Page 81 of The Jaded Notes

I push the door open only to freeze when a figure materializes in the shadows.

A scream rips from my throat but dies the moment I realize who it is. “Jesus Christ, Jax! You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry, firecracker.” He shuts the door with a firm shove and pulls me into his arms. “I couldn’t sleep knowing I hurt you.”

“How did you get in here?” I try to push away, but he only holds me tighter.

“I had an extra key made, just in case.” He stares deep into my eyes. “Will you forgive me?”

“For…?”

“Earlier.”

I lift my brows. “And…?”

“What else should I apologize for?”

“You have access to my apartment and you didn’t ask me or tell me. Don’t you think that’s overstepping, Jax?”

“No, I don’t. You’re mine, and that means I protect you.”

I melt a little inside and soften in his embrace. “You still want me even when I don’t give in to your every wish?”

“Yes, but it would be easier if?—”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He hesitates, but his lips crash against mine a second later. His tongue sweeps into my mouth in a possessive claim, and my knees go weak.

He’s the best kisser, and I can’t get enough. Heat floods my veins, and I’m about to take him to my bed.

He pulls away, gazing down at me. “I don’t like fighting with you.”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“No, but I didn’t make you feel special, and that’s just as bad.”

“We were at work. I should’ve known better than to behave that way.” I step out of his arms and set my purse andkeys on the counter. “But you need to know that how you treat me isn’t sitting well with me.”

“I figured. That’s why I’m here.” He helps me shrug out of my jacket.

I take it from him and hang it in the closet. “Then tell me how we fix this.”

He gestures to the couch. I nod. He sits and pats the space beside him.

“Come join me, Livianna. I don’t like the distance between us.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” I sink into the cushions, tucking one leg beneath me so I’m angled toward him.

His warm palm settles on my thigh. He traces his thumb in slow, deliberate circles that feel more like assessment than comfort.

“You asked how we fix this.” His words are quiet but edged with intensity. Each syllable carries the weight of someone who doesn’t speak unless he means to change the outcome. “We don’t, unless you can hear me without getting defiant the moment it stops feeling safe.”

His thumb presses a fraction harder, grounding me in place.

“I’m still here, Jax. You’re the one who left today without any resolution.”

His gaze stays locked on mine, unreadable but intent. “There’s a reason I take control with you. Not just in the obvious ways.”