Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
LIVIANNA/LILY
Then
Marble Floors & The Echo Of Choices
Some moments feel louder than promises. This one sounds like my undoing.
The elevator doors that open directly into Jax’s place part with a slick hush.
I step inside a world I’ve only imagined in slivers. Jaxon Crowne is finally letting me get a taste of him.
“Jax…” A shiver runs through me. “Wow.”
“Welcome. Let’s go in and start with a drink.” He steps forward, but I remain where I am.
I want to savor the moment.
This place doesn’t announce itself with opulence. It seduces in low tones and calculated contrast.
Warm amber lighting seeps from a high ceiling, casting golden strokes over dark herringbone floors and walls paneled in smoked oak, the kind that looks soft enough to touch but likely costs more than my entire rent.
Every line is clean. Every detail is intentional, just as Jax and his power are.
The setting is luxurious. It’s masculine in the way Jaxon is…composed, sensual, and unknowable. Far too intimate for anyone to walk through without second-guessing every move.
How many women have had the honor of being here with him?
The room is focused, as if built for silence to echo and for desire to speak through longing gazes rather than words.
A linear gas fireplace hums across one wall. Its low flame dances behind frameless glass, casting flickers over nearby metal fixtures—burnt bronze, brushed steel, and those quiet signs of wealth that don’t beg to be noticed but can’t be ignored.
Music plays low through speakers I can’t see. They’re probably hidden inside the ceiling or behind some high-grade acoustic paneling. The notes are so soft, as if meant to put me at ease.
I hover at the threshold, not quite sure I belong here. What if I blow my chances somehow?
Jax coaxes me forward with a gentle tickle of his fingertips across my palm. My heels click once on the wood floor, the sound swallowed instantly by the height of the ceilings and the weight of the moment.
Beside me, Jax doesn’t speak. It’s like he knows I’m having doubts myself, so he doesn’t push.
I sense his gaze on me, watching the way someone might watch the edge of a blade, waiting to see if it cuts.
Is he as nervous as I am?
The buildup to this moment takes over, and I pray I don’t disappoint him by coming off as some scared little girl. He needs to see me as a woman—one who wants to do so many exquisitely naughty things to him.
“Are you planning on running again?” His voice slices through my thoughts.
“No, just…taking it in.” I creep into the space, tracing the edge of a low-slung cognac leather armchair with my hand.
The surface is worn in a way that says it’s used often by someone who only pretends to relax. The leather is warm beneath my touch, faintly scented with cedar and something darker—like expensive bourbon poured over all the secrets Jax seems to keep.
I peer at him, anchoring myself with his presence. “Is this where you bring all your women?”
His steps are slow but inevitable. His contemplation of my question drags until it stretches like it’s about to snap.
“No.” His declaration lands with a gravity that doesn’t need embellishment. “I’ve never brought a woman here.”
My heart stutters at the edges. Whoa, I didn’t expect that.
Just add it to the list of surprising things I learn about him every time we’re alone. His mystery engulfs me and makes me want to uncover every part of him.
He stops before me, the heat of his body pulling at mine without a single touch exchanged. My stomach tightens. He closes the distance until my breath syncs with his.
His hand lifts, gliding near but not quite on the curve of my hip, lingering with the kind of precision that makes me think I imagined it. The air between us thickens, weighted more by the absence of contact than the potential of it.
And then he pulls it away.
Gone. Like a decision he retracted, leaving my ache left unanswered.
The restraint is deliberate—a language I don’t yet know how to speak. I want to understand his world and how I’m supposed to be with him, but I admit, it’s more complicated than I thought it would be.
“Why me?” I swallow, the words catching in my throat. “Why bring me here?”
He doesn’t blink and doesn’t falter. But the heaviness in his stare betrays something else. Something human buried beneath all that iron discipline.
When he finally speaks, his voice hits low against my chest like smoke curling up from a bonfire into the dark sky.
He steps closer. “Because I’ve never wanted anyone to ruin me before.”
His admission floats between us like incense, slow-burning and sacrilegious.
I’ve never wanted anyone to ruin me before.
Does he really think I’d do that to him?
The energy around us vibrates, like he’s risking letting me close enough to destroy the version of himself he spent years perfecting. I step forward, the hem of my dress brushing my thighs.
