Chapter 231 - 0231: I’m So Going To Kill You

Chapter 231: Chapter 0231: I’m So Going To Kill You

Elena’s Point Of View

"What..." My voice cracked. I swallowed, tried again. "What are you driving at, Jaxx?"

The question hung there, fragile and exposed, like I’d just stepped onto thin ice and dared it not to break.

I stared down at him, really looked at him this time. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his brows pulled together... not angry, not cold, just restrained, like he was holding something back by sheer force of will. I’d seen that look before, usually right before he did something reckless.

Part of me braced for it anyway, bracing for the familiar chaos he always seemed to carry with him, the kind that upended everything I thought I understood about myself.

For a long second, he didn’t answer. Then he groaned, low and rough, the sound vibrating straight through me and settling somewhere deep and warm in my chest. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, like my question physically hurt him. His hands tightened at my waist, thumbs pressing into my skin like anchors, and I felt the tremor in them, small and involuntary, the kind of thing a man like him would never admit to. It startled me, that tremor. Men like Jaxx didn’t shake. They commanded rooms, they didn’t fear the silence inside them.

"I’m not driving at anything complicated, princess," he said finally, voice gravelly, stripped down. "Don’t make it more than it is."

I frowned slightly, my heart still racing. "Then what is it?"

His gaze lifted to mine, steady and unflinching, heavy with intent. For a moment neither of us moved, and the silence between us felt thick enough to touch, charged with everything neither of us had said yet.

"I just want you to stay," he said. No flourish, no poetry, just truth delivered like a command he wasn’t used to giving. "I want you here. With me."

My breath caught. I hadn’t expected the words to land the way they did, straight through my ribs and into something I’d been guarding for a long time, some tender, bruised part of me that still flinched at the idea of being wanted without condition.

"I don’t want you running away from me like I’m some kind of monster," he added, jaw tightening. "Like I’d hurt you."

The words landed harder than I expected, and I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. "But you did," I said quietly. "In the past."

The admission felt dangerous and necessary, like pressing on a bruise to prove it was still there. I watched something flicker across his face, quick and unguarded, there and gone before I could name it. Guilt, maybe. Or grief. With Jaxx, the two often looked the same.

He closed his eyes, just for a second, and then exhaled slowly and heavily, like he was releasing something he’d been carrying for too long, some weight he’d grown so used to that setting it down felt unfamiliar.

"I was a fool back then," he said, voice lower now, less sharp. Not soft... never soft, but honest in the only way a man like him knew how to be. "I didn’t know how to handle what was in front of me." His eyes opened again, locking onto mine. "And I’m sorry."

I blinked once, then twice, and then I laughed. I couldn’t help it, it burst out of me, surprised and disbelieving, the sound almost startling in the quiet room. "Did you just apologize?"

He shot me a glare, sharp and offended, but there was something playful underneath it, a glint that undercut the scowl entirely. "That’ll be the last time you’ll ever hear me say that," he said dryly. "So you better cherish it."

"Can I get it in writing?" I asked. "Notarized? I feel like this is a historic moment. There should be witnesses. A plaque, at least."

"Don’t push it, Bambina."

"No, seriously, what’s the date today? My great-grandchildren will want to know the exact moment Jaxx Moretti said sorry. This is going in the family Bible."

"The apology expires in ten seconds and then I’m taking it back."

"Too late, it’s already cherished. I’m cherishing as we speak. Look at my face. That’s a cherishing face."

That did it. I threw my head back and laughed, really laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, and he watched me do it with an expression I didn’t have a name for, half annoyed and half something warm he wasn’t bothering to hide. There was something so absurdly endearing about the way he looked right now, half grumpy and half exposed, completely unaware of the softness he’d accidentally let slip through.

It made my chest ache in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely, a tightness that felt dangerously close to affection I hadn’t given myself permission to feel. I leaned back down and pinched his nose lightly.

"You’re so stupid," I said, still smiling.

His reaction was instant. One second he was scowling, the next his hand gripped my hip, fingers firm and possessive, sending a jolt straight through me.

"One more insult from you," he said, voice dropping into something darker, teasing threaded with threat, "and I’ll make sure you put that mouth to better use."

I gasped despite myself. "Jaxx!" I slapped his chest lightly, heat flooding my face. "Shut up."

He grinned, slow and dangerous and satisfied. "There it is. The blush. I missed it. It was gone for a whole minute and I panicked."

"You are the most insufferable man alive."

"Yet you’re still sitting on me. Naked. Voluntarily."

"I’m a hostage!"

"You said that word wrong. You meant ’guest.’"

I stretched then, deliberately casual, trying to reclaim some space and some control. "I’m getting off you."

I tried to move, and nothing happened. His hold didn’t budge an inch. I frowned, shifting again, and still nothing, like trying to move a piece of furniture that was bolted to the floor and knew it.

"Jaxx," I warned.

His eyes flicked up to mine, deeply, catastrophically amused. "Yes, princess? Are you stuck? Do you need help? Shall I call someone?"

"I hate you so much."

"Uh-huh. Wiggle harder, it’s very convincing."

"You’re enjoying this."

"Immensely. You have no idea. Ten out of ten. Would hold hostage again."

Then suddenly I yelped as he pulled me down and rolled us over in one smooth, powerful motion. The world flipped, and a heartbeat later I was flat on my back, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he hovered over me, his body caging mine effortlessly. He reached for the sheets and pulled them up over us, cocooning us together, his voice low and certain.

"You ain’t leaving this bed today."

I laughed, breathless. "You’re ridiculous."

"That’s not the word you used an hour ago. An hour ago it was ’my Queen,’ if I remember correctly."

