Chapter 158: Jaxon

Chapter 158: Jaxon
The first thing I notice when I wake up is warmth.

Not the kind that comes from the sun streaming through the open balcony doors, or the kind that lingers in the sheets after a long night. No—this is different. This is soft skin pressed against mine, slow, steady breaths tickling my collarbone, the faintest weight of a leg draped over my thigh like she belongs there. Because she does.

Paige.

I keep my eyes closed for a moment, letting myself just feel it. The rise and fall of her chest against mine. The way her fingers twitch slightly in her sleep, curled against my stomach. The scent of her—something sweet, familiar, tangled with the salt in the air and the warmth of the linen sheets.

She’s still here.

The thought settles something in me, something I hadn’t even realized was restless. I’m used to waking up alone, used to cold, empty spaces, to hotel rooms with weapons within arm’s reach. But this—waking up with her in my arms, with the sound of waves in the distance and no immediate threat clawing at the edges of my mind—this is something I could get used to.

I open my eyes, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the wooden beams overhead. The house is quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that feels almost foreign to me. It’s different from the silence of Alderstone, where quiet meant something was wrong. Here, it just means… peace.

My gaze drops to her.

She’s curled against me, her face half-buried in my chest, her golden hair spilling across my skin, messy from sleep. Her lips are slightly parted, her breaths slow and even, one arm wrapped loosely around my waist like she has no intention of letting go.

Good. She’s not allowed to.

I shift slightly, bringing my hand up to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face. She stirs at the movement, making the softest sound—a sleepy, content hum—before burrowing closer.

I smirk. "You awake?"

She doesn’t answer, just presses her face deeper into my chest like she can somehow avoid waking up if she stays there.

I chuckle, my fingers trailing lazily down her spine. "I know you’re awake, princess."

She groans, shifting slightly, and then her voice comes, thick with sleep. "M’not."

I shake my head, my smirk deepening. "Liar."

She huffs but doesn’t move, and I take the opportunity to keep touching her. Light, aimless strokes over her back, down her arm, across the smooth curve of her hip. She’s soft everywhere, warm everywhere, and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this—of waking up like this. With her.

After a moment, she sighs and tilts her head up, blinking groggily at me.

"Morning," she mumbles, her voice still raspy from sleep.

"Morning," I say back, my hand still tracing her skin.

She stares at me for a second, like she’s trying to memorize something. Then, she gives a sleepy little smile. "You’re staring."

I smirk. "So are you."

"Hard not to."

I laugh at the replay of last night. She doesn’t say things like that often—not outright. But when she does? Fuck.

I cup the back of her neck, pulling her in for a slow kiss. She melts into it immediately, her body pressing even closer, her fingers curling into my side like she wants to anchor herself there. I don’t stop her. I don’t think I’ll ever stop her.

When we pull away, she sighs against my lips. "I don’t want to get up."

I grin, brushing my thumb over her cheek. "Then don’t."

She huffs. "We have things to do, don’t we?"

Yeah, we do. Getting new clothes, settling in, figuring out what the hell our new lives are supposed to look like. But for now, for this moment, I don’t give a shit about any of that.

I tighten my grip on her waist, rolling us slightly so she’s beneath me, her green eyes widening as I smirk down at her.

"Five more minutes," I murmur.

Her breath hitches. "Jaxon—"

I cut her off with another kiss.

And just like that, she forgets about getting up.

I can still taste her on my lips when I step into the kitchen.

It takes everything in me to pull away from her, to leave the warmth of the bed, but I know if I stay, we won’t be leaving that room anytime soon. And as tempting as that is, I want to start this morning right. Want to give her something good. Something normal.

I open a few cabinets, taking mental notes of where I put things yesterday. The kitchen isn’t huge, but it’s perfect for us. White walls, rustic wood shelves, and blue cabinets that remind me of the ocean just outside. It’s nothing like the sleek, modern kitchens in Alderstone’s mansions, where everything was cold and steel and lifeless. This place? This kitchen? It feels like home.

And that’s fucking terrifying.

I shake the thought away and focus. Cooking. Breakfast. Normal things.

I grab eggs from the fridge, some cheese, tomatoes, and bread. I remember her saying she liked simple things in the morning, nothing too heavy. I’ll make omelets, toast, maybe some coffee if I can figure out how to use this tiny espresso machine sitting on the counter.

I crack the eggs into a bowl, whisking them, when I hear the soft shuffle of bare feet against the tile.

I glance over my shoulder.

And there she is.

Paige, standing in the doorway, wrapped in nothing but one of my shirts. It swallows her frame, the hem barely skimming the tops of her thighs, the sleeves too long, covering her hands. Her golden hair is a little messy from sleep, strands falling over her face, her green eyes still heavy-lidded.

She’s still waking up. Still a little dazed.

And still the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.

I lean against the counter, taking my time looking her over, letting my gaze drag up her bare legs, the curve of her hips, the way my shirt hangs off one shoulder.

"Morning, princess," I murmur.

She rubs at her eyes, her lips tugging into a sleepy smile. "You left me."

I smirk. "I did. But I’m making it up to you."

She yawns, stretching her arms above her head, and I nearly groan at the sight of her body shifting beneath my shirt. She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me. Or maybe she does. Maybe she enjoys it.

She pads closer, leaning against the kitchen island. "What are you making?"

"Omelets. Toast. Maybe coffee if I can figure out how to use that thing." I nod toward the espresso machine.

She follows my gaze, then laughs softly. "I can help with that."

I tilt my head. "Oh yeah? You a barista now?"

She giggles, shaking her head as she turns back to the espresso machine, pressing a few buttons. Within seconds, the rich scent of coffee fills the kitchen.

I go back to the stove, flipping the omelets. She moves around beside me, grabbing plates, setting the small wooden table by the window.

It’s easy, being here with her. Moving around each other in this kitchen like we’ve done it a hundred times before. Like we belong here.

I slide the omelets onto plates and bring them over, setting one in front of her as she places a steaming cup of coffee beside mine.

She hums in appreciation, picking up her fork. "You didn’t poison it, right?"

I smirk, sitting across from her. "Not today."