Chapter 3
1080 Words
The city doesn’t sleep, and neither do I—not really.
I can’t get him out of my head. Jaxon. The way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way he owned me with just a glance. My pulse still hums from it, and I’m craving more than memory.
I pace my apartment, the lights low, silk sheets tangled on the bed where I slept alone—again. The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floors feels too loud, like it’s echoing the chaos in my veins.
I pour a glass of wine, swirl it, sip it, and try to breathe.
No luck.
He’s in my blood.
I know I should forget him. That’s what I do—forget. Lose myself in nights, in bodies that can’t hurt me, in reckless abandon that numbs the hollow. But he isn’t like them. He feels like a storm waiting to break inside me, and I don’t know if I’m ready for the flood.
But I need it.
I need him.
The phone rings. A sharp, jarring sound that makes me jump. It’s my father.
“Arabella,” Marcus says, voice low and measured, the kind that always promises consequences. “We need to talk. Now.”
I groan. “Can’t it wait? I’m… busy.”
“You’re never busy when it matters,” he replies, ice in every syllable. “Kingston Tech’s board is meeting in the morning. Your conduct tonight… if it continues, investors will pull out.”
I bite back a laugh. The way he thinks I care about their precious board meetings is almost funny. Almost.
“I’ll handle it,” I say. “Leave me alone.”
“You can’t,” he says. “Not anymore. You’ve reached the point where your choices affect more than just you. Show up tomorrow prepared to fix this, or you lose everything.”
Click.
I toss the phone onto the couch. Fix this? The only thing I want to fix is my desire—impossible, uncontrollable, untamable. And suddenly… an idea hits me. Dangerous, reckless, brilliant.
Jaxon.
He’s the only one who could fix this mess—or ruin it further. And I’m not afraid of ruin. Not anymore.
The Den.
I drive through the neon-lit streets with reckless speed, ignoring the tight knot in my stomach. Every instinct screams caution, but I don’t listen. I haven’t been cautious in years.
I push open the velvet curtains. The bass hits me like a physical wave. Bodies move in sync with the music, sweat and perfume and leather creating a fog around me.
And then I see him.
Jaxon. Standing against the wall, observing, almost invisible yet dominating everything in the room. His dark hair falls slightly over his eyes. His gaze finds mine.
Time stops.
I walk toward him, heels clicking on the floor, every step a challenge. “You,” I say. My voice is low, teasing, desperate. “I’ve been looking for you.”
He smirks faintly. “Have you?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “I want you. Here. Now.”
He studies me, dark eyes narrowing. “You want to play with fire?”
“I want to burn,” I whisper, stepping closer until our bodies are inches apart. The heat radiating from him is intoxicating, pulling me into a spiral I can’t escape.
He reaches for my hand, brushing his thumb against my palm. The touch is fleeting, but it ignites me. “Not here,” he murmurs. “Not like this.”
I bite my lip, frustrated, hungry. “Then where?”
His eyes flick to the exit. “Somewhere private. Somewhere that won’t make your life worse… at least not immediately.”
The words are a promise. A challenge. A temptation I can’t resist.
Minutes later, we’re in the car, the city lights streaming past. He drives, silent and controlled, every motion deliberate. I glance at him, noting the jawline tense with focus, the fingers wrapped around the wheel, the way his presence fills the small space like gravity.
“Who are you?” I ask, unable to stop myself. “Really.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulls the car into a hidden parking area behind a sleek, black building. “Some things,” he finally says, “are better discovered than told.”
The way he says it makes my pulse race. Every word he speaks is a brush against the fire smoldering inside me.
We enter the building, and suddenly the world narrows. It’s quiet, sleek, intimate. One glance around tells me this is no ordinary apartment—no ordinary man. Everything is minimal, controlled, precise. And I realize: this is him.
“Sit,” he commands softly, but there’s no harshness. Just authority.
I obey.
He steps close, hand brushing against mine, and the electricity sparks between us like wildfire. I can feel the promise of danger in every line of his body.
“You’re reckless,” he says, voice low, almost a growl. “But you’re honest about it. That’s… rare.”
“I’m honest about everything,” I whisper, heat pooling between my legs, heart hammering. “Even if it kills me.”
He smiles faintly, and I swear the room grows hotter. “Good. Because I don’t do casual.”
I inhale sharply, understanding exactly what he means. Casual won’t last five minutes with him. I want him anyway. I need him anyway.
Without another word, he leans down, brushing his lips against mine. The kiss is sharp, claiming, burning into every nerve ending. My hands fly to his chest, nails digging in, desperate to anchor myself to him.
The taste of him—smoky, dangerous, intoxicating—overwhelms every thought. I moan softly against his lips. He tastes like temptation and control, like the thrill of being caught, like the risk of ruin.
Pulling back slightly, he whispers, “I can’t be yours… not yet.”
I gasp, frustrated, panting. “Then what are you?”
He studies me, those dark eyes like coals. “I’m the one who’ll ruin you. And maybe the one who saves you.”
My stomach flips. I don’t care which. I only know I want him. Now.
And for the first time, I feel the pull of something more dangerous than any club, any body, any night I’ve ever chased.
I’ve met the storm.
And I’m about to walk right into it.
- Writer
