Chapter 211 - 0211: Dance, Bambina

Chapter 211: Chapter 0211: Dance, Bambina

Elena’s Point Of View

I stood there, my legs unsteady beneath me, my mind still reeling from Jaxx’s words, from the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud. My thoughts churned, cycling between fury and fear, unable to settle on either, unable to find solid ground. I turned to leave, my heart pounding in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to put distance between us before I did something foolish, and then he appeared.

A bouncer, broad-shouldered and imposing, blocked the narrow corridor, his expression unreadable, carved from stone. "This way, ma’am," he said, his voice a low rumble that left no room for argument.

My breath caught.

This was it.

The bouncer led me up the stairs, his broad back blocking my view, his silence unnerving in a way that made the hairs on my arms rise. The music from the club below pulsed through the floor, the bass thrumming in time with my racing heart, each step upward feeling like a step further from safety and closer to something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

My fingers trembled at my sides, my mind a whirlwind of frustration and something darker... something that felt dangerously like anticipation. I hated how my body betrayed me before I even knew what waited at the top, how some traitorous part of me had already begun to crave whatever came next.

We reached a door at the end of the hallway, dark wood polished to a shine, the brass handle gleaming under the dim lights. The bouncer knocked once, twice, the sound sharp and final, echoing down the empty corridor like a verdict. The door swung open, revealing nothing but shadows beyond, a darkness that seemed to breathe on its own, patient and waiting.

"He’s in there, ma’am," the bouncer said, before he turned and left me standing there, my breath caught in my throat, the sound of his retreating footsteps the only thing anchoring me to reality.

I hesitated.

This was it.

The moment I stepped inside, everything would change. Again. I thought of all the times before, all the ways Jaxx had rearranged the pieces of my life without so much as an apology, all the nights I’d spent convincing myself I was done with him for good, and still, my feet refused to carry me away. Some stubborn, aching part of me needed to see his face, needed to hear what he had to say for himself, even if it meant walking straight back into the fire.

I exhaled sharply, squaring my shoulders, mentally preparing myself for whatever storm awaited me on the other side of that door. Then, with a deep breath, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was swallowed in darkness, the only light a faint glow seeping from beneath a closed door at the far end. The air was thick with the scent of leather and gin, the familiar aroma wrapping around me like a taunt, pulling memories to the surface I’d tried for three weeks to bury, memories of warm skin and whispered promises I’d sworn I wouldn’t think about again.

My heart pounded in my chest, my fingers curling into fists at my sides, bracing for whatever version of him I was about to face... the charming one, the cruel one, or something achingly in between.

"Jaxx?" I called into the dark, hating how small my voice sounded against the silence. "This is ridiculous. You drag me up here and then you hide? You’re a grown man playing games in the dark..."

Then, a hand circled my waist.

Strong. Possessive. His.

I gasped, my breath hitching as his scent... spice and smoke and something uniquely Jaxx, filled my lungs, dismantling what little composure I had left. "Jaxx..." I started, but the word died on my lips as he spun me around, his body pressing mine against the wall with a force that stole my breath entirely.

"Three weeks, Elena," he growled, his mouth a breath away from mine, his hand sliding up to pin both my wrists above my head against the wall in one smooth, practiced motion, as though he’d rehearsed this exact moment a hundred times in his mind. "Three weeks, and the first thing you do is let another man buy you a drink. Say his name for me. I want to hear you say it while I’m holding you like this."

"Daniel," I said, and immediately knew it was a mistake.

His grip tightened, a low sound rumbling in his chest, somewhere between a growl and a laugh. "Daniel," he repeated, tasting the name like it offended him, like the very syllables were an insult to his ears. "Daniel put his hand on you. Daniel leaned in close enough to smell your perfume. Daniel is downstairs right now, ordering his next drink, thinking about you."

His lips brushed the corner of my mouth, feather-light, deliberately withholding, and I felt my whole body strain toward him without my permission, some traitorous part of me desperate for more, desperate to close the distance he refused to close himself. "And you’re up here. In the dark. With my hand around your wrists. Tell me, Bambina... whose hands are you thinking about?"

"You’re insane," I breathed, but my voice came out wrecked, and there was no hiding it, no reclaiming the ground I’d already lost.

"Answer the question."

"Yours," I whispered, hating him, hating myself, hating how easily it slid out of me, how little resistance I had left to give. "You know whose. You always know."

"Yeah," he murmured, and I could hear the smirk in it, smug and satisfied. "I do."

And then his mouth crashed onto mine.

There was no gentleness, no hesitation... just hunger. His lips were firm, demanding, and the moment I gasped, his tongue pushed into my mouth, sweeping over mine, claiming it, slow and filthy and thorough, like he was learning me all over again, cataloguing every reaction as though he’d missed the taste of it in his absence. He kissed me like he did everything - like he owned me, like there was no version of this where I walked away.

His tongue dragged against mine, stroking, coaxing, and I felt my knees go weak, felt heat pool low in my stomach, heavy and shameless, spreading through me until rational thought became impossible, until the three weeks of silence and anger and loneliness simply ceased to exist.

I gasped into the kiss, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, my purse slipping from my grasp and hitting the floor with a dull thud. Neither of us spared it a glance.

