Chapter 286 - 0286: I Really Want To Keep Her

Chapter 286: Chapter 0286: I Really Want To Keep Her

Jaxx’s Point Of View

I didn’t stop. Even when I felt the violent, rhythmic tremors of her release clamping down on me, I kept going. I needed her to feel every bit of my weight, every inch of the claim I was staking.

Something primal in me refused to relent, a hunger that no single climax could satisfy. Her scream still echoed in the high corners of the suite, a jagged, beautiful sound that made my blood sing.

The raw vulnerability in that cry... uninhibited, completely mine, sent a primal satisfaction coursing through me. It wasn’t just her body I wanted; it was this, the unguarded truth of her pleasure, something she couldn’t fake or withhold.

I drove into her one last time, deep enough to touch her soul, and finally let go, emptying everything I was into her while the world narrowed down to the feel of her nails dragging down my back. For one suspended moment, there was nothing else... no empire, no enemies, no blood on my hands. Just her.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by our ragged breathing. I eased out of her slowly, a low groan vibrating in my throat at the loss of that incredible heat. Elena’s body sagged against mine, her head dropping onto my shoulder as if her bones had turned to liquid. I held her there a moment longer than necessary, savoring the weight of her trust.

The fierce woman who’d commanded a room full of Chicago’s elite just hours ago now trembled in my arms, utterly spent. I caught her, my arms becoming her only support against the cold wall. I pressed my face into the crook of her neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin I’d just marked.

The faint taste of salt lingered on my tongue. She sighed, a long, shaky sound that vibrated against my chest, and I felt something shift inside me... something beyond possession, beyond desire. It unsettled me, this tenderness. I hadn’t planned for it.

"You’re... you’re a menace, Jaxx," she whispered, her voice a wrecked thread.

"I’m your menace, Bambina," I murmured, kissing the spot I’d just bitten.

The words came out softer than I’d intended, carrying a weight I hadn’t planned to give them. I didn’t let her feet touch the floor. I scooped her up, her head falling naturally against my chest, and walked back into the bathroom. She didn’t protest, didn’t try to assert her independence the way she usually did. That surrender, freely given, meant more to me than she could possibly know.

A woman like Elena didn’t yield easily... I’d learned that much about her already, and the fact that she let herself go limp in my arms felt like its own kind of gift.

The steam still clung to the mirrors. I kicked the shower on, waiting a second for the heat to hit, and then stepped under the spray with her still locked in my arms. We stayed there for a long time, the water sluicing over us, washing away the sweat and the scent of the gala. Elena was quiet, her eyes half-closed as she leaned into me.

I watched the water cascade over her face, smoothing back the dark strands of hair plastered to her forehead. In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looked younger somehow. Softer. It struck me how rarely I saw her like this, how most of the world only ever got the armored version of her.

When I felt the tension finally bleed out of her, I gently lowered her to her feet, though I kept a steadying hand on her waist. Her legs wobbled slightly, and a surge of masculine pride shot through me. I took the loofah, lathered it up with the expensive, sandalwood-scented soap I used, and began to wash her.

This wasn’t about seduction anymore. It was about care, about claiming her in a different way... one that had nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with devotion. I was meticulous. I scrubbed her arms, her back, and then knelt to run the lather down her inner thighs, my touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

She shivered despite the heat, her fingers threading through my wet hair. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself feel the simple intimacy of it... something I hadn’t allowed myself in longer than I cared to admit.

I washed her hair next, my fingers massaging her scalp until she let out a tiny, contented hum that made me want to pull her right back under me. The sound was so trusting, so unguarded, that something in my chest tightened. But I restrained myself. For now, she needed this gentleness, and I found I needed to give it to her. The realization surprised me... when had her needs started mattering more than my own wants?

I wrapped her in one of the thick, charcoal-colored towels and carried her into the closet. I bypassed the designer dresses and silks I had purposely arranged for her before our arrival here, reaching instead for one of my own white dress shirts.

"Wear this," I said, handing it to her.

She slid it on, the hem falling to her mid-thigh, the sleeves swallowing her hands. She looked... incredible. Something shifted in my chest as I watched her... a tightening, a warmth I hadn’t felt in years. There was something about seeing my initials embroidered on the cuff of a shirt worn by a woman who looked like she’d just been thoroughly wrecked by me that did things to my head I couldn’t explain.

The sight was more intimate than anything we’d just done in the shower. More possessive. More real. It was proof, somehow, that she was here, in my space, wrapped in my things, and for a man who trusted almost no one with anything of his, that meant more than I knew how to say.

I stared at her for a beat too long, the thought hitting me like a physical blow: I don’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve her softness, her fire, or the way she looked at me when she forgot to be afraid. When she forgot what I was. When she saw past the monster everyone else knew. The thought lodged itself somewhere deep, a splinter I couldn’t quite work free.

I walked over to the landline on the nightstand and punched the extension for the kitchen, forcing myself to focus on something practical before I did something stupid like tell her what I was thinking.

"Is that for food?" she asked, perching on the edge of the bed and attempting to roll up the sleeves of my shirt. The fabric kept sliding back down, and she huffed in frustration, her nose wrinkling in that way that made my chest ache.

