Chapter 22 #2
Not just in his bed—in his clothes. Jaxson’s favorite white oxford—the one he’d paid a small fortune for at that discreet tailor on 5th Avenue—draped over Lan’s smaller frame like it had been designed for this exact moment rather than for business meetings with wealthy clients.
The collar had fallen open, exposing the elegant sweep of Lan’s collarbone, pale and perfect against the crisp white cotton.
One sleeve had slipped down to reveal a bare shoulder that caught the afternoon light filtering through the curtains, turning his skin to alabaster and making Jaxson’s fingers itch with the need to trace that exposed curve.
Lan’s bare legs were tucked up beneath him, the shirt riding high enough to expose miles of smooth thigh against the deep navy of Jaxson’s comforter.
His dark hair spread across Jaxson’s pillow like spilled ink, creating a stark contrast that made something primitive and possessive surge through Jaxson’s veins like wildfire.
The image seared itself into his memory—ivory against navy, delicate against substantial, Lan’s ethereal beauty claiming space among Jaxson’s masculine austerity as if he’d always belonged there.
Then the scent enveloped him, wrapping around his senses with an intensity that made his knees weaken.
That honey-sweet fragrance unique to Lan—cherry blossoms and lilies—had infused the entire room, stronger than Jaxson had ever experienced it before.
The scent permeated everything—his sheets, his pillows, the very air—as if Lan had marked his territory in the most primal way possible.
Jaxson inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance fill his lungs, feeling it penetrate directly into his bloodstream until it became part of him.
His pupils dilated so rapidly it sent a wave of dizziness through him, his vision narrowing until all he could see was Lan in his bed, wearing his clothes, surrounded by his things.
Heat coursed through his body in waves, his heart hammering against his ribs with such force he could hear its rhythm in his ears, drowning out all other sound.
The golden warmth that always resided in his chest when Lan was near erupted into a blazing inferno, spreading through his limbs until his fingertips tingled with it.
“Lan,” he whispered, the name pulled from his throat unbidden, reverent as a prayer.
His feet carried him forward without conscious command, drawing him to the bedside as inexorably as gravity pulls objects toward earth. Each step closer intensified the scent, the heat, the desperate hunger that clawed through his carefully maintained control.
Lan didn’t stir. His chest rose and fell in the deep rhythm of untroubled sleep, one slender arm tucked beneath his cheek, the other stretched across Jaxson’s pillow as if reaching for something—or someone—in his dreams. His dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, pink and soft and utterly devastating in their innocence.
The trust implicit in his vulnerability made something fierce and protective unfurl in Jaxson’s chest alongside the possessiveness that grew stronger by the day.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed with exquisite care, unwilling to disturb this stolen moment.
Lan’s scent intensified at his proximity, surrounding him completely, making his head swim with its sweetness.
A muscle jumped in Jaxson’s jaw as he clenched his teeth against the overwhelming urge to wake Lan with his mouth, his hands, his body.
Mine, the voice inside him growled, no longer a whisper but a declaration, a certainty that resonated through his entire being.
His fingers reached out with a will of their own, hovering over Lan’s cheek before making contact with a gentleness that belied the storm raging inside him.
The sensation was electric—Lan’s skin felt like heated silk beneath his fingertips, impossibly soft and warm from sleep.
The contact sent a jolt of pleasure up Jaxson’s arm, the golden warmth in his chest surging in response until he feared it might consume him entirely.
Lan sighed in his sleep, turning his face into Jaxson’s palm with unconscious trust, seeking more contact like a flower turning toward the sun.
The innocent gesture nearly undid Jaxson completely, drawing a sound from deep in his chest that was part groan, part growl, entirely primal.
His fingers slid into Lan’s hair, testing its silken texture, memorizing its weight, the way it slipped through his fingers like liquid shadow.
Time slowed, stretching like taffy as he cataloged every detail: the slight flush on Lan’s cheeks, the gentle curve of his eyelids, the perfect bow of his lips.
