Chapter 104: A Terrible (Kiss) Fight♡

We stay like this, frozen in the dark. Our temples are pressed together, a point of burning contact.

One of my hands holds his, our fingers interlaced. The other is fisted in the silk of his tie, a gentle, inescapable anchor pulling him close.

Our eyes are locked in the dim blue gloom. My heart is a wild, frantic thing against my ribs.

His scent—clean, calming red rose—wraps around me, and without thought, my own pheromones answer, a soft, sweet cloud of peach blossom unfurling in the space between us, mingling with his.

The air changes. It becomes thick, intimate, charged.

My voice is a whisper, brushing against the skin of his cheek.

Hesitant.

Terrified.

Hopeful.

“Deniz… can I… kiss you?”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t move. His eyes just stay on mine, wide and dark and utterly unreadable.

My gaze drops, helpless, to his lips.

Soft.

Parted just slightly.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” I breathe, the decision made for both of us.

I lean closer, closing the last sliver of darkness. My lips brush his skin as I murmur my last, shaky rule.

“If you don’t like it… please… push me back.”

And then, I close the final distance.

My lips meet his.

It’s not a collision. It’s a landing. Soft. Tentative.

A question pressed against his mouth.

He doesn’t push me back.

He doesn’t speak. He just… accepts.

He lets me kiss him.

I pull back, just an inch, just enough to see his eyes.

His cheeks are a breathtaking, shy red. He looks down, and my own face flames in response.

Slowly, carefully, I release his tie. My hands come up to cradle his face, my thumbs stroking the burning skin of his cheeks.

“Deniz,” I whisper, my voice thick.

“Look at me.”

His eyelashes flutter. Then, slowly, his dark eyes rise to meet mine again.

They’re swimming with confusion, with fear… and with a dawning, mirroring hunger.

I kiss him again.

This time, it’s not a question. It’s an exploration. My lips move against his, learning his shape, his warmth.

I suck gently on his lower lip, and a soft, shocked breath escapes him.

His lips begin to move, tentatively at first, then with more certainty, moving with mine in a slow, breathtaking rhythm.

Curiosity, hot and urgent, takes over. In all the novels I’ve ever read, this was always the mysterious part—the slide of tongue, the deepening intimacy.

I was always curious how it would feel.

Now I know.

I let my tongue trace the seam of his lips, a gentle request.

Ah..

He gasps, his mouth opening on a sigh, and I slip inside.

Oh..

It’s… it’s not just good.

It’s a revelation.

A hot, wet, silken slide that sends a lightning bolt of pure sensation straight to my core. It’s heavenly.

My body temperature skyrockets, but this isn’t the sickly burn of fever.

This is a different, all-consuming fire, spreading from the point where our mouths are joined, melting me from the inside out.

And then… he moves.

His hand, which had been hanging at his side, rises. It settles on my waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my shirt, holding me there.

Not pushing me away.

Pulling me closer.

The kiss deepens, evolves. It’s no longer just me taking. It’s a shared, desperate discovery.

He kisses me back with the same stunned, eager energy, his tongue meeting mine in a shy, sweet dance.

In the dark, silent conference room, hidden from the world, we are no longer boss and assistant, nor villain and side character.

We are just two people, setting each other on fire for the very first time.

The hospital hallway stretches, a sterile, quiet tunnel of fluorescent light. My gaze is firmly fixed on the polished floor just ahead of Deniz’s heels.

I follow him like a silent, dazed shadow, the warm weight of the fish soup container in my hands a stark contrast to the cold confusion in my chest.

The silence between us is a living thing.

Thick.

Loaded.

It wasn’t like this before. Before the conference room, the silence had been peaceful.

Now, it screams with everything we aren’t saying.

After the kiss… after that dizzying, breathless eternity in the dark… Deniz hadn’t said a word.

He’d just taken a shaky breath, adjusted his tie with trembling fingers, and walked out of the room. I’d followed, my own courage evaporating in the face of his quiet.

Why is he silent?

Is he upset?

Regretting it?

The questions are a frantic swarm in my mind.

But… he kissed me back.

He held my waist.

He didn’t push me away.

The warring thoughts are so loud I don’t notice he’s stopped. I bump into his back with a soft oof, flinching, my face flooding with heat all over again.

We still don’t make eye contact. This new, terrifying shyness has built an invisible wall between us.

Deniz opens the door to his father’s room, and we step inside.

Mr. David is sitting up in bed, a book in his hands.

He looks up, and a warm, genuine smile spreads across his face as he sets his glasses aside.

“My son. You came.”

Deniz’s posture softens, his own smile appearing—a real one, though it doesn’t quite reach his still-flustered eyes.

“Dad, did I keep you waiting?”

“Nope,” Mr. David chuckles, marking his page.

“Just lost in a story. Didn’t notice the time.” His kind gaze then shifts to me.

I bow my head slightly.

“Hello, Mr. David.”

“Mr. Kael,” he says, his voice warm with welcome.

“It’s been days. You seem so busy.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, the apology sincere.

“I wanted to visit sooner, but I got stuck with… some things.”

I hold out the insulated bag. “I brought you some fresh fish soup. As an apology. I hope you like it.”

His smile widens as he takes the bag.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Kael. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Deniz and I move to the small visitor’s couch. We sit. A careful, deliberate foot of space yawns between us.

Both of us stare at our own hands, folded in our laps. The silence from the hallway condenses here, in the cozy room, becoming almost palpable.

Mr. David opens the container and takes a careful spoonful. “Ahh, son,” he sighs happily.

“It’s really delicious.”

I manage a small, tense smile.

“I’m happy you like it.”

He swallows, sets the spoon down, and looks back at us.

His keen eyes travel from Deniz—who is studying a scuff mark on his shoe with intense fascination—to me, where I’m suddenly very interested in the pattern of the hospital blanket.

A slow, knowing smile curves Mr. David’s lips. His voice is light, teasing, but laced with paternal perception.

“Are you two alright?” he asks, his glance darting between our identically flushed faces.

“Why are both your faces so red? And you’re sitting there like you’ve just had a terrible fight.”

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