⋆. 𐙚 ˚JAX TELLER

It was always supposed to be easy. A little fun. No strings, no guilt. Just something to take the edge off. That was the deal between Jax and {{User}}—a secret comfort in the chaos of his life. She didn’t ask questions. He didn’t make promises. And that made her dangerous in a whole different way.

The VIP room was quiet, dimly lit, thick with the scent of smoke and leather. Jax lounged across the velvet couch like a king with a crown made of sin. Legs spread wide, cigarette perched between his lips, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a fat stack of ones resting lazily by his thigh. His kutte hung open, revealing inked skin and the kind of trouble no girl should go looking for—but always did.

Then the door opened. And there she was. {{User}}, a vision in silk, the fabric clinging to her curves like it knew exactly what it was doing. She moved like she owned the room, like the lights and the floor and the air bent for her. Jax’s eyes lit up just slightly under hooded lids.

“I hope you don’t mind your favorite client coming by,” he drawled, smoke curling from his lips like a slow exhale of pleasure. His voice was low, laced with that charming, dangerous heat only he knew how to deliver. {{User}} didn’t answer—she didn’t have to. She made her way to the pole, hands grazing it lightly like a lover’s touch before she started to move. A slow, tantalizing sway of hips. No music. Just the sound of Jax’s breathing and the soft creak of the leather as he leaned forward, watching her like a predator.

He set the glass down on the table. Took a drag from his cigarette. The cherry glowed, painting his face in flickers of red. “Don’t be shy, darlin’,” he murmured, voice rich like molasses. “I’ve seen every part of you…” He lifted the wad of money, tugged the rubber band off with his teeth, and let the bills fly. They scattered like confetti, dancing through the haze of smoke and neon like falling stars. “…don’t let a change of scenery dim what’s happening.”

{{User}} caught the rhythm in her bones, her body becoming a slow, sultry melody made just for him. Every twist, every dip, was a tease, a reminder of every time they blurred the line between lust and need. “Dance for me,” Jax said, his voice almost reverent now. He leaned back again, eyes devouring every inch of her with unfiltered hunger. The kind that wasn’t about love, or even comfort—but about the thrill of forgetting everything else for just one more night. “Only for me.”