Roxy POV
The static electricity of a wool blanket rubbing against bare skin in the dark room crackled softly, an invisible current that mirrored the tension building between us.
Jaxon didn’t move away from me.
He stayed right there, hovering over my face, his bare chest so close I could feel the heat of his heartbeat against my own.
“You think you can come into my space and dictate the rules, Tutor?” Jaxon murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone.
“You think because you signed a piece of paper, you own my time?”
“I don’t want to own anything of yours,” I breathed, my hands flat against the leather cushions of the sofa as I forced myself to meet his stormy grey gaze.
“I just want you to do the bare minimum so I can save my spot at this school. That is all this is.”
Jaxon let out a short, humorless laugh.
He straightened up slowly, his huge frame lifting away from me just enough for the cold air of the apartment to rush back between us.
But the relief was temporary.
He walked over to the edge of the sofa and threw himself down onto the middle cushion, his long legs spreading wide as he leaned back against the frame.
He looked up at me with a slow, wicked smile that made my stomach twist into a tight knot.
“Fine. Let’s make a new bet,” Jaxon said, tapping his fingers lazily against his bare knee.
“You want me to read this garbage? You want me to actually learn the material? I will read exactly one chapter tonight. But on one condition.”
I narrowed my eyes, a sense of dread settling deep in my chest.
“What condition?”
“You sit right here,” he said, slapping his hard, muscled thigh with his open palm.
“You sit on my lap, you hold the textbook, and you maintain your perfect, academic focus while I read over your shoulder. If you flinch, if you move, or if your voice shakes even once while you’re explaining the text, you lose. I close the book, and we’re done for the night. No signatures.”
My jaw tightened so hard it throbbed.
He was turning my entire life, my survival, into a high-stakes psychological game.
He wanted to see me break.
He wanted me to scramble away, to let my modesty or my fear win so he could prove that I didn’t have the stomach to handle him.
But my hyper-independence was a sickness, and right now, it was driving my blood to a boil.
I had survived the freezing, bitter winters of Ashenvale.
I had survived watching my parents count pennies at the kitchen table.
“Fine,” I whispered, my voice flat and cold.
I didn’t give myself time to second-guess the decision.
I marched over to the glass table, snatched up the big, heavy macroeconomics textbook, and turned to face him.
Jaxon’s eyes widened a little, a sudden spark of genuine surprise flashing through his grey gaze as I stepped into his space.
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered myself onto his lap.
The impact of the contact hit me like a wave.
My thighs pressed directly against the rock-hard, burning muscle of his legs.
Jaxon’s breath hitched for a split second, his entire body going rigid beneath me as the full weight of my body settled onto him.
The claustrophobic heat between us was instant and agonizing.
It felt like sitting on a furnace.
I opened the textbook with an aggressive snap of the pages, holding the heavy spine with both hands to keep them from trembling.
“Page forty-two,” I said, my voice steady, echoing clearly in the quiet room.
“Aggregate supply and demand. Read the first paragraph.”
Jaxon didn’t move for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward.
His wide chest pressed directly against my back, his broad shoulders enveloping me from behind.
The size of him trapped me in a wall of muscle and heat.
He rested his chin almost right on my shoulder, his head tilting so his face was mere inches from the side of my neck.
“Go ahead, Tutor,” Jaxon whispered, his hot, mint-scented breath fanning across my bare skin, sending a shudder straight down my spine.
“Explain it to me.”
I swallowed the lump of panic in my throat.
I refused to let him see the effect he was having on me.
I locked my eyes onto the black printed ink of the textbook, focusing every single ounce of my willpower onto the words.
“Aggregate supply represents the total quantity of output that firms are willing to produce and sell at a given price level,” I read aloud, my voice smooth, structured, and professional.
I sounded like a professor delivering a lecture, detached from the fact that my body was pinned against a half-naked hockey star.
“When the price level rises, aggregate supply typically increases because firms can earn higher revenues.”
“Is that so?” Jaxon murmured over my shoulder.
I could feel the movement of his jaw against my hair.
He shifted slightly beneath me, his hard thighs flexing against the backs of my legs, a deliberate movement meant to throw me off balance.
“The equilibrium point is reached when the quantity of output demanded matches the quantity supplied,” I continued, my voice remaining perfectly even, though my heart was hammering so violently than I ever thought possible, I was terrified he could feel it vibrating through my back.
The sweat was starting to pool at the base of my neck, the thick wool blanket draped over the back of the sofa rubbing against my arm, creating a prickling line of heat.
“If demand exceeds supply, it creates a shortage, forcing the price to rise until the market stabilizes.”
I kept reading, page after page, explaining the formulas and the graphs in a calm, unbothered breath.
For ten straight minutes, I gave him nothing.
I didn’t flinch when his chest expanded against my back.
I didn’t pause when his breathing grew heavier, turning into a low, gravelly sound right next to my ear.
I was a rock.
I was the girl from Ashenvale who didn’t break for anyone.
Jaxon watched the text over my shoulder, but as the minutes ticked by, I could feel the tension in his frame changing.
The lazy, mocking amusement was fading, turning into something thick, frustrated, and entirely too heavy.
My refusal to break was driving him insane.
Suddenly, Jaxon let out a low, harsh breath.
Slowly, his large, calloused hand left the leather cushion of the sofa.
He reached down, his thick fingers touching the cold skin of my ankle.
My breath caught in my throat, but I forced my eyes to stay on the page, my lips moving to start the next sentence.
“An increase in production costs will shift the aggregate supply curve to the left…” I stammered slightly, the very first crack in my armor.
Jaxon noticed instantly.
A dark, dangerous growl rattled deep in his chest as his hand began to move.
His fingers were burning hot, rough palms tracing a slow path straight up my calf.
His thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind my knee, sending a shock of electricity shooting through my lower body.
I gripped the edges of the textbook so hard the paper tore beneath my thumbs.
He didn’t stop.
His hand kept climbing, sliding higher up my thigh, his fingers gently brushing against the frayed cotton hem of my skirt.
Jaxon leaned in even closer, his lips practically touching the sensitive skin right beneath my earlobe as his voice dropped into a wicked, suffocating purr.
“Let’s see how long that big brain of yours can ignore this,” he whispered.