Chapter 5: Edged and Taken
The silence after she left the laundry room clung to Jaxon like a second skin. For two days, he functioned on autopilot. RA meetings, quiet hours patrol, a forced smile at the front desk. Every ping of his phone was a jolt of adrenaline. It was never her. He watched the security cameras more than he should, his eyes tracking the blur of students in the common areas, looking for a face he didn’t know, looking for her.
He saw her Thursday night. She was in the common room, laughing with a group of girls from her floor, a textbook open but ignored on her lap. She looked like she belonged. Then her eyes met his across the room. The laughter didn’t leave her face, but her gaze went flat, like a curtain had dropped behind it. She gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Not here.
At 1:17 AM, a soft knock came at his door. His heart hammered against his ribs. He knew it was her before he opened it.
She slipped inside, a shadow in a dark hoodie and leggings. The door clicked shut, sealing them in the dark. The only light was a sliver from the hallway under the door, cutting the room into stripes of faint amber and deep black.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough.
“No.” The word was simple, devastating. She walked past him into the room, the scent of night air and her skin cutting through the familiar smells of old paper and clean linen. She stopped by his bed, her back to him. “I need not to think. Can you do that for me? Make me not think?”
He understood. This wasn’t about lust. It was about obliteration. A different, darker hunger. He moved behind her, close but not touching. “How?”
She turned then, her face pale in the gloom. “I don’t want to be in charge tonight.” Her eyes were huge, earnest. “Just… make me feel something else.”
He nodded slowly. He reached for the thick leather belt he’d tossed over his desk chair earlier. The buckle made a soft metallic sound. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.
“Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
She complied, her shoulders tensing. He wrapped the cool leather around her wrists, snug, not tight enough to hurt, but firm. Unbreakable. The buckle fastened with a definitive click. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room.
He guided her onto the bed. She knelt on the mattress, her bound arms pulling her shoulders back, arching her spine. The position thrust her breasts forward, outlined by the soft fabric of her hoodie. He peeled the sweatshirt up and over her head, her wild hair tumbling free. She was bare beneath. Her skin was warm silk in the dark.
He found the small bottle of coconut oil on his nightstand, the one he used after swimming. He poured a slick pool into his palm, warming it. He moved behind her again, his chest against her back. He brought his oiled hands around her, cupping the full weight of her breasts.
She gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder.
He worked in silence, his slick fingers kneading, shaping, rolling her nipples into hard, sensitive peaks. His touch was deliberate, almost clinical, focusing entirely on the physical response. He watched her flesh yield and tighten under his hands, felt her heartbeat thrum against his palms. He pinched a nipple, twisting gently, and a sharp, broken noise escaped her throat.
“Jaxon…”
“Quiet,” he murmured into her ear, his voice low. He slid one hand down the trembling plane of her stomach, over the waistband of her leggings. He pushed his hand inside, her body heat welcoming him. She was already soaked, her cunt swollen and slippery. He found her clit, a hard little bud throbbing under his touch.
He circled it with the very tip of his finger, a feather-light, maddening pressure.
Her whole body jolted. A thin, high whine built in her chest. He felt the tension coiling in her thighs, the involuntary clench of her internal muscles. She was racing toward the edge, a puppet on his string. Just as her breathing shallowed, just as she trembled on the precipice, he pulled his hand away completely.
“Oh, god, no,” she moaned, her body sagging in frustration.
He brought his wet fingers back to her breast, smearing her own arousal across her skin, pinching her nipple again. He let her build once more, his touch on her clit a little harder, a little faster. He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them, and she cried out, her back bowing.
“Please, I’m gonna come, please let me come,” she begged, her voice shattered.
He withdrew again. She sobbed, a raw, frustrated sound.
He did it a third time, bringing her to a shaking, whimpering peak of need before stopping. Her skin was sheened with sweat. “I can’t take it,” she gasped, her words slurred. “Please, Jaxon, I need your cock. I need you to fuck me. Please.”
That was what he needed. The surrender. The raw, unfiltered want.
He laid her down on her back, her bound hands trapped beneath her. He stripped her leggings and underwear off, then his own clothes. He loomed over her, his cock hard and heavy against her thigh. He nudged her legs apart with his knee and positioned himself at her entrance.
He entered her slowly, a tortuous, inch-by-inch invasion that made her eyes roll back. She was impossibly tight, hot, and wet, her body gripping him like a vise. When he was fully seated, he paused, letting them both feel the exquisite, full ache of the connection.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her hips making a tiny, involuntary circle.
