Chapter 235 - 0235: Sense Received

Chapter 235: Chapter 0235: Sense Received

Elena’s Point Of View

"Let him go, Jaxx," I said clearly, every syllable deliberate, sharp enough to cut through the air between us. "Else I won’t talk to you again."

Silence. Not the comfortable kind, not the awkward kind either, but the dangerous kind - the sort that stretched taut like a wire about to snap. I could feel my own heartbeat in that silence, could feel the weight of the threat I’d just made, wondering if I actually had the will to follow through on it.

He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even loosen the grip of his body caging mine against the car. His eyes stayed locked on my face, dark and assessing, like he was studying something rare, something unpredictable. My pulse hammered against my throat, loud enough that I wondered if he could hear it, feel it, use it against me. For a moment, just a moment, I wondered if I’d gone too far. Men like Jaxx didn’t bend. They broke things instead, quietly and without apology, and I braced myself for the possibility that I’d just handed him something else to break.

Then he huffed out a low breath and chuckled, a slow, rough sound that vibrated straight through me.

"Fuck," he muttered, tilting his head back slightly before bringing his gaze back to mine. "You’re so damn sexy whenever you’re annoyed. Christ."

I glared at him so hard my eyes almost hurt. "Seriously? I’m standing here questioning your entire moral code and your response is a compliment?"

"An observation," he corrected. "I observe things. You’re furious and your eyes are doing that thing. Your voice went low instead of high, which, for the record, is when I know you actually mean it. You’re not performing. You’d genuinely rather lose me than let me hurt him." He tilted his head, studying me the way a collector might study something he hadn’t expected to find. "Do you know how long it’s been since anyone told me no and meant it?"

"I’m not flattered to be the first."

"You should be. Most people who tell me no don’t get to finish the sentence."

"That’s not the flex you think it is, Jaxx."

He leaned in closer, his chest brushing mine, his voice dropping to something intimate and dangerous. "Say that again," he murmured. "Give me that ultimatum one more time, baby."

Heat rushed through me, anger tangled with something else I refused to name, something that felt dangerously close to want. I hated how easily he could summon it, how little effort it took, how my body seemed to betray every rational thought my mind still clung to.

"Are you doing it or not?" I demanded. "Or should I start practicing the silent treatment now?"

His lips twitched. "Straight to business, huh?"

"Jaxx."

"You’d be terrible at the silent treatment, you know," he mused, ignoring my tone entirely. "You talk in your sleep. You talk to yourself in the car. You mutter insults at me under your breath like I can’t hear them from three feet away."

"You hear everything. It’s one of your many disturbing qualities."

"I’m just saying, your silence would last four minutes. Five if you were angry enough."

"Test me."

"I’d rather not," he said, and something in his voice changed, just slightly, a crack in the armor I hadn’t expected. "I really would rather not."

I blinked at that, thrown by the honesty of it. For a man who wielded words like weapons, that admission felt almost accidental, like it had slipped out before he could stop it. I wondered, not for the first time, how much of him was performance and how much was something rawer hiding underneath, something he guarded even from himself.

He studied me for a long moment while I watched something work behind his eyes, that cold, calculating machinery weighing me, weighing Marco, weighing whatever this thing between us had become in the space of one night. Then his shoulders dropped a fraction, the smallest concession I’d ever seen him make.

"You’d waste your silence on a man like him?" he asked quietly.

"I’d waste it on a principle," I said. "Let. Him. Go."

He studied me again, eyes flicking over my face, my mouth, the way my fingers had curled unconsciously into his jacket. I hadn’t even realized I’d reached for him until that moment, and the discovery unsettled me more than I wanted to admit... proof that my body kept betraying the war my mind was fighting. Slowly and deliberately, he eased back just enough to give me space, just enough to make the loss of his closeness noticeable, a void where heat had been.

"Fine," he said lightly. "Kiss me. Say something fun to me. And I might reconsider it."

I blinked once, then twice, certain I’d misheard him. "I’m not doing that. You don’t get to negotiate a man’s safety against a kiss, Jaxx. What is wrong with you?"

"Everything," he said pleasantly. "You knew that when you stayed."

"Then it’s your choice," he added, and I stared at him in disbelief while he stood there, hands in his pockets, watching me like a man watching a chess board make its move, patient, certain of the outcome before I’d even decided. There was something infuriating about his patience, about the way he seemed to already know how this would end, as if my resistance were just another part of the game he’d already won.

"But," he added casually, like he was discussing the weather, "just know you’ll be seeing that man’s spirit everywhere you go."

"You’re impossible," I said.

"And yet," he replied, unfazed, "here you are."

Something in me snapped. Before I could think better of it, I grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked him back toward me, and his eyes widened a fraction, surprise flashing briefly before interest took over, dark and immediate.

"I’m doing this," I hissed, standing on my toes, my mouth close to his ear, "not because I’m scared of ghosts."

His breath stuttered slightly, and the small, involuntary reaction sent a flicker of satisfaction through me, a brief and heady thrill at having found the one crack in his composure.

"I’m doing this," I continued, lowering my voice, letting it soften, letting it tease, "because I want you to receive sense."

His jaw tightened.

I brushed my lips just beneath his ear... not a kiss, not quite, then slowly traced the shell of it, felt the way his body reacted despite himself, a tension coiling through him that he couldn’t quite master. My mouth drifted to his earlobe, my breath warm and deliberate, and I savored the small victory of watching him unravel by degrees, this man who controlled everything suddenly losing his grip over something as simple as my breath against his skin.

"You’re not always right," I whispered. "And you don’t always get your way."

My lips slid to his jaw, then his chin, lingering just long enough to drive the point home.

"And this?" I murmured, finally meeting his mouth. "This is me choosing you... not your violence."

I kissed him, soft at first, testing, deliberate, and then he took over, as if on cue, his hands returning to my waist, firm and possessive, pressing me back against the car again. The kiss deepened, not rushed and not frantic, but loaded, controlled hunger, power restrained by choice. Something about the restraint undid me more than force ever could have; I felt it in the way his fingers pressed into my hips, like he was holding himself back from something larger, something he didn’t trust himself to unleash. For a man so certain of his own dominance, the effort of his control felt like its own kind of confession.

When I finally pulled back, we were both breathing harder than the kiss deserved, and for a moment neither of us spoke, the air between us thick with everything unsaid. I searched his face for the smirk I expected, the triumph of a man who’d gotten exactly what he wanted, but it never came.

"Sense received," he said quietly, and there was no smirk on his face for once, just him looking at me like I’d handed him something he hadn’t earned, something fragile he didn’t quite know how to hold.

"Good. Then you know what to do."

He pulled out his phone and dialed without breaking eye contact with me, and his face shifted instantly, focus snapping into place, the warmth from moments ago vanishing like it had never existed. It was unsettling, that transformation, how quickly he could shed one version of himself for another, like a man changing coats.

"Let him go," he said into the phone, voice cold and final. "But not without letting him know... very clearly, never to touch what doesn’t belong to him. Dump him somewhere with a working phone and cab fare. If he so much as limps near this street again, the offer expires." He hung up before the person on the other end could respond.

Then he turned back to me, eyes dark, expression unreadable, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his mouth, the mask sliding effortlessly back into place, as though the man who’d just looked at me like I mattered had retreated somewhere I couldn’t follow.

"There," he said, sliding the phone back into his coat. "Happy?"

"I’m not happy," I said. "I’m... less horrified. There’s a difference."

"Mm. I’ll take it."