Under His Jurisdiction

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

Nyx

I couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about him .I want him , I want his c**k buried deep between my thighs until I screamed his name.

Before I could stop myself, I weakly reached for my p***y .my breath come in harsh and shallow as my gaze flickered downward and I push my panties aside. I was wet , my fingers were already moving on their own, slowly circling my c**t

"f**k " i moaned collapsing back onto the bed , intense pleasure surged through me like wildfire making me press harder as i rubbed myself. Without hesitation I slipped a finger inside me my body shuddered and I began pumping in and out of myself. My breath hitching as I added another finger, my walls tightened and clenched around them .

It felt so good, it was driving me insane that I moved faster, harder. I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle my moans as my pace quickened.

my eyes rolled back in pleasure as my fingers thrust in and out of me again and again. I could feel the tension building and the urge to c*m was almost unbearable.

"Please....fuck " I moaned , pulling my hand away from my mouth to clutch the sheets tightly as my hips moved faster f*****g my fingers harder . I imagined Alexander pounding into my p***y instead of my fingers . My eyes rolled back as breathless moans spelled from my lips .

"Oh Yes.... Please yes !" I screamed " please make me c*m!" My walls tightened around my fingers .

My breath hitched.

"Oh , God . f**k "....

I don’t realize how loud I am until I hear silence answer me.

Not the quiet hum of the house.

Not the distant settling of pipes or the soft music still playing downstairs.

Silence with weight.

I’m lying on my back, sheets twisted around my legs, my breath uneven, skin too warm. My thoughts have been circling Alexander — the authority in his voice, the way he watches without touching, the discipline in his restraint. It’s that restraint that undoes me.

I cover my mouth, too late.

The knock never comes.

Instead, I feel him before I see him — the unmistakable presence of a man who does not ask permission to be felt.

The door opens.

Alexander stands there.

Fresh from the shower, hair dark and wet, droplets sliding slowly down the sharp line of his neck. He’s wearing grey sweatpants, nothing else, the fabric sitting low on his hips like an afterthought. Bare feet on the hardwood floor. Relaxed. Dangerous.

Unarmored.

His eyes cut to me — not curious, not surprised.

Hungry.

“You should have locked the door,” he says quietly.

My pulse crashes through me.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet,” he replies, stepping inside, “you didn’t stop.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds far too final.

“I heard you,” he continues, voice low, controlled, the same tone he must use in court right before he destroys someone.

“I heard every breath. Every sound you tried to swallow.”

Heat floods me — embarrassment and desire tangled so tightly they’re indistinguishable.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says again, closer now.

“Neither could I.”

He stops at the foot of the bed, eyes dragging slowly over me — bare skin, tangled sheets, the evidence of what I was doing before he came in. He doesn’t look away.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, “how hard it is to walk past your door knowing this is happening on the other side?”

My fingers curl into the sheets. “Then why did you come in?”

His jaw tightens.

“Because control has limits.”

He climbs onto the bed.

The mattress dips beneath his weight, his body radiating heat. I barely have time to inhale before his hand is on my jaw, tilting my face up. His grip is firm but careful — ownership tempered by intention.

“When I kiss you,” he says, voice rough now, “it will not be gentle.”

I nod, breath trembling.

“Say it,” he orders softly.

“Kiss me.”

He does.

His lips are warm, impossibly soft at first — a slow, deliberate press that steals the breath from my lungs. It’s not rushed. Not sloppy. He kisses like a man savoring control, like he’s waited far too long and intends to make it count.

When his mouth opens, mine follows without hesitation.

The kiss deepens, heat coiling low in my stomach as his tongue slides against mine — unhurried, confident, devastating. His hand slides from my jaw into my hair, fingers threading, pulling just enough to make me gasp into his mouth.

“That sound,” he mutters against my lips. “That’s the sound that broke my discipline.”

His other hand drifts down my body, slow, purposeful, tracing my curves like he’s memorizing them. When his fingers finally touch me, I arch into him, a soft moan slipping free before I can stop it.

“Quiet,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear.

“My daughter is downstairs.”

The danger sharpens everything.

His hand doesn’t stop.

He kisses down my neck, teeth grazing skin, tongue soothing the mark immediately after. The contrast makes me shiver. He knows exactly what he’s doing — knows how to pull me apart slowly, methodically.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says. “About me touching you.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“About losing control.”

“Yes.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, intense. “Good. Because now you’re going to feel exactly what you asked for.”

He strips the sheets away, exposing me to his gaze, and the look on his face is pure possession — not rushed, not frantic. Intentional.

He takes his time, touching, exploring, making me ache for more with every slow movement. When he finally presses himself against me, I feel how affected he is, the proof of his restraint gone.

“I don’t do this lightly,” he says, voice thick. “I don’t touch without consequence.”

“Then don’t stop,” I whisper.

He doesn’t.

He moves with controlled power, dominating without cruelty, reading every sound, every reaction. He kisses me like he owns the moment, like he intends to leave his mark without bruises.

The pleasure builds relentlessly — not chaotic, but overwhelming in its precision. He keeps me right on the edge, withdrawing just enough to make me whimper before dragging me back.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So responsive. So aware.”

When release finally hits, it’s shattering — my body tightening, breath breaking, fingers clawing into his shoulders as his name slips from my lips without permission.

He follows moments later, tension snapping, control finally yielding with a low groan against my neck.

After, he stays close, breath slowing, forehead resting against mine.

“This changes things,” he says quietly.

“Yes,” I reply.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, expression serious again, the powerful man reassembling himself piece by piece.

“And I don’t retreat from things I choose.”

Footsteps echo faintly downstairs.

Reality intrudes.

Alexander exhales once, steadying himself, then presses a final kiss to my lips — softer this time, but no less binding.

“Sleep,” he says. “Tomorrow, we deal with what we’ve done.”

He stands, composed once more, dominance sliding back into place like a tailored suit.

As he leaves, the door closing behind him, I realize something with startling clarity:

Alexander doesn’t make mistakes.

And tonight

was not one of them.