Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jax
The house was velvet-quiet, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filtering through the partially open balcony doors.
I lounged against the headboard, sheets pooled carelessly at my waist, the night air a gliding over my bare skin.
Leo had gone down easily tonight, exhausted from the day's excitement. We spent hours after coming back from the apartment down on the sand, finding crabs with him and sifting through tide pools.
I took a slow sip of Macallan 25, letting the smoky amber liquid linger on my tongue. The burn felt good, a counterpoint to the satisfaction settling in my bones.
Today had been productive. Seeing relief bloom through Estelle's face once she realized Damon was truly gone from their lives. Watching her shoulders relax as she explored her new home. The way she'd traced her fingers over the marble countertops like she couldn't quite believe they were real.
And then there was Owen. I smiled into my glass, remembering the satisfying crunch of his nose beneath my knuckles, the way my rings had split his cheek open.
The pathetic fuck had looked at Estelle like she was something to consume, something he had a right to.
The memory of his blood on my rings was almost as sweet as the scotch.
I took another sip, savoring the perfection that was my life. The Macallan 25 was older than Estelle herself, both of them being utterly perfect and silky smooth.
My silver gun gleamed on the nightstand beside the bottle, cleaned and polished to perfection. The safety was on, the chamber empty, but Estelle didn't need to know that. Not yet. Not until those honey eyes flashed with the exact flavor of desire I wanted tonight.
The bathroom door opened, a cloud of steam curling into the cooler bedroom air. And then she appeared, my Estelle, wrapped in nothing but a white towel, her skin flushed pink from the heat of the shower. Water droplets clung to her shoulders, trailing down to disappear beneath the fluffy cloth.
Her hair was darker when wet, slicked back from her face, emphasizing the delicate line of her jaw, the vulnerable curve of her neck.
She moved across the room toward the walk-in closet, unaware of my stare, of the immediate tightening in my groin.
The towel barely covered her ass, giving me teasing glimpses of her thighs with each step.
She was so fucking beautiful, so perfectly made, her body a study in elegant lines and subtle curves.
"Stop," I commanded, my voice low.
She froze instantly, her back to me, shoulders tensing slightly. I could see the rapid rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers tightened on the edge of the towel. She didn't turn around, but that little edge she wore just for me came out—the tiniest smirk. “Why?”
“Because I want to see you,” I murmured, setting my glass down beside the gun. “Turn around, princess.”
She did, but not without making me wait—just a breath, just enough attitude to remind me I’d chosen a princess, not a lamb.
She pivoted, meeting my gaze with wide, dark eyes, the towel clutched demurely to her chest, but even that innocence was a tease, lips curved in a secret little smile.
"Come here.” I patted the bed beside me.
She approached, slow and silky, and the way she kept her chin up, the way her tongue darted nervously over her lower lip, told me she liked it when I demanded.
When she reached the bed, I sat back and let my cock tent the sheets, knowing she’d see, knowing she couldn’t miss what she did to me.
Her gaze dropped, cheeks flaming with a blush that made my blood pulse in want. I let her stew, picking up my glass, taking a lazy, deliberate drink. Her gaze flicked to it, pupils dilating slightly as she caught sight of the gun.
“Like my cock, princess?" I teased, setting the scotch down, my fingers deliberately brushing the grip of the gun. Her eyes tracked the movement, breaths coming just a bit faster.
Before she could answer, I reached out and grasped her wrist, tugging her forward.
She gasped, falling onto the bed, her free hand clutching desperately at the towel.
I maneuvered her easily, positioning her so she straddled my abs, her knees on either side of my ribs.
The towel had loosened in the process, slipping down to pool around her hips.
"Jax!" she protested, grabbing for the fallen towel. Her indignant tone made me grin.
“No," I said, plucking the towel away completely and tossing it across the room. "I want to see you."
She huffed—but she was naked now, exposed, her skin prickling with goosebumps in the cooler air.
Her breasts were small, perfect mounds, the nipples pebbled and flushed.
Her waist was narrow and her hips flared gently, leading to the soft folds of her little cunt, already damp from more than just the shower.
“You’re mine,” I murmured, running my hands possessively along her sides. She trembled beneath the touch, lashes fluttering. My praise, low and rough, made her arch for more. “So fucking beautiful. ”
She tossed her hair, a small, princess defiance. “You say that every night.”
