by Fawkes, Sara
He raked his hand through his hair and sighed. “I was an ass.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I don’t do this.” He swallowed and gripped the railing. “I don’t usually get involved. I move so
frequently, it’s difficult to sustain any kind of relationship.”
Marcy shivered despite the warmth of his jacket. “Is that really it, or do you move to avoid getting
involved?”
“Maybe a bit of both.” He moved closer to her. So close she was surrounded by his scent, warm
and rich, sensual. Her defences began to crumble and she was almost overwhelmed with the desire to
wrap herself around him and hold him tight. Hold him here.
“I’m sorry.” He cupped her jaw in his warm palm, and every cell in her body heated, locking her in
place even though part of her knew the best—safest—thing to do would be to walk away.
“You grovel well.” With a soft smile, she leaned into his touch and he stroked his thumb over her
cheek.
“I want you, Marcy. Like I’ve never wanted anyone else before. I fucking ache with wanting you.
At the gym tonight, it almost killed me every time I touched you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She tried to keep her tone light, cool, detached, but her words came out in a
breathy whisper, betraying her desire.
“I tried.” He pulled her against him and bent down to brush his lips over her cheek. Marcy sighed
and he caught her breath in a searing kiss, parting her lips with his tongue to ravage her mouth, hot
and demanding.
Marcy pulled away, breaking their kiss. “Not hard enough.”
He clasped her hand and skimmed it down his body to the bulge in his jeans. “Definitely hard
enough.”
She laughed. “And here I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“Tell me.” Marcy pressed her hand against his erection and felt him harden under her touch.
“Maybe I’ll forgive you.”
His voice dropped, husky and low. “I was the bad kid in school until my mother enrolled me in a
kid-friendly MMA class at a local gym. I found a focus for my aggression and a hidden talent for
beating up local bullies.”
“Hmm. I like the idea of bad ass, Jax.” She stroked along his rigid length, moist heat flooding her
sex as she imagined his thick cock inside her. “Especially because I was a bit of a rebel, too, except I
was more of the head banging, death metal, fuck-the-world kind. Tell me something else.” She tugged
open his fly, releasing his shaft and then wrapped her hand around him. Jax groaned.
“Marcy...not here.”
With a wicked smile, she gave his cock a long, slow stroke, admiring the contrast of velvety
softness over hard steel. “I’m waiting.”
His ragged exhalation tickled her cheek and he grasped her shoulders as if to steady himself. “I
gave up my dream to become a vet when my mom became ill. She didn’t have any insurance, and
fighting was the quickest and easiest way to make money to cover her medical bills. And I was good at
it. In the end though, I bought her a few years but not a cure.”
Marcy’s heart squeezed and she quickly pulled away. “Oh, Jax...”
He covered her hand with his own and gently guided her back to his erection, hot and heavy with
the promise of pleasure. “I need you, Marcy. But not just like this. I want more. All of you or at least
as much as you’re willing to give. Tell me you want me, too.”
Wet, needy, burning with desire, she whispered, “Yes.”
***
Countdown to crazy hot sex.
Ten minutes of chit chat before socially acceptable to leave Two Step’s party without appearing:
a) desperate; b) obvious; or c) horny.
Two minutes of driving before Jax demanded she remove her panties.
Three seconds to remove said panties.
Four miles of sheer terror mixed with dripping desire as Jax slid the fingers of one hand deep into
her pussy, while attempting to steer his car with the other.
Five flicks of Jax’s thumb over her throbbing clit as she ground against his hand and begged for
release.
Six refusals dropping from Jax’s lips.
Seven curse words dropping from hers.
Eight floors to travel in the elevator between the parking garage and his apartment.
Nine minutes before the building manager asked through the intercom why the elevator had
stopped.
Ten fingers sliding under her shirt, unfastening her bra, cupping her breasts and pinching her
nipples until she moaned.
Eleven steps from the elevator to Jax’s door.
Twelve long seconds of waiting while Jax fumbled with his keys.
And then the door opened.
Before she could blink, Marcy was up against the wall, Jax’s hand on her sternum, his thick thigh
rough between her legs. The door shut behind them with a bang and then his mouth was on hers, his
tongue delving deep before he tugged her T-shirt and bra up and over her head to reveal her breasts,
already freed from their restraint in the elevator.
“Stop.” She drew in a ragged breath, and then scored her fingernails down his shirt until she
reached the hem. “What about yours?”
“Can’t wait.” With a sharp yank on her ponytail, he jerked her head back, exposing her neck to the
heated slide of his lips. Then he latched onto her left breast, drawing her nipple into his mouth,
sucking and nipping until she was writhing against him.
“Need to touch you, Jax.” She tugged at his belt, her little finger skimming over the steel of his
erection beneath his fly.
