Chapter 9
Nine
SINCLAIR brOTHERS
Jaxson stumbled into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with trembling hands.
His legs gave out, sending him sliding down against the frame until he hit the floor, his body a contradiction of exhaustion and electric awareness.
The scent of honey, cherry blossoms, and lilies clung to his skin, his clothes, seemingly embedded in his very pores—Lan’s distinctive fragrance, now mixed with the unmistakable musk of arousal and release.
It was stronger than ever, more intoxicating, bypassing his rational mind and triggering something ancient and primal within him.
“Fuck!” The word escaped in a harsh whisper, barely louder than his thundering heartbeat. He had just given his stepbrother a hand job. His adorably innocent, completely off-limits, utterly perfect stepbrother. The one he’d sworn to protect, not corrupt.
And yet…
His body hummed with satisfaction, a primal part of him—something that felt older than his conscious mind—purring with contentment.
He’d touched Lan. Made him come apart. Heard his name on those perfect lips as pleasure overtook him.
The memory alone was enough to reawaken his own desire, his still-hard cock straining painfully against his pants.
The possessive beast that had taken residence in his chest since Lan’s confession in the car growled with approval.
Mine. The thought wasn’t just a feeling anymore—it was a certainty that resonated in his bones, a truth as fundamental as gravity.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be the responsible one, the pillar, the protector. Not the predator.
But when Lan had looked at him with those tear-filled eyes, confessing his heartache over loving someone who didn’t see him that way…
something in Jaxson had snapped. The thought of Lan pining for someone else, someone who couldn’t appreciate the gift of his affection, had triggered a physical pain in his chest so intense it felt like his heart was being torn out.
Before he could think it through, he’d been touching Lan, claiming him in the most intimate way possible.
“What the hell have I done?” he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair, which felt unusually hot beneath his fingers, as if his body temperature had spiked.
The questions started parading through his mind like a particularly aggressive marching band. Had he taken advantage of Lan when he was vulnerable? Was he that desperate? That selfish?
But beneath the guilt, a darker, more possessive thought surfaced: At least now he knows what it feels like to be touched by someone who truly wants him. By me. Not by whoever he thinks he’s in love with.
The thought should have horrified him. Instead, it settled in his chest like a weight, heavy but somehow right.
Lan belonged with him. To him. The certainty of it ran deeper than logic or morality, resonating in his bones like an ancient truth that had been written in his DNA before he was born.
It felt like remembering something he’d always known but had somehow forgotten until now.
His legs finally surrendered to gravity, and he collapsed onto his king-sized bed.
The ceiling offered no answers as he contemplated how he was supposed to face Lan tomorrow.
Should he pretend nothing happened? Play it cool like he hadn’t just crossed every line in the “How to Be a Good Stepbrother” handbook?
No, that wasn’t his style. Jaxson Sinclair didn’t do denial—he faced things head-on, no matter how ugly. And this situation definitely qualified as ugly. Beautiful, but ugly.
He’d have to apologize to Lan.
But even as the thought formed, something rebellious and possessive coiled in his gut.
Apologize for what, exactly? For making Lan feel good?
For showing him how it could be between them?
For taking the first step toward claiming what felt rightfully his?
The very idea of apologizing for what had happened between them triggered that strange pain again—a visceral rejection that felt almost supernatural in its intensity.
His eyes drifted shut, only for his brain to helpfully supply a high-definition replay of Lan—flushed face, bright eyes, and that expression.
God, that expression. Like Jaxson had simultaneously ruined him and remade him.
Wet hair clinging to that delicate face, those blushing cheeks spreading down his neck, milky pale skin that practically begged to be marked.
The sweet scent that had intensified with his arousal, wrapping around Jaxson like invisible bonds.
When his mind decided to remind him of exactly how Lan looked spread out before him, trembling with need, Jaxson knew he was royally screwed.
And then there was the moment they’d almost kissed.
