The First Touch
454 Words
Chapter 8: The First Touch
Elena’s nerves buzzed all evening.
She tried distracting herself with a book in the sitting room, but her eyes never focused on the page. Every time Jaxon moved in the penthouse, she felt it—his presence, his weight in the space. He was a storm waiting to happen.
And tonight, it felt like the pressure was building.
When she rose to grab a glass of water, she found him standing by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights casting shadows across his face. His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the chiseled hollow of his throat.
He looked powerful. Dangerous. Irresistible.
“Elena,” he said without turning.
She froze. “Yes?”
“Come here.”
Something in his voice made it impossible to say no.
She approached slowly, each step louder in her head than it was in the room. When she stopped beside him, the city twinkling beneath them, she could feel the heat rolling off him.
“I’m trying,” she whispered, staring out the window.
“Trying what?”
“To do this right. To not hate you.”
Jaxon turned toward her, slowly, deliberately. “I don’t want you to hate me. I want you to understand me.”
She looked up. “Then help me.”
His fingers came up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin ignited beneath his touch.
“Let me be clear, Elena,” he said, voice low. “I don’t want to force you. I don’t need to. But I also won’t pretend this tension between us doesn’t exist.”
He leaned in. His lips barely grazed her temple.
“I feel it,” he murmured. “You do too.”
Her heart thudded so loud she could barely think. She should have pulled away. Instead, she leaned slightly toward him—breath caught, balance lost.
Jaxon’s hand slid to her jaw, tilting her face up. His eyes searched hers—no pressure, just heat.
Then he kissed her.
It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savor the first taste. His lips moved over hers with possessive control, pulling a soft gasp from her throat.
She didn’t expect to kiss him back—but she did.
Her hands gripped his shirt as the kiss deepened, his body pressing her gently against the window. Her nerves screamed, but so did her need. It wasn’t gentle, not entirely—it was intense. Hungry.
When he finally pulled away, both of them breathless, he whispered, “That’s the first real thing between us.”
Elena stepped back, trembling, lips swollen.
It was wrong.
It was dangerous.
But it was real.
- Writer
