Chapter Nine
Estelle
T he knock at the door came just as I was trying to convince myself this was all a fever dream.
Jax unfolded from his chair with liquid grace.
The fabric of his tank top stretched taut across his broad back as he rose, and I watched the play of muscle beneath golden skin, long, lean lines that rippled and shifted.
"I can get it,” I said quickly, already rising from my chair. Because this is my apartment, my responsibility.
A large, warm hand landed on top of my head, fingers threading gently through my hair with surprising tenderness, before applying just enough pressure to guide me back down into my seat.
The gesture was so unexpected, so casually dominant, that I found myself sinking back into the chair, thoughts completely frozen.
"Stay," he ordered, his voice pitched low and commanding, eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my pulse stutter. "Let me."
Let me. Two simple words that somehow made me want to listen.
I opened my mouth to argue, because I always fought, always insisted on handling everything myself, but something in his expression stopped me cold. There was steel beneath the charm, authority wrapped in silk, and my body responded to it for some reason.
He moved toward the door, and I was transfixed, staring at his muscles again. When he reached up to unlock the deadbolt, his tank top rode up slightly, revealing an odd angular bulge pressed against the small of his back that didn't quite belong.
Probably his phone?
I was too distracted by his forearms flexing as he worked the stubborn lock.
Snake tattoos coiled around those powerful forearms, so detailed I could make out individual scales.
The serpents wound their way up from his wrists to disappear beneath the fabric of his shirt, their bodies following the natural lines of muscle and sinew.
The delivery guy's eyes widened when he saw Jax at my door, recognition flashing across his face like a lightning strike. Of course he knew who Jax was. Everyone did. The boxer, the Easton heir. The playboy who collected women like trophies and discarded them just as easily.
And now he was here, in my falling-apart apartment, answering my door.
Jax handed over what looked like several hundred-dollar bills with casual indifference, murmuring thanks in that smooth voice that did inappropriate things to my nervous system.
Then he was back, setting bags on my tiny counter, and I watched in fascination as his back muscles moved beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
I shot to my feet, muscle memory and ingrained responsibility overriding my body's strange new desire to submit. "I should help?—"
This time, both hands landed on my shoulders, warm and firm as he physically steered me back to the chair. His palms were large enough to span my collarbones, and I could feel the heat of his skin through my thin shirt, could smell that intoxicating blend of pure masculinity that made my head spin.
"Estelle." My name was a command, soft but implacable. "Sit. Let me take care of this. "
I'd been taking care of everything for so long that the idea of letting someone else handle even something as simple as unpacking takeout felt like stepping off a cliff.
But… it felt good. The relief of not being responsible for one single thing, even for five minutes, was so overwhelming I had to blink back the sudden burn of tears.
"I don't—" I started, my voice smaller than intended.
"You don't what, princess?" His tone gentled, but the authority remained, wrapping around me like warm steel. "You don't know how to let someone take care of you?"
Princess. There was that word again, landing somewhere deep in my chest and setting up permanent residence. No one had ever called me anything soft like that. I was Estelle—reliable, responsible, the one who fixed everything and asked for nothing.
But when he said it, I wanted to be his princess.
He patted my head before I could answer, as if I were a pet , then turned back to the takeout bags that smelled divine.
He laid out the food, his movements confident and sure. When he reached across the counter for plates, I caught another glimpse of that odd shape beneath his shirt—angular and hard against the small of his back, definitely not a phone.
I rationalized that he had a big fancy phone, though something about the shape seemed too large, too deliberate.
When he set the gourmet pizza in front of Leo with a wink, my nephew's face lit up.
"Eat up, little man. You're going to need your strength if you want to outsmart Avery at school tomorrow."
Leo giggled, already tearing into the pizza with the most enthusiasm I’d seen from him in a while.
I watched him eat, my eyes burning just slightly as he enjoyed every bite and, for once, didn’t feel the need to offer me any of his meal.
My attention shifted to Jax afterwards, on the casual way he'd taken control of my space, my evening, my carefully ordered world .
This was insane.
The women he dated were models, actresses, socialites, all polished and perfect and gleaming with supermodel beauty. I was none of those things, not even close. I had sharp edges and exhausted eyes.
But then he looked at me, and something in his blue gaze made my heart stutter against my ribs again. Something tender and focused and hungry that suggested maybe, just maybe, he saw something in me worth wanting.
"Here, princess." He cut a piece of salmon, the knife moving through the flesh like butter. The snake tattoos seemed to ripple with the movement, scales catching the overhead light in mesmerizing patterns. "T
ry this. Tell me if you like it.”
The gesture was so intimate that I froze like a deer in headlights. "I can feed myself," I protested weakly, even as my mouth watered at the rich, buttery scent.
