7. ZARA
ZARA
More Than Meets the Eye
Idon’t move.
I don’t think I can.
I’m just standing there in the doorway, one hand resting lightly against the frame, watching something I don’t think I was ever meant to see.
Jaxon sits on the couch with Lily curled into him, her small body tucked against his like that’s the most natural place in the world. One of his hands is in her hair, slow, steady strokes, like he’s grounding her. Like he’s grounding himself.
His voice is low. Gentle. Patient in a way that feels completely at odds with the man who treated me so harshly. There’s no sign of his clipped control or impossible expectations.
He’s warm. Kind. Soft in a way I didn’t expect.
And that thought… unsettles me more than anything else.
He’s a really good dad.
The realization lands quietly, but it sticks.
They’re in their own little world, Lily giggling while Jaxon huffs out a quiet laugh.
I’m not part of it. And why does that sting so much?
For a second—just one—I let myself imagine what it would be like if the version I got from him was the one he shows Lily.
If he were… mine.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I shove the thought down fast.
To me, he’s just my boss. He’ll be grumpy most days, snap at me, treat me like the employee I am.
And that’s how it should be. Right?
I should leave. Before he notices me.
But just as I shift my weight, his head lifts slightly and our eyes meet.
For a split second, everything stills with neither of us looking away.
Then I force myself to step back.
“I’ll get dinner started,” I say lightly, like I haven’t just been standing here watching something deeply personal unfold. Like my chest doesn’t feel tight in a way I don’t want to examine.
His gaze lingers on me for a second longer.
Then he nods once. “Thanks.”
I retreat into the kitchen, grateful for a moment to myself before what I expect will be an awkward dinner with the three of us.
Lily and Jaxon stay behind, soaking up their time together while I cook. Lily’s frequent giggles drift down the hall, bright and unrestrained. I can’t help but smile every time I hear her laugh.
Dinner turns out less awkward than I expected. Mostly thanks to Lily, who carries the conversation. Jaxon is polite, even warm at times, complimenting the pasta and helping clear the table afterward.
Since he’s home for the night, I have the evening off. He takes Lily to bed, and she’s asleep in no time.
I’m in my room, trying to wind down.
But my thoughts won’t settle. I try reading. Then a movie. Nothing sticks. My mind keeps circling, restless.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, wide awake.
The way he looked at Lily.
The way he held her.
The way he said her name.
A slow exhale leaves me.
Why can’t he just be the asshole I thought he was?
But I was wrong. There’s more to this man than meets the eye.
I roll onto my side, dragging the blanket up with me like it might somehow ground me.
It doesn’t.
Because the second my mind quiets even a little, my body betrays me.
And in my head, I hear his voice.
Low.
Rough.
“Zara.”
Heat curls low in my stomach before I can stop it.
“Seriously?” I mutter into the darkness.
I shove the pillow over my head.
This is ridiculous.
I am not doing this.
I am not lying here thinking about my boss like some hormonal teenager.
I have self-control.
I have standards.
I—
My breath catches.
Because apparently, my body did not get that memo.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to redirect, to think about literally anything else.
Grocery lists.
Schedules.
Lily’s homework.
But nothing sticks. Every thought dissolves the moment it forms, drowned out by the memory of us at the bar. Jaxon’s eyes on me. Jaxon fucking me senseless.
I groan, hurling the pillow aside.
My hand rests on my stomach, fingers splayed across the thin cotton of my sleep shirt.
My skin feels too warm, too sensitive. Like every nerve ending is standing at attention, waiting for something.
I shift against the sheets, the fabric catching against my nipples. They're hard, aching, and I realize I've been lying here for twenty minutes fighting a losing battle.
My fingers creep down my stomach, slow and deliberate, tracing the line of my waistband.
I bite my lip, imagining his lips there instead. His breath hot against my neck. His stubble scraping against my collarbone.
My pulse quickens as I slip my hand under the elastic of my panties, my fingers brushing against the dampness already gathering between my thighs.
I'm wet. Embarrassingly wet. The kind of wet that comes from hours of suppressed wanting and inappropriate thoughts.
