Page 44 of My Fixation

I run my tongue up the length of him. Savoring the taste of his precum as I reach his tip. I lap at it like a man who has been starving his whole life. A shaky moan leaves Jaxon as his fingers slide into my hair, threading through the strands before tightening slightly.

I close my eyes for a second, letting myself enjoy the feel of his hands on me, the soft sounds he keeps making, the way his body responds so openly to my touch.

I take him into my mouth. Swirling my tongue around his head before swallowing down around him. His cock is large, thick, and long and it takes me a couple of tries to take all of him.

“Conor. Oh God, Conor, don’t stop,” Jaxon begs. Saying my name over and over. When I take him to the back of my throat, he’s a writhing mess beneath me. Hollowing out my cheeks, I tug and pull every sound from him.

I cup his heavy balls with my free hand and give them a gentle squeeze and pull. Jaxon’s body goes rigid, and his back arches.

Jaxon’s hand tightens sharply in my hair, almost painful in its intensity, while a broken sound tears from his throat above me. The possessive edge to it sends heat rushing through me all over again.

I lift my eyes to him, wanting to see every second of this. His chest is rising hard now, his head tipped back against the pillows while he fights for breath.

He comes completely undone as he comes down my throat. I swallow it down greedily, licking him clean. I move up his body, placing soft kisses on my way. His breathing is still coming in rapid pants. I kiss him harder than I have before. Wanting him to know that he belongs to me.

Chapter 26

Jaxon

Holy fucking fuck. Conor just gave me the best orgasm of my life. Nothing about it felt like anything I had experienced before. Not the way he touched me. Not the way he paid attention to every sound I made, like he wanted to memorize them. Not the way he handled me so carefully, like my pleasure actually mattered to him.

Every gentle touch had felt like fire moving beneath my skin, burning through me until I thought I might come apart completely. And somehow the aftermath is even more. Because after… Conor doesn’t pull away.

He takes his time holding me against him, his hands moving slowly over my skin while the room settles into quiet around us. There is no pressure, no awkwardness, just warmth. Steady and consuming. The silence between us says more than words possibly could.

Eventually, Conor disappears into the ensuite before returning a moment later with a warm cloth. The care he takes while cleaning me up nearly undoes me all over again. His movements are gentle. Unhurried. Like this isn’t a chore or an obligation. Like taking care of me is something he genuinely wants to do.

I can’t stop staring at him while he moves around the bed. At the hard lines of muscle shifting beneath his skin with every motion. At the quiet focus in his expression, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates entirely on me. No one has ever looked at me like this before. Like I’m something worth handling carefully.

He comes back to the bed after tossing the washcloth into the hamper and immediately leans over me again. The gentle kiss he places against my forehead feels strangely more intimate than everything else we just did.

“It’s after eight,” he says softly. “Do you want to get a little more sleep while I make breakfast?”

My throat tightens instantly. Not from injury this time, but from emotion. Because no one has ever cared for me like this before. Not after. Not without expecting something in return.

I stare up at him for a second too long, trying to force words past everything lodged in my chest. Conor notices. His hand slides along my jaw gently, his thumb brushing once across my cheek like he’s grounding me without making a big deal out of it.

“Did I hurt you?” The concern in Conor’s voice makes my chest ache. “Did you not want me touching you?”

“I…”

The word catches behind the lump in my throat, forcing me to swallow before I can try again. “You didn’t hurt me,” I say quietly. “And I wanted it. I wanted you to touch me.”

Some of the tension leaves his face, but his eyes stay fixed on mine.

“Then what’s wrong, A Chroí?”

I shake my head because the truth is, I don’t fully know. Everything inside me feels tangled together. Fear. Relief. Want. Panic.

“I’m just…” I let out a shaky breath. “I’m overwhelmed right now.” His hand slides slowly over my side, patient and grounding. “My life is a fucking mess, and then you show up.”

I search his eyes desperately, needing him to understand something I can barely explain to myself.

“I don’t know what this is between us,” I admit softly. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Something flashes across Conor’s face. He shifts on the bed until we’re lying face-to-face. One hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing slowly across my skin.

“Do you think I’m not being genuine with you?” he asks quietly.