my foot before clothes start flying. The fireman's hat and jacket are first, then Page's shirt and bra. The rest are all below the belt and will require us separating.
"Bed?" I ask against her lips.
"Anywhere," she responds, sounding like she's ready to throw down right where we're standing.
"But I didn't even get to use the line I had ready for when you opened the door," I tell her when I lay her down on a bed I assume is in her room.
"Doesn't matter," she says, her hands trying to figure out how to get my fireman pants off.
"So you don't want to hear about how I've got a long ladder to use to save your pussy," I ask.
"No." She laughs. "That's horrible."
"You're so hot I need to cool you down with my hose?"
"Stop talking and get naked fireman," she responds. "I'm in desperate need of your…hose, even if it has been in thousands of fire crotches."
"Hey!" I scoff, but then her hand finds its way into my pants, fisting my hard shaft. I have those heavy pants off a second later, retrieving the condom in the pocket before tossing them along with her shorts and panties out of our way.
I flip Page over like a pancake to take her from behind. After tearing the condom wrapper with my teeth I start multitasking, rolling the condom down with one hand while the other estimates her readiness. Hot damn, she's dripping wet, and she immediately starts squeezing the fuck out of my fingers. I barely touched her, and she came for me.
