Jaxon
She stares deeply into my eyes, and I can see her pull herself back together. It’s a visible act of will.
It’s so goddamn sexy. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“Jaxon. We need to actually find the root of your trauma. If we don’t, you will always be sick. I’m here to help you.”
“I’m not traumatized.”
“So you say. But you must have something behind the emotional trigger.” She looks through her papers. “For instance, can you give me more detail on how your father was abusive to you and your mother?”
“No, not really. He was just a cunt.”
“So, it’s true that he threatened you with changing your name on all the legal documents, forcing everyone to call you Jack?”
“It might be.”
“Your mother. What type of duct tape did she use to pin you to the wall?”
I snort with laughter. “What?”
“You said she used to duct tape you to the wall. What type of tape did she use?” I lean back and stretch, linking my hands. I crack my shoulders and knuckles.
“No fucking clue.”
Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “Are you prepared to discuss your issues with the fairytale rhymes associated with your name?”
“They’re just fairy tales. They don’t mean shit.”
“You’ve mentioned it every time I ask you about your emotional response to being called ‘Jack.’” She looks at me as she says it, as if she can trigger me.
It doesn’t. It’s not in context. She’s not disrespecting me.
“You have some interesting books in here,” I respond. “Can I borrow some? The library cart has six different bibles, but no mysteries.”
She sighs and slams the papers down on the desk. “Jaxon! You have to help me, or I can’t help you! Don’t you know I’m under a tremendous amount of pressure here? Don’t you care?”
I return my focus to her, lounging against my chair. I don’t give her the satisfaction of softening up or leaning towards her.
“I appreciate that you have some level of stress regarding my case.”
“Then please, help me to help you. Talk to me. Why do you hate being called Jack?”
I’m staring off into space. Whatever is in front of me, I can’t see it.
“It’s not my name…” I whisper softly.
“What? Jaxon, I didn’t hear you.”
I take a deep breath and pinch my nose as I sigh, leaning forward.
“Okay. You want the truth? There was this kid in boarding school. He used to call me Jack-sprat. Yes, the fucking fairy tale thing again. It is true that Jaxon is a family name. Has been for awhile. We also have a considerable history at this school.
“This little punk is from a rival family. We always donate millions to the school so we get our names on everything. Well, this little cunt went around in the night and anywhere the name ‘Jaxon’ appeared, he changed it to Jack. Just with magic marker.
“Can you imagine? Plaques and wall hangings, trophies, certificates. My great uncle Jaxon and grandpa Jaxon would have been mortified.”
I lean forward, looking at her earnestly. “He didn’t just deface history. He defaced me. My future and the future of our whole family. Generations worth of good standing, ruined by one dumb little prick and a magic marker in one night.”
“But surely you understand that he didn’t actually deface the achievements? That that’s impossible. The kid only defaced himself. Made himself small by showing what a threat you were to his own personal security. Surely you understand that?”
I look at her. Deeply. My eyes are locked on hers, and I’ve got that feeling again.
Like we’re both outside of reality, and only our bodies are here, being socially acceptable. Our souls are somewhere else, dancing in the dark.
“I never thought of it like that,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
It’s all bullshit. Maybe she knows that.
I don’t really care.
“We seem to be making some headway now.”
“Yes, I think we are.”
“Jaxon…do you feel that you have violent tendencies? I’ve asked you before. You say you don’t, but you clearly react violently. You need to examine this.”
“Is that line of statues on the bookshelf an original art piece? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Jaxon, I asked you a question.”
I turn and look straight at her, palms on the desk. “And I asked you one. Have you forgotten our deal?”
She laughs softly. “No, not really. But you are court-ordered to answer my questions.”
“You think I give a fuck about that?”
“You should. My assessment of you will determine what happens to you.”
I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. It actually hurts my guts.
“You think that’s funny?”
“Yes. I really do.”
“Do you think your money can get you out of anything?”
“It has so far.”
“I might add to my report that you are so deranged, your surroundings literally don’t matter to you. That your psychosis is so advanced, you see yourself as a god, even in prison clothes.”
I smile coldly. She’s firing up. Trying to get a reaction out of me.
The cool, calm doctor is fleeing, and the red-hot woman is coming out.
“You certainly could say that.”
“Jaxon! Take this seriously!”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Is your mental health a joke to you?”
“Not at all. I think it’s vital to overall happiness.”
She sighs, closing her eyes for a second, using both hands to rub at them. “You agreed to advanced psychotherapy.”
“You agreed to answer my questions.” I’m feeling quite comfortable now. I can feel the balance of energy shifting.
It’s happening.
I’m getting the real Alison.
While she tries to recover herself—unsuccessfully, I might add—I get up and wander around the room. I pick up the little crystal statues. They’re finely made in the shapes of animals.
“Honestly, I have a taste for fine things, and I’ve never seen these. Where did you get them?”
She looks up, exasperated. “A gift from my father. He meets all kinds of artists.”
“Interesting.” I run my hand over the shelf. Looking at her books.
“Jaxon, sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Why?”
I turn and face her, crossing my arms. “Because I’m not running from my emotions. I can feel the heat between us, and I’m honest about it. Look at you, sitting there, going on about emotional discovery.
“It’s a crock of shit. You can’t admit how you really feel about me. How the fuck do you expect to fix me when you can’t even be honest with yourself?”
She stands up and strides towards me.
Her cheeks are flaming. Her mouth looks red. Her eyes are blazing.
“Shut the fuck up,” she hisses at me.
Oh, lovely. She’s losing it.
“Make me.” I lean my face towards hers.
She looks furious. Her body is ridged as she glares at me, getting almost on to her tip toes.
Maybe she’s going to slap me? The idea is incredibly arousing.
I try to think of something provocative to say that might force her hand. She’s so emotionally tied down, I’m impressed to have gotten her this far.
Then I see it. Her mouth twitches slightly, tongue coming to the edge of her lip. Her body seems to soften and bend towards me, even though she doesn’t move.
She’s looking at my mouth. She’s thinking of kissing me.
Again, I get that sense our souls are connected, outside of reality.
“I’m just a puzzle to you,” I whisper. “A problem. I’m not even real. Not even a person. Not a man.”
Her lips tremble. Her hands twitch. She wants to, I know, she wants to.
I lean forward and kiss her. It’s like electricity as our mouths touch. I feel that soft bend go through her whole body, and I put one hand behind her head and grip her around the waist with the other.
She moans, just lightly, into my mouth. A groan escapes me, and I push forward, losing my feet as I kiss her harder. Caught off-balance, she steps back, and we slam against the wall.
Her hot tits slam into me, bouncing across my chest. She leans against the wall, head going back, mouth opening, back bowing, legs opening. Through our hot breath, she whispers.
“Jaxon.”
I run my fingers up her neck and into that wild, red hair as my other hand goes around her waist. I grind my hips into her, grabbing at her ass. She twists against me, moans coming out of her, sounding like sobs.
Her body is alive and twitching with arousal. It’s like I can feel it in my own body, the tightness of her nipples, the heat in her clit, wetness of her pussy.
My cock is raging hard—ridiculously so. I rock against her again so she can feel it, and she gasps, making needy little sounds. I see the drowsy blink of her gorgeous eyes, and I know I’ve got her.
Emotion has finally come and swept her away, broken all those locks society forced on her. She’s all woman now.
And she’s mine.