JAY'S POV
The house was finally quiet.
Too quiet.
After hours of chaos, laughter, and the boys suffering through one of the worst days of their lives—
Everyone had left.
Rakki, Mica, Grace… Section E… all gone.
And just like that—
It was just us again.
I stretched slightly, walking into the living room, still smiling to myself.
That was worth it.
Completely.
"You're still laughing."
I froze.
Slowly turned.
Keifer.
Leaning against the wall.
Watching me.
"You deserved it."
He pushed himself off the wall, walking toward me slowly.
Not rushed.
Not annoyed.
Calm.
Too calm.
"Did I?"
Something about his tone—
Made my heart skip.
I crossed my arms, trying to stay confident.
"Yes."
He stopped right in front of me.
Close.
Too close.
"So dressing me up… making me sit there all day…"
He leaned slightly closer.
"That was fair?"
I swallowed.
Still didn't move.
"Very fair."
A pause.
Then—
A small smile.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
Something else.
"Alright."
Before I could react—
His hand grabbed my wrist.
Firm.
Pulling me closer.
My breath hitched.
"Keifer—"
His other hand moved to my waist, steadying me as he pulled me fully against him.
"My turn."
My heart started racing instantly.
"What do you mean your—"
He didn't let me finish.
Instead, he lifted me.
Effortlessly.
I gasped slightly, my hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders as he carried me across the room.
"Keifer!"
He didn't answer.
Didn't slow down.
Straight upstairs.
My heart was beating too fast now.
Not from fear.
From knowing exactly where this was going.
He pushed the door open.
Walked in.
Closed it behind us.
Then set me down—
But didn't step away.
His hands stayed at my waist.
Holding.
Not letting go.
I looked up at him, my breath uneven.
"You're overreacting."
He let out a quiet breath.
Almost like a laugh.
"Am I?"
His grip tightened slightly.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind me I wasn't going anywhere.
"You had fun today."
I didn't answer.
He leaned closer.
"My turn to enjoy it."
My heart skipped again.
"Keifer…"
But I didn't move.
Didn't step back.
Didn't stop him.
His hand slid slightly along my waist, slower this time, more controlled.
"You think I was just going to let that go?"
I shook my head slightly.
"…no."
A small pause.
Then—
He leaned in.
Stopping just inches away.
Not touching.
Not yet.
"Good."
My breath caught.
The silence in the house felt heavy now, charged with something entirely different from the playful chaos of the day. His hands on my waist were a brand, a claim.
"My turn to enjoy it," he repeated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me.
His fingers found the hem of my shirt, and with a deliberate slowness that made my skin prickle, he began to lift it. I raised my arms, a silent surrender, letting him pull it over my head and drop it to the floor. The cool air of the room kissed my skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his gaze as it traveled over me. His own shirt followed soon after, discarded with a careless flick of his wrist. The sight of him—all lean muscle and intent—stole the air from my lungs.
"You dressed me up," he murmured, his hands returning to my hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my jeans.
"Made me sit there. All day." He unfastened the button, the sound loud in the quiet.
"Now it's my turn to undress you."
He knelt, pulling my jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion, helping me step out of them. I stood before him, completely bare, while he remained kneeling, his eyes dark and worshipful. He didn't speak. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my stomach. I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair. He continued, a trail of searing kisses mapping a path down my abdomen, over my hip bone, along the inside of my thigh. Each kiss was a promise, a slow-burning retaliation for every smirk I'd hidden that afternoon.
"Keifer…" His name was a plea, barely audible.
He finally rose, his body pressing flush against mine from chest to thigh, the rough denim of his jeans a stark contrast to my bare skin. He captured my mouth in a deep, consuming kiss, all the while working on his own belt and fly. The rest of his clothes joined the pile on the floor, and then there was nothing between us. Just skin, heat, and the frantic beat of my heart against his.
He walked me backward until my knees hit the bed. Instead of laying me down, he sat on the edge, his hands guiding me to straddle his lap. I sank down, the intimate contact drawing a sharp, shared breath from both of us. He held me there for a moment, our foreheads touching, just feeling the dizzying connection.
"You had your fun," he whispered against my lips, his hands sliding down to cradle my backside.
"Now I have mine."
One hand slipped between our bodies, his fingers finding my core. He traced me, slow and teasing, before sliding two fingers inside, curling them expertly. His thumb settled on my clit, circling with a rhythm that was both relentless and perfectly calculated.
My head fell back, a moan tearing from my throat as the sensations coiled tight deep within me. He watched me fall apart, his eyes never leaving my face, his own breathing ragged. The pleasure built, wave after wave, until it crashed over me.
I cried out, shuddering against him, my body convulsing around his fingers as the climax ripped through me.
Before the last tremor had even subsided, he was moving. In one fluid motion, he laid me down on the bed, coming over me, bracing his weight on his forearms. He nudged my legs wider, settled between them, and then he was there, pushing into me in one deep, claiming stroke that filled me completely.
A broken sound escaped me. He stilled, letting me adjust, his face a mask of strained control. Then he began to move.
He thrust into me like there was no tomorrow. Like the world outside this room, outside this moment, had ceased to exist. It was not just passion; it was reclamation. Each deep, driving stroke was an answer to every tease, every laugh I'd shared at his expense.
His body moved over mine with a powerful, rhythmic intensity that stole my breath and my thoughts. The bedframe knocked a soft, steady beat against the wall, a percussion to our ragged breathing and my choked cries.
His pace never faltered, a relentless tide pulling me under again. I clung to him, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, my legs locked around his hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. The earlier sensitivity from my climax was gone, burned away by a new, sharper fire he was stoking deep inside me.
His mouth found mine, his kiss as consuming as his possession, swallowing my gasps.
I felt the tension coiling in him, the slight tremor in his arms.
"Jay," he growled, my name a prayer and a curse on his lips.
It was all I needed. The second shattering peak took me, blinding and violent, my body arching off the bed as I screamed his name into his shoulder. He followed me over the edge with a final, deep thrust, his own release shuddering through him as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, his whole weight sinking into me for one perfect, crushing moment.
Slowly, the world seeped back in. The sound of our labored breathing. The feel of our sweat-slicked skin. The solid, comforting weight of him on top of me. He didn't roll away immediately, just shifted slightly to take his weight off me, his arms still wrapped tightly around me.
After a long while, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my shoulder.
"Even," he murmured, his voice rough and satisfied against my skin.
I couldn't help it. A weak, breathless laugh escaped me. I'd gotten him good today. But he'd just proven, beyond any doubt, that he could always, always get me back.
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