The Only Truce That Mattered

CHASE

“And it’s *mine*!” she screamed, voice raw, tearing at the air like a blade. “And you walked in here like you owned it! Like you were just doing me a favor by gracing me with your presence! You have no idea what it’s like to have your entire world upended by someone who just… *appears*!”

She paused—chest heaving—ran trembling fingers through her hair.

“Fuck…” The word cracked. “You’re so fucking frustrating!”

“Yeah?” My own voice came out shredded. “You’re insufferable!”

The words exploded between us like a slapshot into the boards—raw, furious, final.

Sloane’s chest rose and fell in sharp, angry bursts. Her green eyes blazed with that same wildfire that had been burning me alive since the day she moved in. Lips parted, breath coming in short pants. Her finger still jabbed into my chest—right over my racing heart—like she could physically force the truth into me.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

The kitchen clock ticked once. Twice.

Then something snapped.

I lunged.

My hands slammed against the wall on either side of her head—caging her in—our bodies colliding so hard the air punched out of both of us. Her back hit the wall with a soft thud. The framed photo of Victoria’s beach house rattled above us.

She gasped—sharp, surprised—but didn’t push me away.

I didn’t give her time to think.

My mouth crashed down on hers.

Hard.

Desperate.

Hungry.

No preamble. No gentleness. Just pure, unfiltered need.

Her lips parted on a shocked inhale—I took advantage—tongue sliding against hers in one deep, claiming stroke. She tasted like chamomile tea and fury and everything I’d been denying myself for weeks. I groaned into her mouth—low, broken—the sound vibrating between us.

She froze for half a heartbeat.

Then she kissed me back.

Fierce.

Savage.

Like she’d been waiting to devour me too.

Her hands flew to my hair—fisting hard—yanking me closer until there wasn’t a millimeter of space left between us. Nails scraped my scalp, sending sparks down my spine. I angled my head—deepened the kiss—tongue stroking hers in slow, filthy drags that made her whimper against my lips.

I pressed my body flush to hers—chest to chest, hips to hips—pinning her to the wall with my weight. She arched into me instinctively—breasts pressing against my chest, nipples already hard through her thin camisole. I could feel every shuddering breath she took, every frantic beat of her heart matching mine.

My hands slid from the wall to her face—cupping her jaw—tilting her head exactly how I wanted it. I kissed her slower now—deeper—savoring the way her tongue chased mine, the way her teeth grazed my bottom lip in retaliation for every cruel word we’d thrown at each other tonight.

She bit down—hard.

I hissed—pain flashing bright—then soothed the sting with my tongue, licking into her mouth like I could erase every fight we’d ever had.

Her hands left my hair—slid down my neck—nails dragging over my shoulders—clawing at my shirt like she wanted to rip it off. I growled—low in my throat—pressed my thigh between her legs, forcing them apart. She gasped into my mouth—hips jerking forward—grinding against the hard muscle of my thigh on pure instinct.

I swallowed the sound.

Kissed her harder.

One hand left her face—slid down her side—gripping her hip—fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I rocked her against my thigh—slow, deliberate—feeling the wet heat of her through her shorts. She moaned—soft, needy—into my mouth, her tongue stroking mine in frantic little flicks that matched the rhythm of her hips.

I broke the kiss—just long enough to drag my lips along her jaw—down the column of her throat—sucking hard on the spot where her pulse hammered wildly. She tilted her head back—exposing more skin—fingers twisting in my hair again, holding me there.

“Chase—” Her voice cracked—half plea, half curse.

I bit down—gentle at first—then harder—marking her. Tomorrow there’d be a bruise. Tomorrow she’d have to hide it. The thought made me groan against her skin—made me grind my thigh higher, pressing right against her clit.

She whimpered—hips stuttering—chasing the pressure.

I kissed my way back to her mouth—claiming it again—slower this time. Deeper. Languid strokes of tongue that made her melt against me. Her hands slid under my shirt—palms flat against my abs—nails scraping lightly as she explored. I shuddered—cock throbbing painfully against her hip—every touch sending fire through my veins.

I pulled back—just enough to look at her.

Her lips were swollen—red and slick from mine. Cheeks flushed. Eyes glassy and dark with want. Hair a wild mess from my hands.

Beautiful.

Fucking beautiful.

I kissed her again—soft this time. Almost reverent. Slow drags of lips. Gentle sweeps of tongue. She sighed into my mouth—soft, surrendering—and it broke something inside me.

I kissed the corner of her mouth.

Her cheek.

The shell of her ear.

Down her neck again—slower—savoring every inch.

She tilted her head—gave me more—fingers threading gently through my hair now instead of pulling.

I kissed the hollow of her throat—felt her pulse flutter against my lips.

Back up—along her jaw—until I reached her mouth again.

This time the kiss was endless.

Slow.

Deep.

Unhurried.

Tongues sliding together in lazy, wet strokes. Lips brushing. Breathing each other’s air. Her hands slid up my back—under my shirt—palms warm against my skin. Mine cupped her face—thumbs stroking her cheekbones—holding her like she was something precious.

We kissed until our lungs burned.

Until the rage had burned itself out and left only this—quiet, aching want.

I pulled back—just enough to rest my forehead against hers.

Our breaths mingled—ragged, shared.

She opened her eyes.

Looked at me.

No words.

Just a small, trembling smile.

I kissed it off her lips—soft. Slow.

Again.

And again.

Until the kitchen light felt too bright and the clock said it was almost dawn.

Until we were both shaking—not from anger—but from everything we’d finally stopped fighting.

I kissed her one last time—gentle, lingering—then pulled back.

Pressed my forehead to hers again.

Whispered against her lips:

“Stay.”

She nodded—small, certain.

“Okay.”

We didn’t speak again.

Just stood there—foreheads touching—breathing each other in.

The fight was over.

The kiss wasn’t.

And neither of us wanted it to end.