His blue eyes held mine, patient but unyielding, and they seemed to glow in the harsh kitchen lighting, like sapphires lit from within. "I know you can. But tonight, you don't have to."
The fork remained steady between us, loaded with pink flesh that I couldn’t imagine the price of. "Open."
The command was soft but absolute, and my lips parted before I could think to resist. The salmon melted on my tongue, rich and decadent and unlike anything I'd ever tasted before.
I closed my eyes involuntarily, savoring the explosion of flavor, and when I opened them, Jax was watching me with an expression that made me clench my thighs together.
"Good girl," he praised, voice pitched for my ears alone, all praise and possession. "You like it?"
I nodded, unable to speak around the way my stomach was twisting with want and confusion, too close to surrender. No one had ever fed me like this. No one had ever wanted to.
No one had ever made me feel precious enough to deserve it.
When I tried to reach for my wine glass, his hand covered mine, large fingers engulfing my smaller ones. I looked up at him, confused.
"Let me," he said again, lifting the glass to my lips himself.
“No—”
"Shh."
The sound was gentle but firm. "Just let me take care of you. Both of you."
And against all logic, I did. I sat there like some sort of pampered princess while he made sure my plate never emptied, my glass never ran dry, and Leo felt like the most important person in the room.
He talked to Leo about school and dinosaurs and Avery's endless hugs, but his attention kept returning to me, checking if I needed anything, making sure I was eating, watching me intensely.
Every movement was poetry in motion, his back muscles flowing like water beneath golden skin. He served food and cleaned surfaces with efficient grace, something someone like him should not have been able to do.
Is this what being cherished felt like? When someone wanted to take care of you just because they could?
When I tried to clear the plates after dinner, Jax caught my wrist before I could stand, his grip firm but gentle. His gaze fixed me, and my breath hitched as if I were caught doing something wrong.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To clean up," I said slowly, confused by the question. "The dishes won't wash themselves."
His thumb traced across my pulse point, and I wondered if he could feel how fast my heart was beating.
"The dishes can wait. Sit."
"But they?—”
"Estelle." The authority in his voice made something deep in my core clench with want. "What did I say about letting me take care of things tonight?"
I stared up at him, caught between a lifetime of self-reliance and the growing need to surrender to his strength. "You don't understand. I always?—"
"I understand perfectly." His free hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "You're used to carrying everything, handling everything, being responsible for everything. But not tonight, princess. Tonight, you're mine to take care of."
Mine. The strange possessiveness in his voice sent heat spiraling through me that settled like liquid fire. No one had ever wanted the responsibility of my well-being.
I sank back into my chair, again , without conscious thought, some stupid part of me responding to the command in his voice. He smiled before pressing a kiss to my forehead that felt more like a brand of ownership.
"That's my good girl," he murmured against my skin, and my entire nervous system short-circuited.
While he moved around my kitchen, cleaning and organizing with efficient grace, his shoulder blades shifted like wings beneath golden skin. Every movement was controlled, like he was constantly aware of his own power and choosing to restrain it.
When he turned to rinse a dish in the sink, that mysterious bulge at his back became more pronounced, pressing against the fabric of his shirt, making me curious despite myself. Whatever it was, it was solid, angular, deliberately placed, not the casual outline of a wallet or phone.
I watched Leo rearrange his dinosaurs, lining them up on the coffee table. Jax folded himself onto my shabby carpet beside Leo, his massive frame somehow fitting in our too-small space.
"The T-Rex was actually more of a scavenger than a hunter," Leo informed Jax with the authority of someone who'd read every dinosaur book in existence. "They had really good noses for smelling dead things."
"Smart," Jax replied, his forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward with interest. "Why hunt when you can let someone else do the hard work?"
He wasn’t just tolerating Leo's enthusiasm; he seemed genuinely interested.
How many men would sit on a raggedy carpet, listening to a five-year-old explain the dietary habits of extinct lizards like it was the most fascinating thing in the world?
How many men would look at my chaotic, imperfect life and see something worth staying for?
When Leo finally yawned, rubbing his eyes with small fists, I moved to take him to bed. But Jax was already there, rising from the floor, scooping Leo up with an ease that spoke of practice with children.
"Come on, buddy," he chuckled, carrying Leo toward the bedroom. "Dinosaur experts need their sleep."
I followed, transfixed by the sight of this powerful, dangerous man cradling my most precious boy. I had no idea what to think, or why Jax was so good at parenting.
He tucked Leo into bed with gentle hands, listening patiently as my nephew insisted on explaining the difference between herbivores and carnivores one more time. I could see the way he modulated his strength to handle something so small and fragile.
He was good with him . Jax ruffled Leo's hair with the kind of paternal affection my nephew had been starving for. He was everything Leo needed—strong, patient, present.
Everything I needed.