Chapter 229 - 0229: I Refuse For That To Happen AgaIn

Chapter 229: Chapter 0229: I Refuse For That To Happen AgaIn

Jaxx’s Point Of View

That hour didn’t just pass. It burned.

Every second weighed on me, heavy and blurring, a testament to her owning me completely. She wasn’t the "good girl" the Sinclairs tried to bury under their thumb, not here and not with me. She was a goddamn storm, and I’d willingly walked into it.

Her body moved over mine with a desperate, reckless kind of hunger, like she was trying to scrub her husband’s touch off her skin using nothing but the friction of mine. Her moans weren’t soft either.

They came out jagged, filling the room until the air felt too thick to breathe, until I couldn’t tell anymore where her desperation ended and mine began. Her nails dug into my shoulders, marking me, claiming territory she had no business claiming yet somehow had every right to, and her pussy... fuck, it clenched around my cock like she was trying to hold onto the only real thing she had left in a world built on lies and obligations.

An hour. An hour of her riding me, tormenting me, owning me, her body moving over mine like she was made to ruin me, and she took what she wanted, every inch of it, proving she wasn’t some fragile glass doll I could bend and snap to my will. I’d watched her unravel piece by piece, watched the careful mask she wore for the rest of the world crack and fall away until nothing remained but this... raw, furious, beautiful want. I’d never seen anything like it.

I didn’t think I ever would again, not with anyone else, and some reckless part of me didn’t want to. That part of me had already decided something the rest of me hadn’t caught up to yet, something terrifying and certain in equal measure.

And fuck, had she ever.

"Jaxx," she’d gasped somewhere in the middle of it, her hips rolling, her palms flat on my chest, her head thrown back, "say my name again."

"Elena," I’d rasped, and it came out like a confession, because it was one.

"Again."

"Elena." My hands had found her hips then, helping her, matching her rhythm even though she’d ordered me not to move. "My Elena."

"Mm," she’d hummed, smug and breathless. "Better. Don’t stop saying it."

I hadn’t. I’d said it into her skin, against her mouth, into the crook of her neck, until it stopped being a name and became the only word left in my vocabulary, until it felt less like a name and more like a vow I hadn’t meant to make. She’d come twice to the sound of it, both times clamping down on me so hard I saw white.

By the second time, I wasn’t sure which one of us was more undone... her, shaking apart above me, or me, hanging on by nothing but the sound of her voice and the weight of what I felt for her, a weight I hadn’t let myself examine too closely.

Now, she lay sprawled and boneless, a dead weight of warm skin and exhausted gasps pressed into my chest. She was slick with sweat, that perfect hair a tangled, beautiful mess across my pillows, her lips swollen and puffy from the way I’d kissed her, the way she had kissed me back, the way she’d bitten me, claiming me like some kind of prize she’d finally won after a long and bloody fight.

And I was hers. In this room, the rest of the world didn’t exist. No Sinclairs, no company, no husband with his name stamped on her like a brand burned into skin that should have only ever belonged to herself.

Just this... just us, tangled together in the wreckage of whatever we’d done to each other, and I found I didn’t want to look too hard for the pieces to put back together.

My cock was still buried deep inside her, pulsing, throbbing with a heartbeat of its own, and her pussy still milked me in a slow, rhythmic twitch that refused to let go, like it knew I belonged there, like it knew she owned me and had no intention of giving that ownership back.

I let out a long, ragged exhale, my chest hitting hers, our hearts hammering against each other in a messy, uneven sync that somehow still managed to feel like harmony. My fingers twitched with the need to touch every part of her at once, to memorize the way she looked right now... undone, satisfied, quiet. I didn’t know when I’d started needing that: her quiet, her softness, the version of her that existed only here, in the dark, with no one watching and nothing to prove.

But I needed it like air, like it had become some essential function my body couldn’t survive without. I reached up and pushed a damp strand of hair away from her face, my fingers brushing her skin, hot and damp and smelling like sex and her expensive perfume, and I tucked the strand behind her ear before pressing my lips to her forehead in a slow, deliberate kiss. A silent promise that I wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how many reasons the world handed us for why I should.

"You wanted to take the lead, Bambina," I murmured, my voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel, rough and dark, dripping with a smirk I couldn’t hide, with amusement and pride and something deeper I didn’t dare name yet. My hand slid down her back, my fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip, memorizing her by touch alone. "You’re the one who fucked me."

I felt the shiver go through her instantly. Her breath hitched, her body giving a little squeeze around me even though she looked like she couldn’t lift a finger, like every ounce of strength she possessed had already been spent on me.

"And now," I let out a low, dark chuckle, my lips grazing her temple, "you’re the one who’s exhausted? Is that the best the business queen has got?"

I felt her smirk against my collarbone before she even moved. That spark had come back, that little bit of defiance that made me want to ruin her all over again, and her body tensed just a fraction, like she was digging deep for the last bit of energy required to shut me up properly.

Her hand hit my chest then. It wasn’t hard... hell, it was barely a tap, but it was there, a protest, a little "shut the hell up, Jaxx" that made my blood hum with something close to delight.