My voice is barely above a whisper. “If we’re going to do this… If you want me, then I need something from you.”
His brow lifts a fraction, but he doesn’t speak.
“This first time together, I need it softer.” My throat tightens, but I force the words out before I lose my nerve.
“I want to explore your way with you…through the power and the submission, but I’ve been hurt before.
I’ve been used by someone I thought loved me.
And if you shatter me the way he did, I won’t come back from it. ”
It’s true. I’ve thought about Callum a lot lately just so I can move on. What I’ve come to realize is he kept me around because I was a safe choice. I was like a well-worn T-shirt, and he used me for his comfort.
Understanding that is more painful than losing him because at the end of the day, I wonder if he ever loved me. At least not in the way that counts, because there was always someone lurking in the background. Namely Zara. I try not to blame him for that, though.
I turn my attention back to Jax. His expression shifts as he studies me with what seems to be compassion.
Then there’s a spark. Barely, but I see it. The flicker of restraint gives way to something raw. Something dangerous in a different way.
“I don’t want to break you anymore, Livianna.” His voice drops, strong and gentle, twisted into a confession. “I want to be the one who puts you back together.”
God, I want to believe him. I want to fall into that promise like it’s the only thing that’s ever felt safe.
“Then show me,” I whisper. “Just don’t make me regret being this vulnerable with you.”
“You have my word.” He moves closer.
“That means I can’t have the version of you with rules I don’t get and silences that make me feel like I’m failing. I need this to be different. I need to learn to trust you with this part of myself…and I can’t do that if I feel like I’m being tested.”
“Done.” Both his hands find my hips, the heat of them seeping through the fabric with quiet certainty. His thumbs sweep along the dip of my waist, not with greed but with reverence.
“Then how does this work?”
“I’ll guide you.” He stares into my eyes. “But you’ll always have the power to stop it. Tonight, there will be no punishments or rules. Just trust.”
My heart lurches. “That’s exactly what I want.”
He leans in, his mouth finding mine. It’s not a claiming kiss or a rush of possession. It’s something more, and with it is a slowness that disarms me completely.
He’s listening to me and working with me, not against me. And that’s its own kind of magic.
His tongue parts my lips with care. He tastes, not takes. And when he kisses me deeper, I feel the shift.
He’s not holding back his dominance. He’s repurposing it, molding it to wrap around my damage instead of piercing it and making me pay for it.
His hand cradles the back of my head, fingers weaving in my hair just tight enough to hold me still. I melt against him, knees softening, breath catching, and pulse racing. Our chemistry is off the charts.
He pulls away. There’s no warning, no asking when he lifts me.
I gasp, but it’s not in fear. I’m coming undone with anticipation and a respect I didn’t expect to have. The spark between us is foreplay all on its own. My insides are on fire, and we’ve only just begun.
He carries me through the penthouse without fumbling. Every step measured and every turn instinctive.
He’s in a rush to make this happen, like he already knows exactly what it’s going to be like. It’s as if his body memorized mine before he ever touched it.
And maybe it did. God knows I’ve stared at his long enough to know every tight, muscular curve.
When we reach his bedroom, he sets me down on a bed made up of graphite-colored linens, accented in shimmering silver trim. The window is open, and the light gray sheers billow gently in the breeze, carrying the low hum of the city below.
He stands before me, his silhouette framed by moonlight, his gaze locked on mine. There’s a mix of nervousness and excitement in his eyes, and it sends chill bumps over my skin.
He moves closer, his voice a rough, hoarse whisper. “You’re breathtaking, Livianna.”
His words make my heart skip a beat.
“So are you, Jax.”
He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw. I shudder under his touch.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” He leans in to capture my mouth in a tender kiss.
I press into him and wrap my arms around his neck, my tongue exploring his with a hunger that matches his own.
The curtains rustle behind me from the wind picking up. Cool air skims over my body. It’s a stark contrast to the heat building between us.
He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against mine as he catches his breath.
“You taste so sweet, Livianna.” His hands roam, exploring every surface they glide over.
He takes a moment to feel me, then eases back and stands in front of me, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Each flick of his fingers is like a ritual leading up to my undoing.