Chapter 16
Sixteen
SINCLAIR brOTHERS
Dawn crept through the blinds like an unwelcome voyeur, painting Jaxson’s bedroom in watercolor hues of pink and gold.
Sleep had abandoned him hours ago, leaving him to wrestle not with his conscience, but with the exquisite torture of having Lan’s warm body pressed against his while being unable to take what he truly wanted.
The irony wasn’t lost on him—Jaxson Sinclair, successful real estate agent and self-appointed family guardian, reduced to a lovesick fool by a twenty-one-year-old who’d asked him for kissing lessons.
Kissing lessons. As if Lan had any idea what those innocent words had done to Jaxson’s carefully constructed restraint, to the primal creature that had awakened inside him the moment their lips touched.
His gaze drifted to Lan’s sleeping form, and his heart performed a complicated maneuver that would have impressed Olympic gymnasts.
The boy was unfairly beautiful, all porcelain skin and ink-black hair spread across Jaxson’s pillow like calligraphy on expensive paper.
Those lips—now slightly swollen from their midnight “tutoring session”—parted softly with each breath, tempting him beyond reason.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Lan,” Jaxson whispered, his fingers hovering over the boy’s cheek.
The memory of last night’s activities flooded his mind in vivid detail: Lan’s dark eyes widening as Jaxson had pushed him onto his back, the soft gasp that escaped those perfect lips when their mouths first met, the way his small body had arched upward, seeking more contact.
The taste of him—honey-sweet and addictive, like nothing Jaxson had ever experienced yet somehow achingly familiar.
And those sounds. God, the little whimpers and moans Lan had made when Jaxson deepened the kiss, when his tongue had first slipped past those soft lips.
The breathless way he’d said Jaxson’s name, like a prayer, like salvation.
The desperate clutch of his fingers in Jaxson’s hair, pulling him closer, wanting more.
Jaxson shifted uncomfortably, his body responding instantly to the memories, his pupils dilating as he inhaled deeply. He should feel guilty—he knew that. Should be consumed with remorse for taking advantage of Lan’s innocent request. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret a single moment.
Not when Lan had responded so perfectly, fit so sweetly against him, trembled so beautifully beneath his touch.
Not when he’d finally gotten a taste of what he’d been craving for longer than he cared to admit.
Not when every cell in his body recognized Lan as his in a way that defied rational explanation.
The only shadow on his satisfaction was the knowledge that Lan’s heart belonged to someone else.
The mysterious person who was “completely off-limits” according to Lan’s own admission.
The thought of Lan pining for another while Jaxson taught him how to kiss twisted something dark and possessive in his chest. The feral beast within him snarled at the very thought.
Whoever they are, they’ll never see him like this. Never know how he looks with kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks. Never hear those little sounds he makes when he’s coming apart. Those belong to me now.
The possessive thought should have alarmed him. Instead, it settled in his chest like a satisfied predator. Let Lan think he was practicing for someone else—Jaxson would take what he could get. And maybe, just maybe, he could make Lan forget this other person entirely.
Unable to resist any longer, Jaxson traced the back of his fingers along Lan’s cheek. The skin was silk-soft, warm from sleep. He leaned closer, pressing a featherlight kiss to those tempting lips.
A soft groan broke the silence. “Mmm… Jaxson…”
His heart stopped, then kickstarted like a faulty engine.
The sound of his name on Lan’s lips, even in sleep, sent electricity dancing down his spine.
Something primitive and possessive unfurled in his chest at the realization that Lan was dreaming about him.
The beast inside him preened with satisfaction.
Before he could process that particular revelation, Lan shifted, rolling onto him with the grace of a sleeping cat.
The boy sprawled across his chest, fitting against him like the final piece of a puzzle Jaxson hadn’t known he was solving.
One slim leg slipped between Jaxson’s, one arm curled possessively around his waist, and that dark head nestled perfectly under his chin.
“Perfect,” Jaxson murmured, wrapping his arms around Lan’s smaller frame, savoring the weight of him. “Absolutely perfect.”
He buried his face in Lan’s scented hair, inhaling deeply. That sweet fragrance seemed stronger this morning, wrapping around him like an invisible embrace. The familiar scent had become Jaxson’s personal brand of addiction, calling to something deep and primal within him.