He began to move, long, deep, measured strokes that dragged every nerve ending inside her. It was a sweet, deliberate torture. He watched her face, the play of shadow and strain, her lips parted, her eyelids fluttering. He felt the familiar tightening, the telltale flutter around his cock as she began to climb again.
He stopped. Froze, buried deep inside her.
“No, no, no,” she chanted, tears of frustration leaking from the corners of her eyes. She bucked her hips, trying to force movement. “Don’t stop. Please, fuck me, I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” His voice was gravel.
“Yes. Anything.”
He pulled out, flipping her onto her stomach with a grunt. He unfastened the belt, freeing her wrists. She made a sound of relief, but he didn’t give her time to recover. He positioned her on her hands and knees, the curve of her ass pale in the darkness. He knelt behind her, one hand grasping the back of her neck, pressing her face into the pillow, the other guiding his cock back to her slick opening.
He slammed into her.
It was a raw, animalistic drive. No finesse, no teasing. Just deep, punishing strokes that shoved her forward with each thrust. The bed frame knocked against the wall in a steady, frantic rhythm. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding her still for his relentless pace.
“Is this what you needed?” he growled, each word punctuated by a hard drive of his hips.
“Yes! Fuck, yes! Harder!”
He gave her harder. His balls slapped against her, the wet, filthy sound of their joining filling the room. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit again, rough and demanding. She screamed into the pillow, the sound muffled, her body tightening like a bowstring.
He felt her orgasm tear through her, a violent, shattering quake that milked his cock in frantic pulses. Her inner muscles clamped down on him, a hot, rhythmic squeeze that pulled his own release from the base of his spine.
With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came. A guttural roar was torn from his throat as he emptied himself deep inside her, jet after hot jet spilling into her clutching heat. His vision whited out at the edges.
He collapsed over her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his cock still pulsing weakly inside her. She was trembling, little aftershocks wracking her body. They stayed like that, a tangled, sweating, spent heap in the dark, the only sound their ragged, slowing breaths.
Minutes passed. The world seeped back in. The chill of the room on his sweat-slicked back. The smell of sex and coconut oil. The steady, slowing beat of her heart under his hand.
She shifted beneath him. He rolled off, pulling her with him, keeping her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. She was pliant, boneless.
In the silence, her phone, discarded on the floor with her hoodie, buzzed. Once. Then again.
He felt her go rigid in his arms. The trembling started anew, but this was different. This was fear.
The phone screen lit up the floor with a cold, blue glow. It buzzed a third time.
Without a word, Jaxon disentangled himself. He got out of bed, walked naked across the room, and picked up the device. The screen showed three new messages from a number not saved in her contacts. The preview text was visible.
Unknown: Saw you go in.
Unknown: Having fun in there, Maya?
Unknown: Does your RA know he’s fucking another man’s property?
The cold dread from the laundry room solidified into a sharp, crystalline fury in his gut. He looked from the phone to Maya, who had pulled the sheet up to her chin, her eyes wide and terrified in the dark.
“He’s here,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
Jaxon stared at the glowing screen, the crude words branding themselves into his vision. The rule-abiding RA, the responsible senior, the guy with the easy smile—that guy was gone. In his place was something older, simpler, and far more dangerous.
He dropped the phone onto his desk. It landed with a soft thud. He walked back to the bed, his movements deliberate.
“What’s his name, Maya?” His voice was calm. Too calm.
She just stared at him, shaking her head.
“Tell me his name.”
He watched her struggle with it, the war between a habit of fear and the new, desperate trust in this dark room. Her throat worked. The sheet slipped, revealing the faint red marks his belt had left on her wrists.
“Leo,” she finally whispered, the name a foul thing in the quiet. “Leo Garza.”
Jaxon didn’t react outwardly. He stored the name in a cold, dark place within himself. He simply nodded, then turned and walked to his dorm room door. He flipped the deadbolt with a solid, final clunk. He checked the window latch, pulling the blinds down completely. He methodically closed off the world.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was small.
“Making it clear,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He picked up her phone, held it up. The screen had gone dark. “He sent this to scare you. To make you feel watched. To pull you back.” He dropped the phone into the drawer of his nightstand and shut it. “He doesn’t get to pull you anywhere.”
He looked at her, really looked. The terror was still there, a live wire under her skin, but underneath it he saw a flicker of something else—dawning, fragile safety. The fact that he hadn’t panicked, that he’d just… handled it, seemed to unwind a knot in her spine. She sagged back against the pillows.
“He’s not going to stop,” she said, but it sounded less like conviction now, more like a tired recitation.
