Page 52 of Property of Chux

I let out a breathless laugh, my arms looping around his neck. “You’re impossible.”

He smirks. “And you’re mine.”

And just like that, everything in the world feels right as his lips hit mine and the rest of the world ceases to exist for this moment.

The drive home to Damian’s place is calming after a busy day. It’s grounding, familiar in a way I never expected something like this to be.

By the time I pull up to his cargo container house, the sky is painted in deep purples and fading gold, the warmth of the day lingering in the air. Parking in what he calls my spot beside his bike I smile.

The scent of something rich and spicy fills the air as I step inside, and when I round the corner into the small kitchen space, my breath catches. Damian is standing at the stove, barefoot, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging black sweatpants that do dangerous things to my self-control.

His muscles flex as he stirs something in a pan, the glow from the overhead lights casting shadows over the ridges of his abs,the hard lines of his arms. The heat in the room has nothing to do with the food on the stove.

I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms with a smirk. “You spoil me. Always coming up with something for dinner.”

Damian glances over his shoulder, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Not a baker, just make enough to survive.”

I shake my head, pushing off the frame. “I need to change. Be right back.”

I make my way to our bedroom area of the studio set up, peeling off my work clothes and slipping into a soft black cami and shorts. When I turn, my gaze catches on something new above the bed, and my breath stalls in my throat.

Hanging on the wall is an oversized black-and-white picture.

Ofus.

It’s a candid shot from the bakery—one I instantly recognize. Kelly must have taken it, because I never even knew it existed. In the photo, I’m standing in front of Damian, his arms wrapped around me, both of us laughing, the kind of real, deep laughter that’s impossible to fake.

And the love—good God, the love is there, plain as day.

I swallow hard, my chest tightening, because this is real.

It’s not just heat and lust and danger.

It’s something special.

I run my fingers over the edge of the frame before turning and walking back into the kitchen, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Damian doesn’t notice me at first, too focused on plating up whatever he’s cooked, but when I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, he stills.

I press my cheek to his back, my voice quiet. “There’s something personal here now. No more short term rental feel,” I smile.

Damian turns in my arms, his dark eyes searching mine. “Yeah?”

I nod, fingers tracing his stomach before I push up on my toes, pressing my lips to his.

The second our mouths meet, everything shifts as heat consumes us.

His hands go to my hips, gripping tight as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting, claiming. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he backs me up against the counter, lifting me effortlessly onto it.

I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging, needing more.

Damian’s hands slide under my cami, rough palms grazing over my stomach, up to my ribs, his thumbs teasing the underside of my breasts.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters against my lips. “You trying to make me forget about dinner?”

I smirk, breathless. “Maybe.”

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down my throat, sucking at the sensitive skin. “Hope you weren’t hungry.”

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