I close my eyes tighter, pretending it's his touch.
His fingers sliding between my legs, firm and purposeful. I can almost feel the calluses on his palms, the strength in his hands as he parts my folds and finds the spot that makes me shiver.
I let out a soft moan, my hips tilting up to meet my hand as I press harder, circling my clit in slow, tight strokes.
The pleasure builds gradually, spreading outward like ripples in still water.
In my mind, Jaxon is above me. His eyes bore into mine, that serious expression he wears focused entirely on me.
His weight pressing me into the mattress. His mouth claiming mine with a hunger that matches my own.
My fingers move faster now, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
I slide one finger inside myself, then two, feeling the tight heat grip them. I thrust shallowly, my palm grinding against my clit with each movement.
I imagine Jaxon watching me. Standing at the foot of my bed with his arms crossed, his eyes dark and hungry. His voice commanding me to touch myself for him.
"Show me," he'd say. "Show me how you like it."
I obey, my fingers curling inside, finding that spot that makes my back arch off the mattress. My thumb works my clit in frantic circles, the wet sounds of my arousal filling the quiet room.
I picture the way he’d look at me.
Not with the polite distance he kept today as my employer, but with something raw and unfiltered. The way his jaw would tighten. The way his chest would rise and fall with barely restrained need.
My thighs clench, my body tightening like a coil ready to snap. The pleasure is building too fast now, cresting like a wave, and I'm helpless to stop it.
My fingers plunge deeper, harder. My hips buck against my hand. The wet, obscene sounds of my fucking myself fill the room, mixing with my ragged breathing and the soft moans I can't contain.
"Fuck," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
I'm close. So close. The tension coils tighter and tighter, my muscles trembling, my skin on fire.
And then—
I come, my body arching off the bed, a strangled cry torn from my throat.
The orgasm crashes through me in waves, pulsing around my fingers, radiating outward until I'm left shaking and gasping in its aftermath.
And when it’s over, when the tension finally loosens just enough for me to breathe again—
I stare up at the ceiling and let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
“Great,” I murmur.
Because that did absolutely nothing to fix the actual problem.
***
The next morning, I brace myself before walking into the kitchen.
According to his schedule, he’ll be home.
Jaxon stands at the counter, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the other braced against the edge like he’s been there a while.
His hair is slightly mussed, like he didn’t bother fixing it. His T-shirt clings to his shoulders in a way that should be illegal this early in the morning.
He looks… dangerously good.
“Morning,” he says.
It shouldn’t do anything to me.
It’s just a word. Two syllables. And yet—
My stomach tightens like it’s bracing for impact.
“Morning,” I return.
I move to the other side of the kitchen, putting space between us, reaching for the coffee maker like I haven’t spent half the night thinking about him.
“Lily’s already at school?” I ask, because small talk is safe. Neutral. Necessary.
“Yeah. She told me to tell you hi.”
I smile at that. His daughter really is something special. “Thanks.”
He sets his mug down. “We should probably talk.”
I inhale slowly, bracing myself. “Okay,” I say, turning to face him.
I expect criticism. A continuation of our argument the other day. Instead—
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling like this is harder than he wants it to be.
“I was out of line about the tutor thing.”
The words land somewhere between surprising and… disarming.
I blink. “You were?”
His mouth tightens slightly, but he nods. “I expected you to handle something you didn’t have the information for. And I regret how I handled it.”
“Okay,” I say evenly. “That’s good to hear. I appreciate that.”
“My communication was subpar, and I shouldn’t have come at you like that,” he adds.
There’s effort in it. I can see it. This isn’t easy for him.
But he owns it so completely that something in my chest loosens just a fraction.
“I’m not here to make your life harder,” I say. “I’m here to make it easier. But I need access. Information. Clear expectations.”
“You’ll have it,” he says.
And for some reason, I believe him.
“You should probably know,” he goes on, “or—actually, I mentioned it when we first met. I’m in the middle of a custody battle.”
I’ve wondered about that. And from what I overheard yesterday, things with Lily’s mom aren’t easy.
