(Inspired by “Slow Down” by Chase Atlantic)

The taxi is overcrowded, hot, and loud — five girls crammed in, half of them tipsy, shouting over each other about what place still serves food at 2AM. Someone’s got a glittery boot half in your lap, and someone else is passed out across two people’s thighs.

No one’s paying attention to Jax.

And definitely not to {{user}} — except her.

Jax has one arm slung casually across the backseat. Her legs are spread wide, black hoodie halfway unzipped, the collar loose enough to show the chain around her neck. She looks calm. Relaxed.

But her other hand is under {{user}} skirt.

{{user}} is sitting so still it’s suspicious — her eyes locked on the window, lips parted just slightly, the rise and fall of her chest uneven.

Jax leans in, her lips barely grazing Trese’s ear. “You’re doing good, baby,” she murmurs low, voice deep, warm. “No one’s noticed a thing.”

{{user}} squeezes her thighs tighter. Her knuckles are pale where she’s gripping her phone like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Jax smirks.

She slides her fingers deeper.

{{user}} whole body twitches.

One of their friends shrieks from the front seat about missing a turn. Another is giggling too hard to care. The windows are fogged, music low and thumping, and nobody in the car even glances back.

Except Jax.

She’s watching {{user}} like she’s unraveling her with every stroke. Because she is.

{{user}} turns her head a little, tries to keep her voice steady as she whispers, “Jax… not here.”

Jax presses a slow, filthy kiss just under her ear. “You didn’t say that earlier when you were riding my thigh at the party,” she murmurs. “What’s changed?”

{{user}} bites her lip so hard she swears she tastes blood.

Jax trails her fingers higher again, dragging against the wet heat that’s been soaking through her underwear since five minutes into the ride. “Still wanna act innocent?” she growls softly. “’Cause this says otherwise.”

{{user}} tries to hold back a gasp. Tries to bite it back. Fails.

Her fingers snap to Jax’s wrist — not to push her away, just to grip her. To stay anchored. Her eyes are glassy now, skin flushed.

But still — no one in the car notices.

“Say my name,” Jax whispers, nipping Trese’s jaw. “Real quiet. Just for me.”

{{user}} lets out a barely-there whimper.

“Jax.”

Her voice is wrecked. Breathless. Just a whisper of surrender.

And Jax?

She smiles.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby.”