Page 34 of Undisputed Player
She'd fight me at first. God, I wanted her to fight.
I pictured that proud tilt of her chin, the way she'd meet my gaze without flinching even as I guided her mouth to where I needed it most. She wouldn't make it easy, Estelle Moore didn't make anything easy, but I'd be patient.
I'd earned my reputation in the ring by being relentless, and I'd use that same persistence to break down every wall she'd built around her heart.
My thumb swiped over the head of my heavy length, precum mixing with water as I stroked harder, muscles flexing as I braced against the marble wall.
I'd teach her to trust me with her body the same way she'd learn to trust me with Leo's safety, with their future, with everything that mattered.
In my mind, she was soft and pliant now; those cautious walls melted away by patience, persistence, and care she'd never received from anyone. I'd have her in my bed, hair spread across Egyptian cotton sheets, her body finally relaxed and glowing with health instead of sharp hunger.
I'd feed her until she was soft and lush and mine.
The fantasy shifted, becoming more urgent. Her back arching as I thrusted inside her, those small, perfect breasts bouncing with each thrust, her nails scraping against my shoulders as she finally let herself be taken care of.
She'd whisper my name like a prayer, like surrender:“Please, Jax. Please don't stop. Please don't ever leave me."
The orgasm hit me like a freight train, my roar echoing off marble walls as I came hard against my palm. My hips jerked, water splashing, every muscle in my body clenched with the force of release that felt more like a claiming than simple relief.
I leaned my forehead against the glass, panting, letting the spraywash away evidence while the hunger, that gnawing, desperate need, settled back into my bones like a permanent resident.
She was still out there. Still alone. Still fighting a battle she shouldn't have to fight.
I toweled off with cotton soft as clouds, admiring my reflection in the large gold mirror. Tall, broad-shouldered, every inch the golden boy my father had raised me to be. Blond hair still perfect despite the steam, blue eyes that had graced magazine covers, a body that personal trainers called "genetically gifted" and fitness models called "unfair."
But my eyes were wild tonight, hungry and desperate for the girl who looked at all this perfection and felt nothing but wariness.
She had no idea what was coming for her. No idea how deep this went.
The bed welcomed me with cool sheets and the comfort money could buy, but as I closed my eyes, all I could think about was a narrow mattress in a shitty apartment where the woman of my dreams had finally let herself sleep, pushing herself past human limits, still believing she had to carry the world alone.
Not for much longer, princess.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Estelle
The final bell rang at Seaside Academy, signaling my temporary escape from the land of trust fund babies and organic juice boxes. I gathered my things from the desk while watching twenty perfectly groomed children rush to collect designer backpacks.
Leo was already waiting by the door like a tiny, patient dinosaur expert, his latest prehistoric tome clutched to his chest like it contained the secrets of the universe.
Those green eyes followed my movements as I made my final rounds through the classroom, checking that every crayon was accounted for and every chair was stacked.
"Ready to go, buddy?" I asked, forcing warmth into my voice. My bones felt like they belonged to someone twice my age, and my feet ached in shoes held together by determination and superglue.
He nodded, slipping his small hand into mine. "Can we stop at the library on the way home? I finished this one already."
My heart clenched like a fist around broken glass. Such a simplerequest from a kid who asked for so little. Such an impossible one for a guardian running on fumes and prayer.
The bus would leave in twenty minutes, and if we missed it, we'd be walking home in the dark through a neighborhood where streetlights went to die and hope got mugged on street corners.
"Not today," I answered gently, hating myself for the disappointment I knew would flicker across his face. "But maybe this weekend, okay? We need to catch the bus."
There it was, that careful neutrality sliding over his features, a mask he'd learned to wear too young. Another twist of the guilt knife lodged permanently between my ribs. He deserved better than broken promises and constant calculations of time versus safety versus money that never added up to enough.
We walked through Seaside Academy's marble hallways, past children being collected by nannies dressed better than I was, and parents who spent more on car payments than I made in six months.
The contrast always struck me most at dismissal time: the gleaming wealth of Seaside against the reality waiting for us an hour's bus ride away.