With an irritated growl, he grasped her hand and tugged it away. “You don’t touch unless I say you
can. Especially now. I won’t last if you wrap that sweet hand around me again.”
“What about if I do this?” She ground her hips against his jean-covered shaft, smiling when his
cock hardened between them.
“My little fighter’s being a naughty girl.” He gave an irritated chuckle and his eyes gleamed in the
shadowed hallway. “How should I punish her this time?”
Marcy stilled, scarcely dared to breathe, as he pulled yet another fantasy from the darkest recesses
of her mind. “I thought you said you couldn’t wait. No time for punishing naughty girls.”
“Changed my mind. Turn around,” he barked. “Skirt off then hands on the wall. Legs spread. I
know exactly how we’ll keep you in line.”
His footsteps faded into the distance and Marcy slid her skirt down over her hips, kicking it off her
ankles and toward the front door. Then she took up her position. For the first time ever she felt totally
and utterly vulnerable, exposed. But curiously, not ashamed.
Moments later he returned. She sensed him in the hallway, although she hadn’t heard his footsteps.
He came up behind her and glided his palm around her waist pulling her against the bare expanse of
his rock hard chest. Anticipation ratcheted through her and she trembled.
“Do you want to play, Marcy?” he murmured. “We haven’t discussed limits, but I would love to
see how you respond to a belt or a flogger.”
“God, yes.” She turned her head and kissed his cheek, shivering when his five o’clock shadow
scraped against her heated skin.
His hand slid over her hip and along the curve of her sex. Then he thrust one thick finger deep into
“So wet and we’ve only just started.” He chuckled softly, pulling away. “Stay still and don’t turn
around.”
She heard the clink of a belt buckle followed by the unmistakable slide of leather. Oh God. No.
Looking back over her shoulder, she tried to find him in the shadows “Jax—”
“Eyes forward.”
She turned her gaze back to the wall and suddenly he was covering her with his body, his chest
pressed against her back, his heat soaking into her skin, his scent enveloping her. Soothing.
“Does the idea of being spanked with the belt scare you?” His breath was hot and moist in her ear
as he kicked her legs apart, sending streaks of white lightning straight to her core.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But it isn’t a limit for me.”
“A belt can be used for pleasure,” he murmured as he slid the doubled thickness of the belt
between her legs, brushing the cool leather along the curve of her hot, wet sex. “Or pain. But you
aren’t ready for that type of pain. Not yet.”
A thrill of fear shot through her and she moaned at the deliciously erotic sensation of hard leather
pressed against soft flesh. But her relief was short lived. Jax dropped the belt and trailed the soft suede
ends of a flogger down her arms.
“Has anyone used a flogger on you?”
Marcy swallowed hard, her gaze riveted to the soft black tails caressing her arm. “Yes. Once. But
he was too gentle with it.” Now there was an understatement. Preston had wielded the flogger like a
feather duster, barely touching her skin, tickling her until she wanted to scream with frustration.
He brushed the flogger over her hip, down her stomach and then wiggled the tendrils over her bare
sex. Marcy tilted her hips, seeking more sensation as moisture flooded her pussy.
“I won’t be gentle,” he said softly. “But I won’t go hard. Not as hard as I suspect you’d like.
Definitely not hard enough to send you into subspace. That is something we have to work up to. I just
wanted to give you a taste. Gauge your reaction.”
“Punish me?” She couldn’t keep the hopeful note from her voice.
Jax laughed. “Oh yes. If that’s what you want, I’m more than happy to punish you. Do you
remember your safe words?”
Marcy swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Red to stop. Yellow to slow down. Green to keep
going.”
“Perfect. Now brace yourself.”
She had barely time to draw in a breath before she felt the soft thud of the flogger against her ass,
a gentle pressure like he was pushing her forward. He repeated the stroke on her other cheek and then
he started a soft, sensual rhythm, pausing only to brush the tips of the tails along her soaking folds.
Marcy’s body heated as he increased the pressure. Although her body registered pain, the sensation
quickly morphed into pleasure. She cried out as need, fierce and unrelenting, crashed over her in a
pulsing wave.
“Use your safe words if you need me stop,” he murmured as he struck her again.
She inhaled deeply, breathing in the rich scent of his cologne—of him—and tried to steady herself.
But despite her best efforts, a violent shudder shook her body, drawing her precariously close to
climax.
“You’re so responsive.” He smoothed his hand over her the flaming skin of her ass and then
followed the cleft to her folds. Slicking her moisture up and around her clit, he groaned. “God, Marcy.
Knowing this gets you off...you don’t know what that does to me.”
He pulled away and struck her with a slow steady rhythm that left her panting and aching with
need. Her limbs turned liquid as sensation chased away all rational thought, spinning her away...
No. She wasn’t spinning. Or flying. Instead, she was cradled in Jax’s arms, safe and warm as he
made his way down the hallway.