"You haven’t eaten since we got here," I said, my eyes scanning her face, noting the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the slight pallor to her skin. "And I know you didn’t touch those tiny appetizers at the party. I told them to bring up the steak, the roasted potatoes, and that chocolate fondant you were eyeing on the menu earlier."

"I wasn’t eyeing it," she protested, though her stomach betrayed her with a loud, cavernous growl that echoed in the quiet room.

I smirked, leaning against the bedpost. "Right. That wasn’t a growl, that was just your internal monologue protesting my arrogance."

She threw a pillow at me, which I caught easily, my smirk widening into something closer to a genuine smile. God, when was the last time I’d smiled like this? When was the last time anything had felt this light? I couldn’t remember, and the thought should have alarmed me more than it did.

About an hour later, the doorbell chimed. I tapped the button on the bedside console, and the heavy doors hissed open. A woman in a crisp uniform pushed a silver cart in, her eyes fixed strictly on the floor as she’d been trained. She set the table by the window with practiced silence, arranging each dish with precision, bowed deeply, and vanished as quietly as she’d arrived.

Elena watched the whole exchange with wide eyes, and I could see the questions forming on her lips... questions about my world, about the kind of power that made people move like ghosts in your presence. I wondered, not for the first time, how long it would take before the weight of my world crushed the light out of her curiosity.

"Come on, princess," I said, reaching out a hand. "You need energy. You’ve had a very... busy night."

Elena sighed, a lazy, beautiful sound as she burrowed deeper into the pillows like a cat finding the perfect spot. "I want to sleep, Jaxx. I feel like my legs are made of jelly." A faint blush crept across her cheeks as she said it, and I felt a surge of masculine satisfaction knowing I’d put it there.

I chuckled, walking over and practically lifting her out of the bed, her body warm and pliant against mine. She fit perfectly in my arms, like she’d been made to be there. "I know, but you need to fill up. Your stomach is grumbling like a battlefield. It’s actually distracting."

"No, it isn’t!" she gasped, hitting my arm with a mock scowl that didn’t quite hide her embarrassment. "You’re just hearing things because you’re hungry for power or whatever it is you billionaires eat."

"Power is acceptable, but I prefer steak," I retorted, setting her down gently in the chair at the dining table. I made sure she was steady before releasing her, my hands lingering on her shoulders for just a moment longer than necessary.

I set the dishes out, the aroma of garlic and butter filling the air, mixing with the faint scent of her shampoo... something floral and clean that was becoming dangerously familiar. I didn’t even pick up my fork. I just sat there, leaning back in my chair, watching her eat. I studied the way her eyes lit up at the first bite, the way she tucked a stray curl behind her ear with unconscious grace, and the way the oversized shirt slipped off one shoulder, revealing the curve of her neck.

Every small movement fascinated me in a way I couldn’t rationalize. I’d built an empire on cold calculation, on reading people and exploiting their weaknesses. But with her, I just wanted to watch. To memorize. To keep.

I really want to keep her.

The thought wasn’t a suggestion anymore; it was a fundamental truth settling into my bones, taking root in a heart I’d thought had turned to stone years ago. I turned the realization over in my mind, half expecting it to feel like a threat, the way every attachment in my life eventually had. Instead, it felt like coming home.

She looked up at me, a piece of potato halfway to her mouth, her brow furrowing. "Why aren’t you eating? You’re just staring again. It’s creepy."

"I will eat," I said, my voice dropping to something rougher, more honest than I’d intended. "You first. Eat your fill. I enjoy the view."

She shrugged and returned to her meal, but I stayed suspended in that moment, memorizing it. The soft lamplight on her skin. The way she hummed slightly when she tasted something good.

The trust implicit in her relaxed posture. None of it was dramatic, none of it was the kind of thing songs were written about, and yet I felt it settle into me like something sacred.

I knew how dark my world was. I knew the sharks were circling, always circling, waiting for any sign of weakness. Bringing a woman like Elena into the center of the Moretti empire was like putting a target on her back. It was a huge risk - a dangerous, potentially fatal one.

My enemies would see her as leverage, as a weakness to exploit. They’d use her to get to me, and the thought of anyone laying a hand on her made violence surge through my veins like poison. I pictured it before I could stop myself: the men who would come for her, the lengths they’d go to in order to break me through her. My jaw tightened involuntarily.

But as I watched her reach for the chocolate fondant, her face lighting up with childlike delight, I realized it was a risk I was ready to take. I’d burn the whole empire down before I let anyone touch her. I’d turn the underground red, paint every street with the blood of anyone who dared threaten her, if it meant she stayed right where she was. Right here, in my shirt, eating chocolate fondant at two in the morning, looking at me like I was just a man instead of a monster.

I sighed, a long, heavy sound, and leaned my head back against the chair, rubbing my eyes.

The weight of what I was feeling pressed down on me, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. I’d spent years building walls brick by brick, and in the span of one night, she’d walked through all of them without even trying.

"It’s official," I muttered under my breath, though part of me wanted her to hear, wanted her to know what she’d done to me. "I’m going insane."