He’d felt Lan’s breath against his lips, seen those dark eyes drop to his mouth with unmistakable want.
Something extraordinary had happened in that moment—a pulling sensation in his chest, like an invisible cord drawing him toward Lan with a force that felt ancient and inevitable.
It wasn’t just desire; it was recognition, bone-deep and primal, as if something dormant in his soul had suddenly awakened and recognized its counterpart.
If Lan hadn’t pulled back at the last second, Jaxson knew his legendary self-control would have shattered completely.
He would have devoured that perfect mouth, claimed those soft lips, tasted the sweetness he’d been dreaming about for years.
His fingers curled into the bedspread at the memory, the fabric tearing slightly under his grip—a strength he hadn’t known he possessed surging through him at the thought of what he’d almost had.
The image of Lan’s body remained burned into his mind—that impossibly smooth skin, unmarked by the typical masculine hair patterns, skin so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light.
Lan had been self-conscious about it, he could tell, the way he’d tensed when Jaxson first saw him naked.
But God, if Lan only knew how perfect he was—how that uncommon smoothness had triggered something possessive and primal in Jaxson’s core.
It was as if Lan had been crafted specifically for him, uniquely beautiful in a way that defied conventional masculinity.
Something about that smoothness, that delicacy combined with unmistakable maleness, had resonated with a part of Jaxson he hadn’t known existed—a part that growled mine with such ferocity it had frightened him.
He’d never felt so possessive of anyone before, never felt this bone-deep certainty that another person belonged to him so completely, so irrevocably.
That strange warmth in his chest hadn’t faded, either—the heat that had blossomed when he first touched Lan, when he’d watched him come apart in his arms. It lingered still, like an ember that refused to die out, connecting him to Lan even through the walls that separated them now.
He could feel Lan’s presence in the apartment with unnatural clarity, could sense his heartbeat, his breathing, as if they were extensions of his own body.
Next time, he wouldn’t let Lan pull away. Next time…
“Shit!” His body was staging a mutiny, and his conscience was losing the battle. His skin felt too hot, too tight, like it could barely contain whatever was awakening inside him. “This is going to be a long night.”
Sleep proved as elusive as his self-control, his mind torn between guilt and the intoxicating memory of Lan’s scent intensifying as pleasure overtook him.
That sweet fragrance of honey, cherry blossoms, and lilies had grown stronger with Lan’s arousal, wrapping around Jaxson like a physical embrace.
It had made his head spin, triggering something deep and primal within him—a sense of rightness, of belonging, of coming home after a long absence.
Like a key turning in a lock that had been rusted shut for centuries.
His senses seemed heightened as he lay in the darkness—he could hear Lan’s breathing through the walls, could detect the faintest traces of his scent even at this distance.
He could feel the thrum of Lan’s heartbeat, somehow distinguishable from the others in the apartment.
It was unsettling yet comforting, this new awareness of Lan’s physical presence, as if some invisible tether connected them across the space between their rooms.
Dawn found him looking like he’d gone ten rounds with insomnia and lost spectacularly. Dark circles decorated his eyes, and his hair looked like it was staging a rebellion against gravity. But beneath the exhaustion, a new resolve had crystallized.
Lan was his. Had always been his, even if neither of them had realized it until now.
The certainty of it was bone-deep, as if this truth had been written into his soul before he’d ever drawn breath.
And he would do whatever it took to make Lan see that, to forget this mysterious person he thought he loved.
Jaxson would be patient. He would play the long game.
He would teach Lan pleasure, show him what it meant to be truly wanted, truly cherished.
And eventually, Lan would be his completely.
He changed into his jogging gear, his movements mechanical. Physical activity—that’s what he needed. Something to exhaust his body enough that his brain would stop its endless replay of last night’s highlights.
The kitchen was silent when he stumbled in, except for the judgmental hum of the refrigerator. He downed a glass of water like it might wash away his sins and headed out.