"I called MYSELF the Queen. You were the one begging."

"I was being polite. There’s a difference."

"You’re impossible."

"And you’re still here. Funny how that works."

But the laughter cut off the second he leaned down. His hand came up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing along my cheek, not rushed and not desperate, just deliberate, and his face was so close I could feel his breath, warm and steady. For once, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, and then he kissed me.

Not soft, not gentle, not apologetic. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because it already knew the answer. His mouth claimed mine with slow certainty, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it to remind me who he was. The kiss wasn’t rushed, it was deliberate and unhurried and maddeningly controlled, his lips moving against mine like he was tasting a memory, something he had missed and decided he would never let go of again.

I should’ve pushed him away. I didn’t. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt instead, not pulling him closer and not pushing him back, just holding on, like the bed beneath me had shifted and he was the only solid thing left in the room. Somewhere beneath the haze of sensation, a small voice reminded me that this was exactly how I’d gotten hurt before. I ignored it, the way I always did when it came to him, because some part of me had already decided the risk was worth it.

His breath brushed my cheek as he pulled back just enough to murmur, low and wicked, "Still gonna pretend you don’t feel that, Bambina?"

I glared at him, breath uneven, my pulse betraying me completely.

"I hate you," I whispered.

His lips curved. "No, you don’t."

*******

Hours later, we were both dressed, and that somehow felt more intimate than everything else, the quiet domesticity of it settling over me in a way I hadn’t braced for.

I sat at the edge of the bed, smoothing my dress down my thighs for the third time, nerves humming beneath my skin. The room still smelled like him, warm and masculine and faintly dangerous, and I hated how aware I was of every sound he made behind me, every shift of fabric, every quiet breath. I turned just in time to see him pick up my heels.

"Jaxx..." I started, but the word dissolved in my throat when he bent down in front of me. He crouched slowly and deliberately, like he knew exactly what the sight of him on his knees would do to me, and one heel rested against his palm as his fingers worked the strap loose, precise and careful in a way that didn’t match the man I knew at all.

"Foot," he said quietly, gesturing.

My breath hitched. Why was he doing this? The question echoed loud in my head, colliding with a hundred others I didn’t want to ask. Men didn’t do things like this without an agenda. They didn’t kneel, they didn’t take their time, and they definitely didn’t look at a woman’s foot like it was something worth reverence. I had been hurt too many times to accept softness without suspicion.

What are you aiming at, Jaxx? What do you want from me? The questions circled without landing anywhere useful, and I pushed them down the way I’d learned to, burying them beneath the easier comfort of sarcasm.

Still, I rested my hand on his shoulder for balance. His muscles shifted beneath my palm, solid and warm and real, and I slid my foot into the heel, my movements slow and cautious.

His fingers tightened around my ankle, and then his lips touched my skin. A shiver ran through me as he pressed a kiss just above my foot, and then another, and another, each one unhurried, trailing upward like a promise he wasn’t saying out loud. My thoughts scattered as his mouth followed the line of my calf, my knee, my thigh, and he stopped exactly where my dress ended, like he was drawing a line only he was allowed to approach.

I swallowed hard, and I heard him chuckle quietly against my knee. "Breathe, Bambina. It was just a shoe."

"You... that was not shoe behavior, Jaxx."

"There’s a technique to it. Years of training."

"You’re shameless."

"You wore this dress on purpose. We’re both guilty of things."

"I didn’t wear it for you!"

"Mm-hm." He stood, towering over me now, his hand settling on my waist with an ease that made my stomach flip, and his thumb brushed lightly against my side, not enough to tease and just enough to be felt. "You look beautiful, Bambina."

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him. There were a thousand things I could’ve said, sarcastic and defensive and sharp, and I said none of them. Instead, I looked away, my cheeks warm, something unguarded rising in my chest that I didn’t know how to name yet. He didn’t push and didn’t demand. He just picked up my purse like it belonged with him and extended his hand.

"Come on."

He led me out of the room, his grip firm but not possessive, guiding and not dragging, and the hallway felt quieter than it should have, like the walls themselves were listening.

"I can’t believe I spent the night in a bar with you," I muttered as we walked.

I shot him a glare, and the idiot smirked.

"Never knew I had that much effect on you," he said lazily, eyes glinting. "Didn’t think I could make you stay."

My glare deepened. "You literally threatened me over the phone," I snapped. "You said you’d shoot an innocent man if I didn’t leave him and come meet you."

He paused and turned to me with a look of exaggerated confusion, brows furrowing like he was really thinking hard about it.

"I did?" he said. "Huh. Can’t remember."

My mouth fell open. I stared at him, speechless, fury bubbling up so fast it almost made me dizzy, while he stood there nodding slowly to himself, like a man honestly searching his memory and coming up empty.

"You can’t REMEMBER?" I repeated. "Jaxx, you counted the number of times a man LEANED toward me. You have surveillance-level knowledge of my evening. You know what drink Daniel ordered. You probably know his shoe size!"

"That’s confidential," he said solemnly.

"You are unhinged!"

"Allegedly."

"You threatened a man’s LIFE over a cocktail!"

"To be fair, it was a bad cocktail. I was doing him a favor."

I made a sound that wasn’t quite a word and turned on my heel, storming away from him down the VIP stairs toward the lower bar. I waited for his voice behind me, for footsteps, for anything, and got nothing. I glanced back and he was leaning casually against the railing, one arm draped over it, watching me like this was all part of some private joke, his cocky grin infuriating and familiar and devastating.

Heat rushed to my face.

"I’m so going to kill you," I muttered under my breath.

And he just smiled wider, the kind of smile that promised this wasn’t over, not even close.