You’re playing with fire, Sinclair. This isn’t going to end well.
But with Lan’s warm weight pressed against him, those worried thoughts seemed distant and unimportant. The world outside could wait. For now, in this stolen moment between night and day, Jaxson allowed himself to pretend that this was real, that Lan was his to hold and cherish. His to love.
His hand traced lazy patterns on Lan’s back, memorizing the curve of his spine through the thin t-shirt.
He recalled how that same back had arched when Jaxson stroked him last night, how those muscles had tensed as pleasure overtook him.
The memory alone was enough to make Jaxson’s body respond, his cock hardening against Lan’s thigh.
Control yourself, he admonished silently. You’ve taken enough advantage already.
But had he? Lan had asked for those lessons. Had responded with an enthusiasm that went beyond mere practice. Had clung to him, pulled him closer, begged for more. Had whispered Jaxson’s name as he came apart in his arms.
No, Jaxson couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty.
Not when it had felt so right, so perfect.
Not when some ancient part of him recognized Lan as his, had always known they belonged together.
Not when every touch, every kiss had strengthened that strange golden warmth between them, that connection that felt older than time itself.
Tomorrow, he’d worry about consequences and propriety and whoever held Lan’s heart. But for now, Jaxson Sinclair was exactly where he wanted to be—with his treasure in his arms, exactly where he belonged.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays now an insistent reminder that the real world waited beyond Jaxson’s bedroom door.
Their overnight guests would be stirring soon, and someone needed to play host. Still, Jaxson allowed himself another moment to savor Lan’s warmth against him, memorizing the weight and feel of him.
Five more minutes, he bargained with his conscience.
But responsibility—his constant companion—won out.
With surgical precision, he extracted himself from Lan’s octopus-like embrace, immediately missing the contact.
The boy made a small sound of protest that nearly broke Jaxson’s resolve, but he managed to slip away without waking him.
After a quick shower that did nothing to wash away the memories of last night, Jaxson returned to his bedroom. Lan hadn’t moved, still curled up in the warm spot Jaxson had vacated, looking impossibly young and vulnerable. The sight made something protective and possessive twist in Jaxson’s chest.
Just one kiss, he reasoned, leaning down to press his lips to Lan’s forehead. But one became two as he couldn’t resist kissing the tip of that perfect nose. And because he was already damned, he captured those soft lips in a kiss that left him growling with barely contained hunger.
“God help me, angel,” he murmured against Lan’s temple, his voice rough with want. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
He forced himself to leave before he could give in to the urge to crawl back into bed, to wake Lan with kisses, to continue last night’s “lessons” until neither of them could remember their own names. The thought was tempting—too tempting—but Jaxson had already crossed enough lines. For now.
The kitchen beckoned, and Jaxson had barely touched the coffee maker when Wei materialized like a caffeine-seeking missile.
“Step away from the machine,” Wei commanded, voice still rough with sleep. “I won’t let you commit coffee crimes this early in the morning.”
Jaxson raised his hands in surrender, chuckling. “All yours, Coffee Whisperer. God forbid we drink peasant brew.”
Wei began his morning ritual, measuring beans with the precision of a master alchemist. “So,” he said casually, too casually, “how was having our resident Celestial Peach in your bed again?”
“Fine,” Jaxson replied, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. “Just fine.”
“Still does that thing?” Wei’s dark eyes gleamed with knowing mischief. “Where he rolls on top of you like a clingy koala?”
The memory of Lan sprawled across his chest made Jaxson’s throat go dry. Before he could formulate a response that wouldn’t incriminate him, Colt’s voice cut through the kitchen like a blade.
“Yeah, how was babysitting duty?” Colt’s tone carried enough sarcasm to fill a small ocean.
Jaxson caught the tension in Colt’s frame, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to track invisible remnants of Lan’s scent. Something territorial flared in Jaxson’s chest at Colt’s obvious interest. Mine, that possessive part of him growled. Not yours.
“Like sleeping with a starfish,” Jaxson deflected, reaching for a mug. “An extremely cuddly starfish.”
“Mm-hmm.” Wei’s hum spoke volumes as he poured the perfectly brewed coffee. “And I’m sure you hated every second of it.”