“I’m not saying it’s fair,” he says, voice low but tight. “It’s garbage, what they’re doing to you. But if you let them drag you under, they win.”
“Don’t you dare turn this into a pep talk,” I snap, folding my arms across my chest. “You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and see your face plastered next to a headline calling you a liability.”
His brows knit, eyes darkening. “You think I haven’t been called worse? I’ve been the villain, the washed-up captain, the curse. You think it doesn’t eat at me when they spin my name like a joke?”
My throat tightens. “It’s not the same. You get to fight back on the ice. I get to sit in my kitchen and watch them dismantle everything I’ve built.”
He shakes his head, stepping closer, frustration written in every tense line of his body. “You think I’m not fighting for you every damn day? I’ve been shutting down questions, shielding you from press, making sure?—”
“I don’t need your protection, Leo!” The words rip out of me before I can stop them. “I need mycareerback. My reputation. My control.”
That does it. His jaw sets hard. “And what about mine?” he throws back. “You think this doesn’t touch me? That every time your name comes up, it doesn’t make me want to throw a punch? We’re in the same mess, Sage. Different headlines, same damn story.”
The truth in his voice slices through my anger, sharp and stinging. We’re both bleeding from the same wound, just refusing to admit it.
For a second, neither of us breathes. His chest rises and falls, mine mirrors it. My pulse is still hammering, but somethinginside me softens, like the first moment after a storm when the air turns still and heavy.
I stare at him — really stare — at the frustration written across his face, the exhaustion behind his eyes, the hurt he tries so hard to hide. I open my mouth, but no words come.
The quiet that follows feels electric. I can hear every breath, every shift of air between us. My pulse drums in my ears, and I realize I’m still clutching the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Leo drags a hand over his face, voice rough when he finally speaks. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
That cracks something in me. The apology—simple, unpolished—hits harder than all the shouting. “You didn’t,” I say softly, though we both know he did. I take a shaky breath. “You just… said what I couldn’t.”
His eyes lift to mine, and for the first time tonight, I see something raw there. Not anger. Not defense. Just the truth. “You didn’t break me, Sage,” he says, his tone gravelly, honest. “You make me fight harder.”
My heart stutters. Those words land somewhere deep, deeper than pride, deeper than all the noise outside. Because no one’s ever said something like that to me—not without expecting something in return.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. The space between us feels alive now, the anger transforming into something heavier, hotter. “Leo…” I whisper, his name half a warning, half a plea.
He steps closer, slow but sure, until there’s only a breath of air between us. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the pulse in his neck. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I move first.
The kiss hits like impact—fierce, unsteady, a collision of everything we’ve been holding back. His hands find my waist,and I’m already curling my fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to taste the apology, the ache, the want. It’s not soft; it’s desperate. A fight we both refuse to lose.
The counter digs into my hips, but I don’t care. His breath mingles with mine, rough and uneven, as the world outside blurs into nothing. All the noise, all the headlines, all the things we can’t fix—gone.
For a moment, there’s only this. Only us.
Leo’s hands grip my waist, grounding me in the chaos. His touch is rough with need but threads through with something tender, desperate to hold on without words. His muscular body presses into mine, his blue eyes dark and unreadable, but his need is written all over him.
I can feel his cock, hard and insistent, throbbing against my thigh, and it was like a match to kindling. My fingers tangle in his dark blonde hair, tugging hard as I kiss him back with equal ferocity, our lips moving in sync as if we were trying to devour each other whole. The taste of him—frustration, desire, and something raw—fills my mouth, and I can’t get enough.
His hands slide up my body, tracing the curves I knew he loved. His palms cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, already tight and aching for his touch. I moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his lips as he bit down gently, his tongue demanding entry.
Our tongues tangle in a dance that mirror the chaos of our earlier fight. His hand slips down, past the curve of my hip, and under the waistband of my pants.
I gasp as his fingers found my pussy, already wet and throbbing with need. He circles my clit slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring the moment, and I can’t help but grind against his touch, desperate for more.
He smirk against my lips, his grip tightening on my ass as he lifts me onto the counter. My legs wrap around his waist, myskirt bunched up around my thighs, my panties long forgotten on the floor.
His cock presses against my entrance, and I rock against him, craving the friction, the connection. “Not yet,” he growls, his voice low and dirty, sending shivers down my spine. “I’m gonna make you beg first.”
His mouth trails down my neck, his lips sucking and biting, leaving marks that would remind me of this later. I arch my back, my breasts heaving as he took a nipple into his mouth, tugging hard enough to make me whimper.
