My heart was a wild drum against my ribs as I stood outside the large industrial door. The address on the paper led to a brick building in a quiet part of town. I smoothed the simple black dress wore and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting.
Jax stood there, backlit by warm golden light from inside. He was wearing a clean black t-shirt and dark jeans. His eyes scanned me, darkening as they traveled from my face down to my shoes and back up. A low, approving hum sounded in his throat.
"You found it," he said, his voice a rough murmur.
"I did." I managed a smile.
He stepped back, a silent invitation. I walked past him into the space, and my breath caught.
It wasn't what I expected. It was huge and open, smelling powerfully of sawdust, cedar, and clean oil. Neat racks of tools lined one wall. Half-finished chairs and a gorgeous, gleaming table stood in the center. Over by a wall of windows was a worn but comfortable-looking leather couch and a small kitchenette. Soft music played from a speaker somewhere.
"This is…" I trailed off, turning in a slow circle.
"Mine," he finished simply, closing the heavy door with a definitive thud. The sound echoed, sealing us in. Together. Alone.
"It's incredible," I breathed, walking toward the central table. I ran my fingers over the surface. It was silken, flawless. "You made this?"
"Yeah." He came to stand beside me, not touching. "Sourced the oak myself. Took months."
I looked at his hands, remembering their rough warmth on my skin. "You build beautiful things."
His gaze locked on mine, intense. "Not just things."
The air in the workshop thickened, growing warm. The music seemed to fade. He took a step closer, eliminating the polite distance.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he husked, his voice low. "About you here."
"What part?" My own voice was barely a whisper.
"All of it." His hand came up, his knuckles brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek. The touch was electric. "The way you'd look in this light. The way you'd feel in this space."
I shivered. "And?"
"And I was right." His thumb traced the line of my jaw. "You look like you belong here."
That was all it took.
I leaned into his touch, and he growled, a sound of pure want, before his lips crashed down on mine.
This kiss was nothing like the frantic ones at the apartment. It was deep, claiming, and devastatingly slow. He explored my mouth with a thoroughness that made my knees weak. His hands slid down my back, pulling me flush against the hard, solid length of him. I could feel every muscle, every heartbeat.
I kissed him back with equal hunger, my fingers diving into his thick hair, pulling him closer. A soft moan escaped me, and he swallowed the sound, kissing me harder.
When he finally broke for air, we were both panting. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. "Ella," he breathed, my name a prayer on his lips.
"Jax," I sighed back, my body humming.
He didn't answer with words. He kissed me again, walking me backward until the backs of my thighs hit the edge of his massive worktable. In one smooth motion, he lifted me and sat me on it, stepping between my legs. The solid wood was cool through my dress.
"Here?" I gasped as his mouth found my neck, nipping and soothing the sensitive skin below my ear.
"Right here," he murmured against my throat. His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my dress higher. "I need to see you. All of you."
His touch was fire. I helped him, pulling the dress over my head. The cool workshop air kissed my skin, but his gaze was hotter. He stared, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"You're perfect," he rasped, his hands coming up to cradle my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my peaked nipples. I arched into his touch, a desperate sound leaving my lips.
He made quick work of his own clothes, and then he was there, skin to skin, the heat of him chasing away any chill. He kissed me, deep and slow, as his hands skimmed over every curve.
"Tell me you want this," he husked, his voice strained with control.
"I want this," I whispered, looking straight into his stormy eyes. "I want you."
That was all the permission he needed.
He entered me in one slow, relentless stroke, filling me completely. We both went still, joined, breathing the same air. The feeling was overwhelming—a rightness so profound it stole my breath.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I opened my eyes, not realizing I'd closed them. His gaze held mine, fierce and full of an emotion I was afraid to name.
Then he began to move.
It wasn't a frantic race. It was a deep, rolling rhythm that built a delicious, coiling tension low in my belly. His pace was deliberate, each thrust hitting a spot that made me see stars. My moans echoed in the high ceiling of the workshop, mixing with his growls and the soft creak of the sturdy table.
"You feel… god, you feel like heaven," he grunted, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
I couldn't speak. I could only feel. The roughness of his hands on my hips. The sweat-slick slide of our bodies. The building, unbearable pressure. I clutched at his shoulders, my nails digging in.
"Jax, I'm…" I tried to warn him, but the words were a shattered gasp.
"I know, baby. I've got you," he murmured, his pace increasing slightly, hitting that perfect angle again and again.
The coil snapped. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, ripped through me. I cried out, my body convulsing around his. The intensity seemed to go on forever, pulling him with me. With a final, deep thrust and a ragged shout of my name, he found his own release, collapsing over me, our sweat-slick skin sticking together.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of our ragged breathing and the distant music. He held me, his face buried in my neck, his body still trembling slightly.
Slowly, gently, he pulled me off the table and into his arms, carrying me to the couch. He wrapped us both in a soft wool blanket he pulled from a trunk.
We lay tangled together in the quiet aftermath. His fingers traced idle patterns on my arm. My head rested on his chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart.
No one had ever made me feel so cherished, so utterly seen and wanted. Not even Ben, my ex. It was more than passion. It felt like the start of something that could heal every broken part of me.
As I was drifting, warm and sated, my phone buzzed on the floor where my purse had fallen.
Reluctantly, I leaned over to grab it. The screen glowed in the dim workshop light.
One new message.