Chapter Twenty-Two
Jax
I woke before dawn, my internal clock calibrated to predatory hours when the guys preferred to take the party bus out.
But this morning was different. This morning, I had something worth protecting curled against my chest.
My princess. My perfect princess who'd screamed my name and begged for more just hours ago.
The moonlight had given way to the soft gray of pre-dawn, filtering through the windows. She looked ethereal in that light—honey hair spilled across my pillow, lips slightly parted and still swollen from my kisses, the chain with my initial still around her throat.
Mine.
The possessive satisfaction that rolled through me was more intoxicating than the finest scotch. She was here, in my bed, wearing my mark. Every breath she took, every soft sigh in her sleep, was a reminder that she belonged to me now.
My mind drifted back to last night, replaying every moment in vivid detail. The way she'd felt around my cock—so tight, so perfect, gripping me like she never wanted to let go.
The sounds she'd made when I'd thrusted deep inside her, broken little moans that went straight to my head. The way she'd looked at me afterward, dazed and satisfied, like I'd given her the world.
I was already hard remembering it.
She'd been everything I'd dreamed of and more. So responsive, so eager despite her inexperience. The way she'd taken charge at one point, straddling me and exploring my body with those curious hands—I'd never felt anything like it. She'd claimed me like I'd claimed her.
The memory of her mouth on my nipples made my cock twitch.
No one had ever done that to me before, and the sensation had been mind-blowing.
She'd discovered something about my body that even I hadn't known, and the look of satisfaction on her face when she'd realized how much it affected me had been intoxicating.
She was perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. And she was mine.
But even as the satisfaction of possession filled me, so did something else—an overwhelming need to keep her safe, to give her everything she deserved. The thought of her going back to that shitty apartment, to struggling to make ends meet, made something dark and violent rise in my chest.
She belonged here, in my bed, in my house, in my life. The thought of waking up without her tomorrow morning was unacceptable. I needed her here permanently, needed to know she was safe, cared for, and mine.
I considered Adrian's offer to burn down her building. It would be so easy—her lease would be void, forcing her to accept my help. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. She'd been through enough stress, enough upheaval. I didn't want to add to the weight on her small shoulders.
I'd have to be more subtle. Maybe pay off her landlord to terminate the lease. Maybe buy the building outright and condemn it. There were a dozen ways to make her homelessness look like an unfortunate coincidence rather than the calculated move it would be .
She stirred against me, pressing closer to my warmth, and I felt my resolve strengthen. Whatever it took, I was going to have her living here within the week. Leo too, of course. The kid deserved better than that shithole they were currently calling home.
My hand traced the curve of her spine, fingers ghosting over skin so soft it felt like silk. She'd been so eager despite her inexperience. She'd arched under my touch, begged for more—it had been better than any drug.
But it was more than just the physical perfection of her. It was the way she'd looked at me afterward. Like I was worthy of her trust, her surrender, her body. Like I was someone she found worthy of her love.
Love.
The word hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd never loved anyone before—hadn't thought I was capable of it. But what else could this be? This overwhelming need to possess her, protect her, worship her? This feeling that she completed something in me that I hadn't even known was missing?
I was in love with Estelle Moore. Completely, irrevocably, obsessively in love.
She stirred again, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to taste her, needed to worship her the way she deserved. Needed to remind myself that this wasn't a dream, that she was really here, really mine.
Carefully, I shifted her onto her back, my movements slow and deliberate so I wouldn't wake her just yet.
She looked like a goddess spread naked across my sheets—small breasts rising and falling with each breath, nipples still flushed and peaked from my attention last night.
The curve of her waist, the soft flare of her hips, the delicate apex of her thighs still glistening with evidence of our coupling.
My mouth watered at the sight of her pussy, still swollen from my cock. Her lips were parted slightly, revealing the glistening pink interior that had gripped me so perfectly last night. She was beautiful everywhere, but here—Christ, here she was perfection incarnate .
I settled between her legs, breathing in the delicious scent of her arousal mixed with my own. The smell went straight to my head—sex and sweetness that I was already addicted to.
Unable to resist any longer, I leaned down and ran my tongue through her slit with a long, slow stroke. She tasted like heaven—sweet and musky and addictive as hell. A soft sound escaped her lips, her body responding even in sleep.
"So fucking good,” I murmured against her flesh, my voice rough with morning gravel and desire. I could eat this pussy for breakfast every single day.
I lapped at her gently, cleaning away the remnants of last night while savoring every drop.
She was already getting wetter under my attention, her body remembering the pleasure I'd given her.
When I focused on her clit, circling the sensitive nub with the tip of my tongue, her hips lifted slightly off the bed.
Her pussy was perfect—small and tight and so responsive to my touch.
Her clit was like a little pearl, already swelling under my attention, and the taste of her arousal was more intoxicating than any wine.
I could spend hours exploring her with my tongue, learning every fold and curve, memorizing what made her gasp and moan.
"Jax?" Her voice was sleepy, confused, but breathless with arousal.
"Good morning, princess," I said, not lifting my head from between her thighs. "Just having breakfast."
She whimpered as I sucked her clit into my mouth, her hands flying to my hair. The taste of her flooded my senses, making me groan against her heated flesh. She was like a drug—the more I tasted, the more I needed.
“Jax,” she whined, “what are you doing?”
“Having breakfast,” I repeated, my tongue working her with increasing intensity. "You taste perfect, princess.”
I was drunk on her already, by the way she responded to every touch. Her thighs trembled against my shoulders as I worked her higher, my tongue alternating between broad strokes through her folds and focused attention on her clit .
The way her lips parted for my tongue, the way her entrance clenched when I teased it with the tip—it was like she was made specifically for my mouth.
"So sweet,” I groaned against her, my voice muffled by her flesh. "This pussy tastes so fucking good. I could live between your legs."
When I thrust my tongue inside her, she arched off the bed with a broken moan.
But I wasn't done. I needed more. Needed all of her.
My hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks as my tongue moved lower, tracing the path to her asshole. She tensed at the contact, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.
"Jax, why?—”
"Shh," I soothed, my breath hot against her sensitive skin. "Let me taste this pretty ass.”
My tongue circled her tight ring of muscle, and she cried out at the foreign sensation. The taste here was different, more intense, more intimate, and it went straight to my head. I was losing myself in the need to claim every part of her body. I’d never felt like this before.
I alternated between her pussy and her ass, my tongue working both holes with hungry desperation. Each taste of her made me more desperate for the next, more drunk on her essence. She was falling apart above me, her moans growing louder, more desperate, and the sound was music to my ears.
Her ass was just as perfect as the rest of her, tight and clean and so responsive to my tongue. The way she clenched when I pressed inside, the broken sounds she made when I rimmed her, it was better than any fantasy I'd ever had.
"Please," she gasped, her hands fisting in my hair. "I need to?—”
"I know what you need," I murmured, moving back to her pussy and focusing on her clit. “You need to come on my tongue like a good girl."
I worked her with deep strokes, my tongue and lips driving her toward the edge. She was close—I could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her breathing hitched.
When she finally came, it was with a scream that was music to my ears. Her pussy clenched and pulsed against my tongue, flooding my mouth with her release. I lapped up every drop, drunk on the taste of her orgasm, my own arousal painful in its intensity.
But I wasn't done. I could never be done with this, with her. I continued to lap at her gently, cleaning up every trace of her pleasure while she trembled beneath me.
This was how I wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of my life—with my face buried between her thighs, drunk on her taste, listening to her scream my name as I worshipped her body like the goddess she was.