"Careful, mama," I murmured against her hair, grinning like an idiot I didn’t care to hide. "That’s how it starts with you. One little slap and ten minutes later you’re riding my face."

"I’m too tired to ride anything," she mumbled into my chest, but I heard the smile in it, buried under the exhaustion. "You broke me."

"You broke yourself. I was just lying there, remember? The plot demanded it."

She snorted, and the sound came out so unglamorous and so completely her that something in my chest cracked open a little wider, some door I hadn’t known was still locked. "I hate that I said that."

"I love that you said that. I’m having it engraved."

"Jaxx."

"I’m serious. On a plaque. Above my desk."

"You’re an idiot," she whispered, and her arm tightened around my neck, which rather ruined the insult and told me everything her words tried to hide.

"Your idiot," I said, and my voice came out lower than I meant it to, rougher, more honest than I’d planned. "For whatever that’s worth."

She went quiet at that. I felt her breath slow against my throat, felt her fingers curl into the hair at my nape, and I let the silence sit because it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the first comfortable silence of my entire fucking life. I’d spent years surrounded by noise... deals, threats, the constant hum of people wanting something from me, and here, with her weight settled against my chest and her pulse syncing slowly with mine, I finally understood what people meant when they talked about peace.

It scared me a little, how much I didn’t want to move, how easily I could imagine a thousand more nights exactly like this one and never once grow tired of it.

"Is that all?" I teased eventually, my voice dropping an octave as my hands slid down to her waist, my fingers digging into the soft flare of her hips, making sure she felt the pressure, the promise underneath it. "You’re getting weak, Elena."

I shifted, muscles groaning as I rolled us over, and I sat up, bringing her with me so she draped over my lap, her legs locked tight around my waist, her arms looped around my neck, hanging on for dear life, her warm breath hitting the sensitive skin of my throat while her body still wrapped around mine like she had no intention of ever unwinding.

"I wasn’t done," she said, lifting her head, and her eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed and utterly certain despite the exhaustion written across every other part of her.

"Neither was I," I countered, in case you were wondering."

I didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. I kissed her, and it wasn’t one of those slow, sweet things. It came hard and possessive, a "you’re mine" kind of kiss that left no room for doubt. Her lips parted instantly, her tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke, her body melting into the heat of me like she’d finally found home after years of wandering lost.

I groaned into her mouth, my hands sliding down to grip the cheeks of her ass, pulling her flush against me, holding her like I’d never let go, like I could fuse us together right there and dare the world to try separating us again.

And then I felt it... the loss. I slid out of her, the friction agonizingly slow, and the heat, the tightness, the absolute perfection of being inside her vanished in an instant. A raw, uncontrolled groan tore from my throat, my forehead dropping against hers as we both struggled to catch a breath that wouldn’t come easily.

I could feel her dripping down my thighs, coating my skin, marking me in the most primal way possible, claiming me as thoroughly as I’d claimed her, and my smirk deepened into something dark and dangerous, because she was mine, and I wasn’t letting her forget it for a single second, not today, not ever if I had any say in the matter.

My hands tightened on her ass, my fingers digging in deep enough to leave a mark she’d see in the mirror tomorrow, a reminder stamped into her skin the way she’d already stamped herself into something deeper than skin for me, and I locked my gaze onto hers, hungry and unyielding, demanding she look at me and see exactly what she did to me.

"You’re not going anywhere today, Bambina," I growled, the words heavy with a finality that didn’t allow for an argument.

"Not even to pee?" she breathed, and I barked out a laugh, because she was the only person alive who could deflate me and inflate me in the same breath, who could make me feel like a lovesick fool and a conquering king all at once.

"Not even to pee," I conceded. "I’ll carry you. Consider it a royal escort."

"You’re ridiculous."

"You’re sitting naked on a man who just declared you’re not leaving this bed today, and I’m the ridiculous one?"

"Yes," she said simply, and pressed a kiss to the corner of my jaw, soft and unhurried, like we hadn’t just tried to break each other for more than two hours, and that small sweetness undid me more than everything else combined. It was strange, how a woman who could wreck me with her body could also unmake me with nothing but her mouth against my jaw, barely more than a whisper of contact, a gentleness so at odds with the storm she’d just unleashed.

But that was Elena... every version of her a different kind of devastating, and I was starting to suspect I’d happily drown in all of them.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against hers, my breath hot against her skin, making sure she felt every word. "I’m not just another night of pleasure you get to experience and leave in the morning, as if nothing happened between us."

My hands slid up, cupping her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheekbones while my gaze burned into hers, and I watched her breath catch, watched the defiance flicker, watched something scared and something hopeful fight it out behind her eyes. I wanted to chase both feelings down, wanted to promise her that whatever she feared, I’d burn it to the ground before I let it touch her.

But some promises needed to be shown, not just spoken, so I held her gaze and let her see the truth of it written plainly on my face, bare and unguarded in a way I’d never allowed myself to be with anyone before her.

"I refuse for that to happen again."