In sleep, Lan looked younger, more vulnerable, all his usual defenses stripped away.
The careful composure he maintained, the quick wit, the stubborn independence—all of it melted away, leaving only this pure, unguarded version of himself.
The trust implicit in Lan’s vulnerability shattered something in Jaxson’s chest, cracking the walls he’d built around his heart. Here was Lan—his Lan—unguarded and exposed, seeking comfort in Jaxson’s personal space, wrapped in his clothes, surrounded by his scent. As if he belonged there.
Because he did.
The certainty washed through Jaxson with the force of a tidal wave, reshaping his internal landscape. This was right. This was inevitable. This was how it was always meant to be.
He leaned forward, drawn by forces beyond his control, and pressed his lips to Lan’s forehead in a kiss so gentle it barely disturbed the air between them.
The familiar sweet scent intensified at the contact, wrapping around him like an embrace, calling to something primal and possessive in his core.
His heart thundered against his rib cage, his blood singing in his veins as the golden warmth in his chest flared at the contact.
“Sleep well, angel,” he murmured against Lan’s temple, forcing himself to pull away before his control shattered completely. “I’ll be back soon.”
With supreme effort that felt like severing a limb, Jaxson extracted himself from the bed.
Each step toward the door was an exercise in willpower he’d never before had to exert.
The separation felt almost physical, like tearing apart something that belonged together, but professional obligation pushed him toward the door.
He retrieved the Westbrook portfolio from his study desk, glancing one last time at the sleeping form on his bed before quietly closing the bedroom door.
The golden warmth in his chest dimmed slightly with distance, a physical reminder of the connection that seemed to strengthen with each passing day.
He stood in the hallway, one hand still on the doorknob, caught between duty and desire, the beast inside him snarling at the thought of separation, at the idea of leaving Lan unprotected even for a moment.
The compromise was simple—he would complete the viewing with ruthless efficiency, return home as quickly as humanly possible, and claim the rest of his afternoon for the treasure sleeping in his bed.
The decision crystallized in his mind with perfect clarity, bringing with it a sense of purpose that straightened his shoulders and steadied his hands as he retrieved his fallen briefcase.
Jaxson straightened his tie, reclaimed his professional demeanor, and left—though not without a final glance at the partially closed bedroom door, behind which lay the center of his universe.
The Westbrook viewing lasted exactly forty-three minutes—a record even by Jaxson’s efficient standards.
The client—a tech entrepreneur with more money than patience—had been visibly surprised by Jaxson’s concise tour, his bullet-point highlights of the property’s features, and his obvious lack of interest in the usual small talk that greased the wheels of high-end real estate.
“Well, that was certainly… efficient,” the man commented as they stood on the penthouse balcony overlooking Central Park. “Most agents try to keep me here for at least two hours, pointing out every doorknob and light switch.”
“My job is to show you what matters,” Jaxson replied.
“Refreshingly direct.” The client studied him with new interest. “I like that. Join me for a drink? I know a place around the corner that makes a spectacular old fashioned.”
“Another time,” Jaxson demurred, already mentally plotting the fastest route home. “I have a prior commitment.”
“Must be important.” The man’s knowing smile suggested he’d drawn his own conclusions about the nature of Jaxson’s “commitment.” “Well, I’ll think about the property and call you tomorrow. I like what I’ve seen so far.”
They shook hands, exchanged the requisite pleasantries, and parted ways with unusual speed.
In the elevator down to the lobby, Jaxson allowed himself a moment of satisfaction—a client impressed, a viewing completed, and now the afternoon stretching before him with the promise of returning to find Lan still asleep in his bed.
The thought sent another wave of that golden warmth through his chest, the now-familiar heat radiating outward from his sternum. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as he navigated through afternoon traffic, his body seemingly pulled toward home by an invisible thread.
The urgency built with each passing block, the pull in his chest growing stronger, more insistent. By the time he parked outside their building, the sensation had become almost painful—a physical tugging that eased only when he stepped through the apartment door.