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I shake my head. "No. I protect you best right here."

I take one more step and we’re close—too close. She should move. She doesn’t.

Her breath is shallow, her lips parted. I know I shouldn’t. Know it’s a bad idea. But when she lifts her chin, daring me, something primal takes over.

My hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers threading into the soft, tension-knotted strands of her hair. I tug her forward, not gentle, not hesitant—just need and heat and too many things not yet said. My mouth crashes against hers, hungry and claiming, a storm I’ve stopped trying to hold back.

She gasps, but there’s no retreat in it—just invitation. Her hands fist in my shirt like she needs to feel something solid, something raw and real. She pulls me in tighter, her body flush with mine, and the feel of her curves pressed against me is a brand I’ll never forget.

Her mouth parts undermine, slick heat, and molten defiance, tasting like spice and challenge and something sweeter that shoots straight to my bloodstream. Her tongue meets mine with a bold stroke, not tentative—claiming. Demanding.

I groan into her mouth, the sound low and rough, because this isn’t just a kiss. It’s a battle, a bargain, a goddamn detonation. She’s fire and steel wrapped in velvet skin, and I want to burn in her.

The kiss hits like a detonation—raw, consuming, a firestorm ignited the moment our mouths collide. My hand tightens in her hair, holding her just where I need her, and she meets me with every ounce of heat I’ve been holding back. Her lips are soft but unyielding, and when her tongue slides against mine, it’s not tentative. It’s a dare.

She moans into my mouth, a low, helpless sound that shoots straight to my cock. Her hands grip my shoulders, then my waist, like she doesn’t know whether to shove me away or drag me closer. My body answers for her, pinning her lightly between me and the counter. Her breath hitches as I press in, my hips angled just enough that she feels every inch of what she does to me.

There’s no finesse, no slow build—just need crashing into need. Her teeth catch my bottom lip, and I growl, deep and dark, before taking her mouth again with even more force. She kisses like she argues—fierce, clever, completely unafraid. And fuck, it turns me inside out.

I kiss her like a man starved. Like she’s the only thing that’s ever tasted right. The only thing that could bring me to my knees and make me beg for more.

When I finally pull back, our breaths come in ragged bursts, mixing in the charged air between us. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, lips parted and swollen, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pulls. My own heart hammers in my ribs, blood roaring hot beneath my skin. We stare at each other, not confused but stunned—like the ground just gave way beneath us and neither of us knows where solid begins again. Her fingers are still tangled in my shirt, my hand still cradling her neck, and it’s nothesitation that holds us in place—it’s awareness. That we crossed a line we can't uncross. And neither of us wants to.

But we know. The heat between us hasn’t broken—it’s just changed, gone deeper, darker. We’re breathing the same charged air, our skin still thrumming with contact. We both know this isn’t over. Not even close. We’ve only scratched the surface of something dangerous and consuming—and it’s already pulling us under.

She straightens slowly, like a woman gathering her armor piece by piece. Her eyes don’t waver, and her spine stiffens as if refusing to show even a sliver of vulnerability. Whatever just passed between us—heat, hunger, power—she folds it away, sealing it behind something cool and composed. But not untouched. Never untouched.

"You don’t get to throw orders at me, kiss me like that, and expect me to roll over, Ranger."

I grin. "Good. I’d be disappointed if you did."

She stares at me, eyes shadowed with something darker than simple attraction—an ache, a question, a challenge. Like she’s trying to decide if I’m the problem or the solution. If I’m the fire, or the one who’ll burn trying to contain hers.

"Get out of my kitchen, Deacon."

"It's an open concept, Sutton."

She shakes her head and moves past me, but not without brushing her fingers across my forearm—a touch light as breath but charged enough to leave a trail of heat in its wake. It's instinctive, unthinking, the kind of contact that speaks louder than words. She keeps walking, but that ghost of contact stays with me, branded beneath the skin.

The fire between us isn’t going anywhere.

And the danger outside? It’s not waiting in the shadows anymore...

CHAPTER 5

SUTTON

Imove up the stairs, trying not to rush, but needing to put as much space between Deacon and I as possible. Once inside my room, I close the bedroom door behind me with a soft click, the sound far too loud in the hush of the house.

My pulse still pounds from the tension and that kiss—God, that kiss. My lips feel swollen, like they’re still shaped around his name, and my skin buzzes with a charge that refuses to fade. A low thrum pulses in my core, insistent and maddening, like my body hasn’t gotten the memo that the kiss is over. I cross the room in a daze, heading for the en suite bathroom like it’s the only destination left in a world that’s suddenly tilted sideways.

Once inside, I shut the bathroom door and lean against it, heart still jackhammering. My palms are damp against the wood, my skin too tight for my body, like everything inside me is vibrating with leftover heat and confusion. Not from fear. Not even from adrenaline. But from that kiss.

That blistering, brain-scrambling, what-the-hell-was-that kiss. My lips still tingle like he branded me, and my skin hums with the aftershocks—like St. Elmo's fire crackling along themasts of a ship—the heat sinking into my bones. It’s not just muscle memory. It’s sensory possession.

My pulse kicks every time I breathe, and the echo of his mouth still thrums in places he never even touched. My body feels like it’s vibrating on a sub-frequency only he tuned into—raw, hypersensitive, every nerve ending singing. My skin prickles like it’s been stripped bare under moonlight, flushed and aching.

What's worse is I want more. I want the dangerous promise in his eyes, the ferocity in his grip, the way he made the world fall silent around us. It’s a craving I can’t rationalize, and that terrifies me more than the kiss itself.