Chapter 281 - 0281: I Need You To Accept That

Chapter 281: Chapter 0281: I Need You To Accept That

Elena’s Point Of View

"What the fuck?!!!"

My scream probably echoed halfway to the ballroom. I spun around so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet, my back now firmly to him while my heart hammered a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs. The room seemed to tilt beneath me, and I grabbed blindly for something solid, finding nothing but air.

Heat flooded my cheeks, a mortifying combination of shock and something I refused to name. Something that felt dangerously like awareness. I hated that my body had betrayed me so quickly, hated that shock and want could tangle together so seamlessly inside my chest.

My palms pressed over my eyes, but the damage was done; the image was already burned into my retinas. The way the steam had clung to the hard, carved lines of his thighs, the sheer, unyielding power of his frame. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, as though sheer will alone might scrub the memory away, but it only sharpened, every detail vivid and unrelenting.

Every muscle, every angle, every inch of him was impossibly real, impossibly there. And impossibly difficult to forget. I cursed my own memory for its cruel efficiency, for choosing this exact moment to work with perfect clarity.

"Cover up! Cover up right now, you shameless prick!" The words tore from my throat as I yelled at the wall, my voice cracking with a mixture of terror and a heat I didn’t want to admit was there.

My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out rational thought. I sounded hysterical even to myself, but I couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out. Some distant, more composed part of me winced at how unhinged I must have sounded, yet that part had clearly lost control of the situation entirely.

Behind me, I heard the sound of footsteps, slow, deliberate, and barefoot against the heavy rug. Each step seemed to reverberate through my chest, a countdown to something I wasn’t prepared to face. I braced myself, unsure whether I wanted him closer or an ocean further away.

Then came a low, dark chuckle that sounded far too comfortable for a man standing in a room with a woman while wearing absolutely nothing. The sound slithered down my spine, equal parts infuriating and dangerous. He was enjoying this. Of course he was. Enjoying my humiliation seemed to be one of his favorite pastimes, right up there with ignoring every social boundary I tried to erect between us.

"Why are you turning away from me, Bambina?" Jaxx’s voice was a low, velvet purr, vibrating through the air between us. I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back, as tangible as a touch. The nickname rolled off his tongue like honey, sweet and sticky and impossible to shake off. "Look at me. It’s not like you haven’t been imagining this since we left the boutique."

"Never!" I shook my head violently, my hands still glued to my face as if they could somehow erase what I’d seen. My fingers trembled against my skin, betraying the lie even as I spoke it.

"Not in a million years! Not until you put on some clothes! Or a towel! Or a curtain! Anything!" My voice rose with each word, desperation making me shrill. I would have settled for a tablecloth at that point, anything to put fabric between us and restore some semblance of sanity to the room.

"Is that so?" I could practically hear the smirk in his voice, that infuriating confidence that made me want to throttle him. Or run. Possibly both. "Then you’re just going to stand there, back turned, while I walk over and bend you over that mahogany table right in front of you?"

My eyes snapped open behind my fingers. Directly in my line of sight was the heavy, polished table he was talking about, its surface gleaming in the lamplight. I could see the reflection of the room in its dark surface, distorted, dreamlike, threatening, as if the furniture itself had become complicit in his taunting.

The mental image hit me like a physical blow: the cold wood against my skin, the heat of him behind me, his hands on my hips, his body pressing me down. My breath caught in my throat, strangled by the sudden vividness of it all. Shame and something far more treacherous warred inside me, and I hated that I couldn’t tell which one was winning.

A strangled yelp escaped my lips as I scrambled away from the table, my legs unsteady beneath me. I spun back to face the center of the room, though I kept my hands clamped firmly over my eyes, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. My knees actually wobbled, and I silently cursed them for their poor timing.

"Wear something, you pervert!" The desperation in my voice betrayed me, revealing just how rattled I was. My composure had completely shattered, leaving me exposed in a way that had nothing to do with clothing. "I swear to God, Jaxx, I will report you to your grandfather! I’ll tell him exactly what kind of degenerate he raised!"

"And tell him what, exactly?" Jaxx’s voice was closer now. Much closer. The air shifted around me, charged with his presence like the atmosphere before a storm. I could feel the radiant heat coming off his damp skin, could smell the crisp, clean scent of the soap he’d used, something expensive and woodsy that made my head swim. Sandalwood, maybe, with hints of cedar.

It wrapped around me, invaded my senses, made it impossible to think clearly. My thoughts scattered like startled birds, and I found myself struggling to remember what, exactly, I’d been so angry about moments ago. "That your man is standing naked in front of you in his own bedroom? Pops would probably tell me to stop wasting time and get on with it."

The casual possessiveness in those words, your man, sent a jolt through me that I desperately tried to ignore. It sparked something low in my belly, something warm and unwelcome that I had no intention of examining. I pressed my lips together, furious at my own body for responding to a claim I hadn’t given him permission to make.