“We have to stop.” He spoke softly, half to himself. “I’ve already gone further than I wanted to go.
I never imagined you’d respond so well.”
“Please, no...” She didn’t want him to stop. A fog hovered at the fringes of her consciousness, the
promise of emotional release, a place where nothing mattered. She wanted him to take her there. Set
her free.
He made love to her instead.
Gently, tenderly, he laid her on the soft down duvet covering his massive bed. As he stripped off
her clothes, she caught glimpses of DIY and fight magazines strewn across the carpet. Protein shake
tumblers and fight gear covered his dresser. But there were also pictures and pennants, a baseball
glove, and a stack of college brochures. The real Jax, laid bare for her to see.
Before she could ask any questions, his fingers skimmed over her abdomen sending a renewed
burst of endorphins singing through her veins. His hand followed the curve of her sex to stroke her wet
entrance and Marcy trembled under his touch, her questions giving way to the throb of desire between
her thighs and the slide of cool silk over her burning skin.
“Jax, please,” she whispered.
But he was in no hurry. He knew just how far he could take her, teasing her with his fingers, his
lips, his tongue but stopping always before she reached her peak until she burned to have him inside
her, out of her mind with need. And when he finally covered her with his body, slid into her aching
center, filling her completely, something shifted in the air between them. She lost the coach and found
the man.
“Oh God.” Her breath caught as her inner walls stretched to accommodate him, a delicious pain.
“You feel so good. Perfect.”
“I dream of you.” He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck. “When I’m in the shower, in bed, even
running in the morning, I imagine you’re with me.” He inhaled deeply and nipped the sensitive skin
between her neck and shoulder blade. “I catch your scent on my shirts and it drives me crazy.”
He angled his hips, pulling out and then plunging even farther than before, ripping a gasp from her
throat. She bit her lip at the exquisite sensation of having him so deep, buried to the hilt, connected to
her in a way no one else had ever been, body and soul.
“I wanted you the moment I saw you,” he bit out between thrusts, his cock swelling, hardening
with every stroke. “And as I got to know you, I wanted you even more.”
A bubble of emotion rose in Marcy’s chest and she choked back a sob, even as she writhed beneath
him.
“Tell me what you want, Marcy,” he rasped as his hand drifted down between her thighs, his
thumb circling her clit. “You don’t need to be embarrassed around me or ashamed. There isn’t a need
you have that I don’t want to fill.”
Desire deep and dark curled inside her, winding through her body like a ribbon. “Take me,” she
whispered, lifting her hips to ease his way in. It was all she had to say. From the way his eyes
glittered, hot with sensual promise, she knew he understood.
“I’ll take you. Every way I can get you.” He quickened his strokes, pinning her to the bed with
each drive of his hips, letting her know there would be no escape unless he allowed it, no release until
he gave it to her.
And he did. He hammered into her hard and fast, carrying her body to its peak with an unyielding
relentlessness that took her breath
away. With firm, gentle pressure, he pinched her clit and she came
in a searing burst. Shattered. Heart, body and soul united in overwhelming pleasure.
Acceptance.
As he followed her in release, she wondered what it would be like if he stayed in San Francisco.
With her.
Forever.
***
It didn’t take long for the panic to set in.
He held her for an hour after he’d made love to her, and for fifty-five of those minutes he was
hard. Again.
If they were going to take their relationship further—and for the first time in ten years, he wanted
something more than a casual affair—he’d be the one setting the limits. Marcy wanted it all—every
sensation, every experience, everything he had to offer. She submitted with a trust that humbled him
and a willingness that frightened him. His gut tightened with guilt. A relationship was based on
mutual trust and he had been keeping a secret from her far too long.
He shifted on the bed and Marcy stirred, lifting her head and gazing at him, her eyes still heavy
with passion.
“Do you still doubt you’re sexually submissive?” He stroked a hand along her back and she
dropped her head to his shoulder.
“No.” She spoke so quietly he almost didn’t hear her, but he caught the hesitation in her voice.
A wave of protectiveness washed over him as she nuzzled his neck. He had to tell her the truth.
Not just because it was the right thing to do, but because he couldn’t stand by and watch her get hurt,
maybe even die. He hadn’t been able to save his mother and sister, but he could damn well save
Marcy. And he could take the relationship forward with a clear conscience.
“It could be that aspect of your personality is holding you back in the ring.” He swallowed past the
lump in his throat. “When you’re forced into a submission, your natural instinct is to submit instead of
fight. I saw it the first day we met and I don’t think it’s something training will be able to overcome.
Given who you are, you may not have what it takes to ultimately succeed as a fighter.”
For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. His heart pounded in his chest and when she
stiffened and rolled away he knew he’d made a mistake.
Maybe the biggest mistake of his life.