I smirked, brushing my knuckles over one tight nipple. “And I’ll say it every night for the rest of our lives.” I tweaked her nipple, watching her squirm, loving how easy it was to make her melt.
Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, landing on the gun again. Her breath stuttered, and I saw the pulse flicker in her throat—a thrill of nerves, desire, dread. I reached past the gun for my glass but let my fingers brush the grip just to make her shiver.
“Do you get off on it?” I mused, voice casual. “Knowing what I have right here? Knowing I’d use it on anyone who threatens you?”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t look away. “Are you going to use it on me?” The question was whispered, barely there, a challenge and a plea.
“Maybe.” I sipped, then set the glass down, satisfaction making my words a shade rougher. “But not to hurt you. Just to remind you that you’re safe now. That you belong right here.”
Before she could sass me with another “why,” I tugged her forward, one hand on her nape, guiding her down until I could kiss her full.
I pressed my tongue between her lips, the cold liquid passing from my mouth to hers, some of it spilling, trailing down her chin and throat, between the valley of her breasts.
I watched its path with hungry eyes, then leaned forward to lick it up, starting below her breasts, following the trail up her sternum, her throat, her chin, before reclaiming her mouth.
She tasted like expensive scotch and my Estelle, something I'd become addicted to in the time she'd been mine. Her hands had found their way to my shoulders, her nails digging in slightly as I deepened the kiss, my tongue exploring her mouth with deliberate thoroughness.
"My good princess," I murmured against her lips. "Letting me taste you."
I trailed kisses down her jaw, her neck, nipping lightly at where her pulse drummed.
She was so responsive, so beautifully reactive to every touch.
One hand cupped her breast, teasing the nipple to a newly urgent peak before I bent and sucked it in, rolling her other with my fingers, alternating between gentle and bruising.
She moaned, hips seeking friction, rutting wetly against the ridges of my abs. “Always so desperate, princess? Trying to get yourself off on me just from this?”
She bit her lip, unable to answer, riding the slow grind of her slick clit over my abs. I let her torment herself, holding her hips firmly, only guiding her enough so she couldn’t get exactly what she wanted, just close.
“Please,” she finally whispered, and the way her voice caught made it all the sweeter.
I knew what she needed. I could feel it in the desperate roll of her hips, see it in the flush spreading down her chest, taste it in the salt of her skin. She needed me to touch her, to fill her, to make her forget everything but my name.
“Please?” I crooned, admiring my work, her nipples red and swollen from my attention, her chest heaving with each breath. "Grinding on my abs like you can't help yourself. Are you desperate, princess? Do you need something inside you?"
Her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted, small sounds of frustration escaping with each breath. She was so fucking beautiful like this, wild and uninhibited, chasing her pleasure on my body. But I had other plans for her tonight.
I reached over to the nightstand, my fingers closing around the grip of the gun. Her eyes snapped open at the movement, tracking my hand with fascination. I brought the weapon between us, holding it where she could see it clearly.
"Trust me?" I asked, my voice serious despite the heat coursing through my veins.
She swallowed, her eyes locked on the gun. "Yes," she whispered.
I pressed the barrel to her forehead, cool metal against flushed skin. She didn't flinch, didn't try to move away, just held perfectly still, her eyes never leaving mine. Slowly, I dragged it down the bridge of her nose, letting it catch on her lips.
"Open," I commanded, and she obeyed, her lips parting to allow the tip of the barrel inside. The sight of her mouth around my gun sent a jolt of pure lust through me, my cock throbbing painfully beneath the sheets.
I withdrew the barrel, slick with her saliva, and traced it down her throat, tilting her head back, exposing the column of her neck. I dragged it lower, between her breasts, down her sternum, over the plane of her belly, to the apex of her thighs.
Her legs had fallen open, an unconscious invitation that made me smirk. I traced the barrel through her folds, gathering her wetness, watching her face as the cool metal touched her little pussy.
“Fuck, you're soaked," I groaned, circling her clit with the tip of the barrel. “You ever imagine I’d fuck you with this, princess? Ever imagine being this dirty for me?”
She bit her lip, eyes flaming with heat and need. “Only for you.”