Chapter 4 : We Should Stop

~~~Soraya~~~

The silence after the athletic director’s call was deafening. 

Mom’s face crumpled in confusion. “Mija, what does she mean prove the marriage is real?” 

She stood up gesturing to Declan and I. 

“Of course it’s real. You’re standing right here with your husband.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Declan.

 Maya looked ready to swing the hockey stick again. 

Jax muttered, “Shit’s hitting the fan,” while stuffing another tamale in his mouth.

I forced a bright, painful smile. “It’s just… university politics, Mom.” I swallowed the lump trying to erupt.

“Some people don’t like that we’re together. Jealousy. Rivalry stuff. We’ll handle the press conference tomorrow. Everything’s fine.”

Declan’s hand found the small of my back, warm and steady. 

To everyone else, it probably looked supportive. To me, it felt like a warning play along or we’re screwed.

After thirty more minutes of Mom insisting on one last round of photos and Dad giving Declan another “treat her right” speech, I finally herded my parents into a rideshare back to their hotel. 

Maya and the girls left too, but not before Maya whispered in my ear.

“If this blows up, I’ve got your back. But girl… be careful. That boy looks at you like he wants to eat you alive.”

The door finally shut.

Only Declan and I remained in the suddenly too quiet penthouse. I sagged against the kitchen island, exhaustion and panic crashing over me. 

“This is spiraling. The leak, my parents thinking it’s real, the press conference tomorrow… If we don’t sell this perfectly, I lose everything. My family loses everything.”

Declan paced like a caged lion, running both hands through his dark hair. 

“You think I don’t know that?” He saify.

“My draft stock is on the line. One bad article and teams will question my maturity. Again.” 

He stopped in front of me, eyes stormy. 

“We need to be bulletproof tomorrow. No hesitation. No death glares. We have to look like we’re obsessed with each other.”

“Obsessed,” I repeated bitterly. “Right. Because fake-marrying the guy who’s made my life hell for three years is totally believable.”

He stepped closer. 

Too close.

“You didn’t seem to hate it when I had you against that wall in Vegas.”

My breath caught. “We were fighting.”

“Were we?” His voice dropped, rough and dangerous.

“Because the way your body reacted when I pinned you…”

“Shut up.” I shoved at his chest, but he didn’t move.

 My palms stayed pressed against hard muscle, warm skin, racing heartbeat. 

“This is survival, Shaw. Nothing more.”

Declan’s hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up to his.

“Then why are you breathing like that, Savage? Why are your pupils blown every time I get close?”

The air thickened.

All the rage, frustration, and unwanted heat from the past few days boiled over.

“I still hate you,” I whispered, but my voice cracked.

His thumb traced my lower lip.

“Good. Hate me harder.”

Then his mouth crashed down on mine. 

This wasn’t the staged kiss for the camera earlier. This was raw, angry, desperate. Teeth and tongues and three years of rivalry exploding in one moment. I gasped into his mouth and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss until my knees weakened.

I hated how good he tasted. Hated how my hands fisted in his hair instead of pushing him away. Hated the low groan that rumbled from his chest when I bit his lip the same way I’d wanted to in Vegas.

Declan lifted me onto the island counter like I weighed nothing, stepping between my thighs. One big hand gripped my hip, the other tangled in my hair, angling my head exactly how he wanted. The kiss turned filthy slow, deep drags of his tongue that made heat pool low in my belly.

“Fuck, Soraya,” he growled against my mouth. 

“You taste like trouble.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” I demanded, yanking him back down.

His hands roamed down my sides, under the hem of my cropped hoodie, palms hot against my bare skin. When his fingers brushed the underside of my sports bra, I arched into him. He groaned again, pressing harder between my legs so I could feel exactly how much he wanted this. 

I wrapped my legs around his waist, ankles locking behind his back. The friction was insane. Every roll of his hips sent sparks through me.

We were spiraling. Fast.

Declan pulled back just enough to trail hot, open mouthed kisses down my neck. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against my pulse point, sucking lightly.

 “Tell me this is still hate.”

I couldn’t. My head fell back, giving him more access. A soft moan escaped me as his hand slid higher, thumb brushing dangerously close to where I was aching.

“I… I still hate you,” I breathed, but my hips rolled against him again, chasing more.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against my throat. 

“Liar.” His mouth claimed mine again, hungrier this time. 

Both his hands were under my hoodie now, pushing it higher. Cool air hit my skin as he tugged the fabric up. I lifted my arms, ready to let him strip it off completely.

The sponsor provided landline on the counter suddenly rang loud and shrill.

We froze.

Declan’s forehead dropped to mine, both of us panting. His hands were still under my hoodie, thumbs stroking my ribs. I was wrapped around him like I belonged there.

The phone kept ringing.

He reached over blindly and answered it on speaker, voice rough as gravel. “What?”

The athletic director’s cold voice filled the kitchen.

 “Just making sure you two saw the latest leak. Photos from inside the apartment are circulating. You have until the press conference tomorrow to fix this narrative. Make it convincing… or the deal is terminated at midnight.” She hung up.

Declan didn’t move. Neither did I. Our bodies were still locked together, hearts hammering, lips swollen.

His stormy eyes burned into mine, dark with want. 

“We should stop.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, even as my fingers tightened in his hair. “We should.”

But neither of us pulled away.

Instead, Declan’s grip on my hips tightened. He leaned in again, breath hot against my lips, voice low and filthy.

And kissed me harder again.