He shifted, tossing an arm over my hips, holding me in place. He seemed to sense that I was close. Tension and heat built in my core, then exploded in a flash, a burst of rioting sensations that frayed every nerve ending with a hot rush of pleasure. Aftershocks of the tight tremors rocked me as he slowed and then lifted his head, kissing my inner thigh and then just below my navel. As he rose, I reached for the band on the old shorts he wore. He sucked in a breath as my fingers brushed the hard ridge of him through the nylon.

“Calla,” he warned.

I wetted my lips. “I can return the favor.”

“That’s not why I did that.”

“I know.” I rolled carefully onto my uninjured side and found him there, his body braced on one arm. His mouth was so close that I went ahead and kissed it, and was quickly caught up in the taste of him and of me mingled together.

Jax was a kisser. That was something I’d learned right off the bat. He liked doing it, thoroughly enjoyed it, and was damn good at it. And as he got into it, I reached between us again. Sex might be out of the question for the next couple of days, just to be safe, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use my hand. Or my mouth.

I tugged on his shorts again, but he caught my wrist and he growled against my lips. “Calla, hon . . .”

“I’m not an invalid, Jax. I want to do this.”

He didn’t move for what felt like an eternity and then he took my hand and slipped it under the band of his shorts. Well, good to see he was definitely on board.

His body shuddered as my hand wrapped around his thickness and he let go of my wrist, hooking his fingers on his shorts. He got them down his thighs as I kissed his neck.

Easing up, I pushed him down with my other hand and he stared up at me from where he was sprawled on his back. My gaze tracked over him as I slowly moved my hand. God, he was gorgeous. Every stretch of rough skin, every tightly rolled muscle, and every imperfection.

His hips jerked as my thumb smoothed over his tip, and I smiled, remembering him showing me that and how much he liked it.

“God, Calla,” he groaned as he reached up, tangling his fingers in the ends of my hair. “You’re driving me crazy.”

I grinned. “I haven’t even done anything.”

“Oh, you’re doing plenty enough. You’re—” His words ended in a deep groan, because I’d slid down and lowered my mouth over him. “Fuck, Calla . . .”

There’d been a slight twinge of discomfort from the sliding part but nothing major and it sure as hell didn’t deter me from what I wanted to do for him. My mouth slid over him, and the hand in my hair clamped down on the back of my neck. His thumb moved along the base of my skull as I lifted my head, licking and sucking until his hips were moving in small, barely controlled thrusts. His hand tightened on my neck and I could feel the flutters in his base, the slight pulses. His breathing turned ragged, and as I went as deep as I could, which probably wasn’t very much, he let out a hoarse shout.