LET ME TASTE YOU
1978 Words
THE PACT OF FIVE
CHAPTER 8: LET ME TASTE YOU
The kitchen at Blackthorn Manor is a chef’s dream—marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, a massive island in the center that could double as a stage. The scent of fresh coffee and warm cinnamon rolls fills the air, but I can’t even think about eating. Not after this morning. Not after *Cole.*
I lean against the island, my fingers tracing the cool marble edge, my mind racing. The last twenty-four hours have been a goddamn rollercoaster, and I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one not wearing a seatbelt. The pact. The kisses. The *notes.* The way they all look at me like I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing.
*Twenty-three days.*
I pour myself a cup of coffee, the rich aroma doing little to settle the storm in my stomach. The mug is warm in my hands, the ceramic smooth against my skin. I take a sip, the bitterness grounding me, but only for a second.
Then I hear it—the *creak* of the back door opening.
I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. I can *feel* Jax’s presence like a live wire, his energy buzzing through the air, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. His scent—leather and gunpowder—wraps around me, intoxicating and dangerous.
I set the mug down, my fingers trembling slightly. "You’re supposed to be at the garage."
His voice is a rough chuckle behind me. "And you’re supposed to be *avoiding* me."
I turn around, leaning back against the island, my arms crossed over my chest. He’s in his usual uniform—ripped jeans, a black band tee, and a leather jacket that’s seen better days. His dark hair is messy, his gray eyes *burning* into me like he’s memorizing every inch of my face.
I lift my chin. "I’m not avoiding you. I’m *busy.*"
His smirk is *wicked.* "Busy *thinking* about me?"
I roll my eyes, but my pulse *spikes.* "In your dreams, Jax."
He takes a step forward, his boots thudding against the tile floor. "Oh, *sweetheart.*" His voice drops to a growl. "You’re in *all* of them."
My breath catches. The air between us is *thick*, charged with something electric. Something *hungry.*
I should walk away. Should *breathe.* But I don’t. I just stand there, my heart hammering, my body aching for his touch.
He stops in front of me, his hands caging me in on either side of the island. The heat of him *burns* through my thin sweater, his scent *intoxicating* me. "You’ve been *avoiding* us all day."
I swallow hard. "Maybe I have."
His jaw *clenches.* "Why?"
I laugh, but it’s *shaky.* "Oh, I don’t know, Jax. Maybe because *Knox* kissed me in the library. Maybe because *Cole* tried to in here. Maybe because *Micah* walked in on me in the *shower.*" I tilt my head, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe because I don’t *know* what the hell I’m doing."
His eyes *darken.* "You *know* exactly what you’re doing."
I *should* deny it. Should *lie.* But the truth is, I *do.* I *want* them. All of them.
His hand lifts, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is rough, calloused, and it sends a *shiver* down my spine. "You’re *killing* me, Lena."
I close my eyes, his fingers sending a jolt through me. "Jax—"
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Tell me to *leave.*"
I *should.* I *know* I should. But the words won’t come.
Because the truth is, I *don’t* want him to stop.
His other hand slides around my waist, pulling me against him. His body is *hard*, all muscle and heat and *hunger.* I can *feel* him—*hard* and *ready*—and my core *aches* with the need to have him *inside* me.
His lips brush my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "Let me *taste* you, Lena."
My breath *hitches.* "Jax—"
"Just *one* taste," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "I *need* to know if you’re as *sweet* as I’ve imagined."
I *should* push him away. Should *remind* him of the pact, of the rules, of the *consequences.* But I don’t. I just stand there, my heart *hammering,* my body *trembling* with need.
His lips trail down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, and I *moan,* my head falling back. His hand slides up my thigh, his fingers *teasing* the edge of my shorts, and I *whimper,* my body *aching* for *more.*
And then—
*Click.*
The sound of the kitchen door *again.*
We *freeze.*
Jax doesn’t move away. Not at first. He just *watches* me, his eyes *dark* with promise. "Your loss, brothers."
Then he steps back, but his smirk is *wicked.* "This isn’t over, *sweetheart.*"
I turn around, my heart *pounding,* to see **Knox, Cole, Zane, and Micah** standing in the doorway, their expressions a mix of *rage* and *hunger* and *betrayal.*
Knox’s voice is a *whip-crack.* "Get the *f**k* out, Jax."
Jax doesn’t even flinch. He just *grins,* like this is the *best* damn day of his life. "Make me."
Knox’s jaw *clenches,* his hands *clenching* into fists. For a second, I think he’s going to *lunge* at Jax. But then he *steps back*, his dark eyes *locked* on me. "Lena. *Now.*"
I swallow hard, my body still *trembling* from Jax’s touch. I should be *furious.* I should be *screaming.* But all I feel is this *ache*, this *need* coiling tighter in my stomach.
I lift my chin, meeting Knox’s gaze. "Or what?"
Knox’s eyes *flash.* "Or I’ll *drag* you out myself."
I *laugh,* but it’s *shaky.* "Try it."
For a second, no one moves. The tension in the room is *thick* enough to cut with a knife. And then—
Micah steps forward, his smirk *dark.* "Oh, this is *gonna* be good."
Jax barks out a laugh. "I’d pay to see that."
Zane just *watches,* his gray eyes *cold,* his expression unreadable.
But Knox? Knox’s eyes are *locked* on me, his voice a *growl.* "You’re *pushing* me, little shadow."
I meet his gaze, my heart *hammering.* "Maybe I *want* to."
And then I *walk* past them all, my head held high, my body *trembling* with every step.
Because the *worst* part?
I *know* they’re right.
And in twenty-three days, f**k the pact. f**k the countdown. She’s mine now."
- Writer