His free hand slid down my back, rough and slow, over the curve of my waist, gripping my ass through the thin fabric of my dress, pulling me flush against him... and I felt it, the hard length of him pressing against my stomach, and the knowledge that the kiss alone had done that to him made something hot and desperate unspool inside me, undoing the last of my restraint, erasing whatever dignity I’d walked in with.

"Feel that?" he growled against my lips, not pulling away, not giving me an inch of air. "Three weeks, Elena. That’s what you do to me. That’s what it’s been like every night, in every city, thinking about you, about your mouth, about what I owe you." He nipped my bottom lip, sucked it into his mouth, soothed the sting with his tongue, and I moaned, loud in the darkness, beyond caring who might hear.

"That’s what I came back to. And I find you wearing this dress..." his hand slid down, gathering the fabric at my thigh, his calloused fingers tracing the bare skin of my leg, higher, maddeningly slow, "...letting him look at you like that."

"It’s not... it wasn’t for him," I gasped, my head falling back against the wall, giving his mouth access to my throat.

"I know it wasn’t," he said, his lips dragging up the column of my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse. "Because nothing about you is for him. Not this mouth." He kissed me again, deep and punishing, swallowing my whimper. "Not these hips." His grip tightened, bruising, anchoring. "Not this pretty little pussy that’s been dripping for me since I said your name on that phone." His hand slid between us, cupping me through my dress, and I arched off the wall with a broken sound, my thighs clamping around his wrist. "Yeah. That’s what I thought. Three weeks, Bambina, and you’re soaked through your lace from one kiss. You missed me."

"You’re insane," I breathed again, but my hips were rocking against his hand, and we both knew what my body was confessing, more honest than my words could ever be, more honest than I wanted to admit even to myself.

"And you’re still here," he said, dark and amused, his mouth finding mine again. His tongue slid against mine in slow, obscene strokes, and he kissed me like he was fucking my mouth, deep and relentless, his grip in my hair tilting my head exactly where he wanted me, controlling the angle, controlling the pace, controlling everything, until I was trembling and breathless and making sounds I’d be mortified to remember in daylight.

My nails scraped down his chest and he groaned into my mouth, the vibration of it traveling straight through me. He tasted like sin and gin, and I couldn’t get enough, couldn’t think, couldn’t remember why I was supposed to be angry with him... because he disappeared, because he ignored every message, because he threatened a man just for touching my hand, and then his teeth sank into my lower lip just hard enough to sting, and I remembered nothing at all, my anger dissolving into something far more dangerous, something that felt suspiciously like surrender.

"Tell me you didn’t miss this," he demanded against my lips, breath ragged now, his control fraying at the edges in a way I could feel, and that unraveling in him, was more intoxicating than the gin. "Tell me you didn’t lie awake thinking about my mouth, my hands, the promise I made you. Say it, and I’ll walk out that door and leave you alone."

I said nothing.

He smiled against my mouth. I felt it. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers tightened in my hair, tilting my head back, his mouth trailing down my jaw, hot and open, his breath scorching my skin, and my whole body arched toward him, chasing, begging without words, every nerve ending alight with want... And then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed me, he vanished.

The loss of his heat, his touch, his presence was like a physical blow, leaving me gasping, my body aching, my lips swollen and wet, my chest heaving against the wall. I actually swayed, bracing myself on the plaster, blinking into the darkness like a fool, disoriented by the sudden absence of him, my body screaming in protest at the emptiness where he’d just been. "Jaxx? What the hell... where are you..."

The lights flickered on.

Soft, golden light filled the room, illuminating the plush couch against the far wall, the dark wood of the coffee table, the half-empty glass of gin sitting beside an open bottle. And him.

Jaxx sat on the couch, one arm draped over the back, his legs spread, his gaze locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath catch. His shirt was rumpled, his hair tousled from my fingers, his lips still glistening from our kiss. He looked dangerous. He looked unstoppable. He looked entirely unbothered, the picture of composure, while I stood against the wall, wrecked, trembling, and visibly furious about it... furious at him, and even more furious at myself for letting him win so easily.

"Fix your face, Bambina," he said, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "You look thoroughly kissed."

"You... you can’t just..." I pushed off the wall, my legs still unsteady, jabbing a finger at him, indignation rising to cover the embarrassment beneath it. "You cannot just do that and then sit down and drink gin like nothing happened!"

"I can," he said calmly. "I just did. Now come here. Or better..." he set the glass down and leaned back, his smirk slow and dark and absolutely criminal, " ...stand right there, by the wall, exactly where I left you, and do as I say."

I crossed my arms, my chin lifting, refusing to let him see just how close I was to obeying without question, how badly some foolish part of me still wanted to please him. "And why would I do anything you say?"

His eyes dragged down my body, slow and deliberate, lingering on my swollen lips, my heaving chest, my trembling legs, before rising back to my face. The smirk widened, triumphant, as if he already knew the answer, as if he’d known it all along.

"Dance, Bambina," he said, his voice a dark command, his eyes burning into mine.

I blinked, my mind still reeling from the kiss, from the whiplash of his touch and his absence, utterly unprepared for the demand, my pulse stuttering at the sheer audacity of it. "What?!"