"You are not my man!" I shouted, the words fueled by a sudden, sharp spike of panic that clawed at my throat. I needed to establish that boundary, needed to believe it myself. Needed to convince both of us before this situation spiraled completely out of control. My voice wavered on the last word, undermining the very conviction I was trying to project.

"Ouch," he murmured, and though he sounded amused, there was an edge to it that made my skin prickle with awareness. Something darker lurked beneath the playful tone, something that suggested he didn’t take kindly to rejection. "That hurts, princess. Truly. A dagger to the heart."

But the humor evaporated in a heartbeat. The air in the room suddenly grew heavy, charged with a suffocating intensity that pressed against my chest. Even the silence between his words felt different now, thicker, more deliberate, as though he were choosing each pause as carefully as his words.

"But I want you to know something," he continued, his voice no longer a purr but a command, the sound of a man who had decided the world belonged to him and was simply waiting for everyone else to acknowledge it.

"Whether you accept it or not, whether you even realize it yet, you’re mine. Mine alone. And if I have to fuck that fact into you until you finally accept it, then I’ll gladly do so. I’ll enjoy every second of the education."

I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I forgot how to function. The words hung in the air between us, impossible and overwhelming. Something in my chest cracked open, equal parts terror and a traitorous thrill I refused to acknowledge even to myself.

Was he sick? Had this become some kind of fever dream brought on by too much champagne and twenty-million-dollar diamonds?

It sounded like nonsense, possessive, unhinged nonsense, but when I finally worked up the courage to peek through my fingers, the look on his face stopped the retort dead in my mouth. Whatever scathing reply I’d been forming dissolved instantly, swallowed by the sheer weight of his expression.

He wasn’t laughing. He didn’t look stupid or drunk. He looked... serious. Deadly serious. Like a man who had calculated every move, every word, and was now simply watching the trap close around me. There was nothing careless in his gaze, nothing that suggested this was a game to him at all.

It wasn’t just desire burning in his eyes; it was a dark, shimmering obsession that felt like it could swallow me whole. I’d never seen anyone look at me that way before, like I was simultaneously the answer to a question and the cause of all his suffering.

The intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle with equal parts fear and something else I didn’t want to name. That terrified me more than his nudity ever could. At least nakedness was something I understood, something with a clear, physical shape. This was something else entirely, something that reached beneath my skin and threatened to rearrange everything inside me.

"Jaxx..." I muttered, my hands slowly dropping from my face as I stared at him, searching for some sign that this was all an elaborate joke. Some flicker of mockery, some hint that he might suddenly laugh and break the unbearable tension. It never came.

He stood right in front of me now. He’d finally had the decency to sling a dark towel low around his hips, but it barely diminished his impact. Water still clung to his shoulders, catching the light, tracing slow paths down skin that still radiated warmth from the shower. I made the mistake of looking, just for a second, and immediately regretted it.

He reached out, his hand large and steady, and used two fingers to gently tug at my lower lip. The contact sent electricity racing through my veins. It was a claim, subtle and soft, but it felt like a brand searing into my skin. I should have pulled away. I didn’t.

"Hmm? What is it, Elena?" he asked, his voice dropping into a register so low it was almost a growl, vibrating through the small space between us.

"You... you can’t say things like that," I whispered, my heart performing a wild, erratic dance against my ribs. My pulse thundered in my ears. "You’re scaring me." The confession slipped out before I could stop it, more honest than I intended.

His expression softened, just a fraction, though that predatory gleam never truly left his eyes. The contrast between the tenderness and the hunger was dizzying. He stepped even closer, until I had to tilt my head back to look at him, his damp chest mere inches from my nose. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the clean scent of soap mixed with something distinctly him, something warm and masculine that seemed to short-circuit every rational thought in my head.

"I’m not going to hurt you, Elena," he said, and for the first time, the arrogance vanished. It was replaced by a raw, jagged honesty that felt more dangerous than any threat. His jaw tightened, and I saw something vulnerable flicker across his features before he locked it away, as though he’d caught himself revealing too much and was scrambling to recover. "I swear on my life. I’d rather die than hurt you, Bambina. You are the only thing in this godforsaken world I actually want to keep."

The words landed like stones in my chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. There was a desperation in his voice that I hadn’t heard before, something that made him seem almost human beneath all that arrogant confidence. For one disorienting moment, I glimpsed the man beneath the bravado, and it frightened me more than his nudity, more than his threats, more than anything else that had happened in this room.

He leaned down, his forehead coming to rest against mine, his breath warm and mint-scented against my lips. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and he was the only thing keeping me from falling, or perhaps he was the one who was going to push me. I couldn’t decide which terrified me more.

My hands trembled at my sides, caught between the urge to push him away and the terrifying desire to pull him closer. Every instinct I had screamed two contradictory commands at once, and I stood frozen in the space between them, unable to choose.

"I want you to know that," he whispered, his thumb still tracing the curve of my lip with a terrifying tenderness that made my knees weak. The gentleness of the touch contradicted everything else about this moment. "And I need you to accept that."