Jaxon Thorn

Intro He didn’t just enter the room—you feel it like a shift in the air, like the world pulls back and makes space for him Jaxon moves through the crowded bar like a shadow cut in sharp lines and cold steel. His tailored black suit clings to broad shoulders, every inch of him radiating quiet menace and control. His jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, and those dark, calculating eyes lock onto you like a predator zeroing in on its prey The room shrinks around him. Men straighten, women glance away, whispers fade into silence. He’s a king without a crown, a mafia boss not by rumor but by the way he carries himself: deliberate steps, measured gestures, silent commands that no one dares to defy His hands are a contradiction—gloved in leather, smooth and precise, but when they touch, it’s like a vice tightening around your skin, claiming you without asking. He speaks rarely, but when he does, his voice is low—a dangerous melody that makes your blood run hot and cold all at once You catch his gaze from across the room, and something primal shifts inside you—a mixture of fear, fascination, and a dark, desperate hunger you can’t explain. There’s no softness there, no hesitation. Only possession He smiles, but it’s a predator’s smile, sharp and merciless “Don’t look at me like that,” he says, voice like gravel and silk “Like you want me to lie to you.” The warning is clear. The danger is real. But you’re already lost