Page 14 of Death By Chocolate

I've transformed this place for her. The modern, minimalist space that once felt like a hotel suite now holds touches of warmth in every corner. The sleek leather sectional is piled with the cashmere throws she wrapped around herself during the nut-freezing nights in the clinic. The guest room – her room – is stocked with her preferred organic toiletries, the sheets are the exact Egyptian cotton blend she requested from her apartment, and the mattress is specially designed to support her injury during recovery.

Her fingers trail along the back of the couch now, a gesture so intimate it makes my throat tight. Her eyes drift to my bedroom door, lingering there for a moment before she catches herself. Even wounded, she moves with a predatory grace that draws my eye, and makes my hands itch to touch her.

I've spared no expense in the kitchen either. The refrigerator is stocked with ingredients for her favorite meals – grass-fed beef for the Vietnamese pho she craved yesterday, organicproduce for her morning smoothie, and that ridiculously expensive dark chocolate she thinks I don't know she indulges in morning, noon, and night. I've even hired a chef who specializes in recovery nutrition to prepare meals that will help her heal.

"Xeno.” Her voice cuts through my thoughts, but I catch the slight tremor in it. "I appreciate your offer, but I'll be staying in my apartment."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Like fuck you are."

She turns to face me, and I see it again – that flash of something in her eyes, a secret that weighs on her. Her gaze darts around the room, taking in all the changes, all of the careful preparations. I see the conflict in her expression, the way her fingers clench and unclench at her sides. The way she tugs on the hem of her red jacket, and as she brushes a hand over the wig. This is her armor. Her way of protecting the real Dani from the world. I’ve stroked my fingers through her silky curls and touched her bare skin. I’ve been behind the veil; I’ll push and push until the shield she’s placing between us crumbles. Call me selfish, greedy. I’ve seen… her, and I want it all.

"I have my own place in The Governor for a reason," she says, but the professional tone doesn't quite mask the regret underneath. The same tone she used before taking a bullet for me. "I need to maintain appropriate boundaries—"

"Appropriate boundaries?" I stalk toward her, watching as her spine straightens. She doesn't back away – she never does. It's one of the thousand things that drive me crazy about her. "You took a bullet for me. You held my hand all night in that hospital room. Those boundaries? They're already gone."

Her eyes flicker to the kitchen where I've spent hours learning to make her favorite foods, to the medical supplies I've meticulously arranged in the guest bathroom, to the security system I've personally upgraded to match her exacting standards.

"That was different. I was medicated and—"

“Don’t lie,” I warn. I’m close enough now to catch her scent, that intoxicating mix of vanilla and gunpowder that's uniquely her. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. "You're running. The question is, what are you running from?"

Something flickers in her eyes – fear? guilt? – before she masks it. Her hand reaches out, almost unconsciously, to touch the throw pillow.

"I'm not running. I'm maintaining a professional distance, which you seem incapable of understanding."

"Professional distance," I repeat, tasting the lie in the words. I gesture to the space around us, to all the ways I've tried to tell her without words how much she matters. "Is that what you had with Rhys?”

Her eyes flash dangerously. “Who I give my pussy to is none of your business."

"Everything about you is my business." The words come out as a growl. "When you jumped in front of that bullet, you became a part of me. When you spent two nights holding my hand. When you let me feed you, touch you, take care of you."

She moves toward the door, her movements stiff but determined. But I see how her steps falter, how her eyes linger on the space I've created for her, the safe place I'm offering.

"This conversation is over."

"Fuck it.” I follow her. "I'm moving in with you."

She freezes her hand on the doorknob. "Like hell you are."

"Try and stop me."

When she yanks the door open, something inside me snaps. I grab her hand, spinning her back to me. My mouth swallows her gasp of surprise as I claim her lips in a kiss that's been building for minutes, hours, days.

Holy shit.

I thought I was prepared for this. I've imagined kissing her a thousand times – after the first meeting, in the airport, every night in that damn hospital chair. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for the reality of Dani’s mouth under mine.

She tastes like fire and fury, like gunpowder and grace. Her lips are soft but her response is anything but, matching my intensity with her own. My free hand slides up to cup behind her neck, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and the small sound she makes in the back of her throat nearly undoes me. Her fingers grip my shirt, not pushing away but pulling closer, as if she's fighting herself even as she surrenders to this moment.

When she finally pulls away, her breathing is as ragged as mine. Her lips are swollen, her pupils dilated, and satisfaction roars through me at the sight. She doesn't say a word, just turns and walks out the door, but I see the trembling in her hands, the way she has to steady herself against the doorframe for just a moment.

I follow, of course. Like gravity following the moon, like a bullet following its trajectory. I've spent two days watching her sleep, memorizing every breath, every twitch, every murmured word. I've learned the different tones of her pain, recognized the nightmares before they fully formed. I'm not letting her out of my sight now.

She knows I'm behind her as she walks to her apartment. Her shoulders are tense, her stride purposeful despite her injury. She doesn't look back, doesn't acknowledge me, but she doesn't tell me to leave either. The silence between us crackles with unspoken words, with the lingering heat of that kiss.

As she unlocks her door, I can still taste her on my lips. Still feel the way she melted into me for that brief, perfect moment. The way her body betrayed her determination to maintain distance. She's hiding something, some secret she thinks willdrive me away. But she's about to learn what I've known since she took that bullet.

She's mine to protect. Mine to chase. Mine to claim. I’ll tear down every stitch of her armor, lay her bare, till there's nothing between us but lust, sweat, and cum.

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