Fics like some part of me must have died (the first time that you called me baby)

Jax sips at his whiskey, looking at her over the rim of the glass and then offers it to her wordlessly, eyes bright and hungry as he watches her take a long sip, the burn of it in her throat familiar but no less intoxicating. She empties the glass and sets it on the jade fireplace mantle with shaking fingers, some strange energy buzzing within her as she studies him, suddenly aware of the way her breathing is coming in shallow, rapid breaths. When his fingers close around her wrist, she can’t contain the gasp that slips out of her, nor the way her body instinctively arches toward him, hungry with want and aching for more of his touch. Jax’s gaze sweeps over her, following the curves of the white Armani dress her mother had picked out for her, the neckline high and modest just like Sofia Pearson likes for her daughter. Little virginal Charlotte, perpetually dressed in white and cream and blush, enticing, but not to touch. Except for Jax.