“Tonight, he has,” Jaxon said. He moved back onto the bed, pulling her into him. He wrapped himself around her, his front to her back, a fortress of flesh and bone. “Tonight, you’re here. With me. That’s the only thing that exists.”
He felt the exact moment she surrendered to it. A long, shuddering exhale melted her body against his. The tension bled from her muscles, leaving her limp and heavy. The adrenaline crash was total. Within minutes, her breathing deepened, steadied, falling into the slow, cadenced rhythm of sleep.
Jaxon lay awake, listening. To her breath. To the old pipes groaning in the walls. To the distant, muffled laughter from a room down the hall. The fury on her behalf was a slow burn in his veins, but here, now, it was banked. Her warmth was a potent distraction. The scent of her sweat and their sex clung to the sheets, to his skin.
He dozed, fitfully. A dream of dark water and darker shapes faded as he woke to the profound silence of three AM. The room was pitch black, the sliver of light under the door long gone. And he was hungry for her. A deep, possessive ache that had nothing to do with Leo Garza.
She was sprawled on her stomach, one arm curled under her head, the sheet tangled low around her hips. The pale curves of her ass were faintly visible. He moved quietly, the oil still on the nightstand. He warmed a fresh pool in his palm.
He started between her shoulder blades, his slick hands smoothing down the valley of her spine. She murmured, shifting in her sleep but not waking. He kissed the nape of her neck, her shoulder. He nudged her thighs apart with his knees and settled between them.
His first lick was a long, slow stripe from her swollen clit to the very top of her ass crack. She jolted awake with a sharp gasp.
“Jaxon…?”
“Shhh.” He didn’t let her process it. He buried his face in her cunt, his tongue plunging inside her, tasting the mingled salt of their earlier sex and her own essential musk. It was filthy and profound. He ate her out with a single-minded intensity, his tongue fucking her, then flattening to lap at her slick folds, then circling her clit with torturous precision.
“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, her voice thick with sleep and instant, wrenching need. She pressed her face into the pillow, her hips lifting to meet his mouth. “Your mouth… god, yes.”
He added his fingers, sliding two inside her cunt, crooking them to find that spongy spot deep within. She cried out, her back arching. He fucked her with his fingers in a steady, deep rhythm while his tongue worked her clit. He could feel her beginning to coil, her thighs trembling around his head.
He pulled back. She whined in protest, a raw, desperate sound.
He reached for the oil again. He dripped it over the small, tight pucker of her asshole, watching the liquid gleam in the utter dark. He spread it with his thumb, a gentle, maddening smear. He didn’t push in. He just circled the rim, over and over, applying teasing pressure that made her gasp and shiver.
“Please,” she begged, her voice broken. “Jaxon, something, please, I need…”
“Need what?” he growled, his own cock throbbing, rock-hard against the sheets.
“I need you inside me. Fuck me. Please, fuck me now. I’ll do anything, just fuck me.”
That was all he needed. He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging at her soaked entrance. He pushed in with one relentless thrust, filling her completely, burying himself in her tight, wet heat. She screamed, a sound of pure relief.
He set a deep, pounding pace, his hips slamming into her ass. With his left hand, he reached around, his oil-slick fingers finding her nipple. He pinched and rolled the hard peak, tugging it fiercely. With his right hand, he returned to her asshole, his thumb resuming its slow, insistent circling against the forbidden knot of muscle.
The dual violation—the deep, claiming fuck of her cunt and the intimate, teasing pressure at her ass—unraveled her. She was sobbing, babbling, her words dissolving into shattered pleas and curses.
“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come so hard, don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop!”
He didn’t. He drove into her, his thumb pressing harder, his fingers torturing her nipple. The sensory overload was absolute. He felt her orgasm ignite, a supernova that convulsed through her entire body. Her cunt clamped around his cock in violent, rhythmic pulses, a silken fist milking him ruthlessly.
The feel of her coming untouched, just from his cock and his fingers on her ass and her nipple, tore his own orgasm from him. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself and roared as he came, jets of hot cum pumping deep into her clutching depths. His vision splintered. The universe narrowed to the feel of her contracting around him and the animal sounds of their shared release.
They collapsed, a mess of sweat and oil and spend. He stayed inside her, softening, his body draped over hers. Their breathing was the only sound, loud and ragged in the dark. Slowly, he withdrew. He pulled her against him, her back to his chest once more. She was already fading, her body utterly spent, every nerve pacified.
He kissed her damp shoulder. “Leo Garza doesn’t exist here,” he murmured into her skin.
She didn’t answer. She was asleep, a deep, dreamless escape in the circle of his arms. This time, Jaxon closed his eyes and followed her down.