“That’s why everything has to be… tight right now,” he continues. “Schedules. Structure. Consistency. It all gets looked at.”
“They’re evaluating your home environment?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“And you’re worried about how it looks.”
“I know I can give my daughter what she needs. But historically, the courts haven’t been favorable to dads getting sole custody, and I’m worried about losing her,” he says. “It’s… a lot.”
I swallow, my chest tightening.
He exhales. “Her mom is going through a tough time. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but you’ll probably figure it out sooner or later anyway.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
He drags a hand through his hair, pacing once like he needs the movement to get the words out.
“She’s not… a bad person,” he says, and I hear the effort in that. The careful choice. “That’s the thing. If she were, this would be easier.”
“What is she like?” I ask gently.
He huffs out a quiet breath. “Depends on the day.”
That says enough.
“She can be…” He searches for the word. “Incredible. When she’s on, she’s really on. Funny, warm. The kind of person everyone gravitates toward. Lily used to adore her.”
“That’s the version most people see,” he adds. “That’s the version she shows when it matters.”
“And the other version?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “Unpredictable.”
I stay quiet, letting him continue.
“She cancels on Lily. Last minute. Or she shows up late, like it’s no big deal. Makes plans she doesn’t follow through on.” His voice stays controlled, but there’s something underneath it now. Frustration.
“One day she’s the perfect mom. The next she’s… distracted. Short-tempered. Gone in her own head.” He pauses, something harder settling into his expression. “She’s even lashed out at Lily a few times. There’s no excuse for that.”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t want to take her mom away from her,” he goes on, quieter now. “But I want sole custody until she’s in a better place. And I’m fighting for that.”
“Okay, but if she’s that unreliable, shouldn’t it be easier to get sole custody?”
He exhales slowly. “Like I said, the courts don’t like giving sole custody to a single dad. Also…”
I tilt my head. “Also what?”
“She’s smart. Socially. She knows what to say, how to act—especially when people are watching. In court, in front of evaluators…” His mouth flattens. “She’ll come across as a loving, devoted mother who just wants more time with her daughter.”
I nod.
His gaze holds mine.
“Lily is my whole world,” he says, quieter now. “And right now, everything I do is being measured against whether I’m ‘stable enough’ to keep her.”
I hate that word.
Stable.
Like love isn’t enough. Like showing up every day doesn’t count unless it fits into some neat little box someone else approves of.
“That’s… a lot,” I say softly.
And I get it. I do. More than I want to.
I’ve seen families fall apart over less.
I’ve seen kids caught in the middle of battles they never asked for.
And I saw the way Lily looked at him yesterday. The way she trusts him.
“You’re doing a good job,” I add quietly.
His eyes flick to mine.
“Lily is proof of that,” I go on. “She’s grounded. She feels safe. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
Silence.
Then—
“Thanks,” he says.
Rougher than before.
Like the word got caught on the way out.
I nod once.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” I add. “That’s literally why I’m here.”
His gaze holds mine.
“And I meant what I said the other day,” I continue. “I’m good at what I do. I’ll give her structure. Routine. Stability. I’ll show up.”
My voice softens just slightly. “I already care about her.”
Something in his expression changes again.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I can see that.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward.
It’s… something else.
Something that stretches, but doesn’t snap.
We’re not standing on opposite sides anymore.
We’re…aligned.
Aligned.
I become very aware of the space between us.
Of how little there is.
My pulse ticks up.
I can feel the heat of him, catch the now-familiar scent of his aftershave.
All his attention is on me, and God—yes. This is what I wanted. For him to look at me like that.
I feel seen. Wanted. Just like that.
He gives me something no one ever has—not with pretty words or grand gestures, but with a single look.
His hand lifts, slow, deliberate, like he’s done once before.
“Zara,” he murmurs.
I know what’s coming.
His fingers brush along my jaw, tilting my chin up.
Then his mouth meets mine: slow, warm, and consuming.
His tongue brushes against mine, and I melt into it, a soft sigh slipping out.
And then—
His phone rings.