Chapter 28: The Merge

Harper stood in the penthouse living room Sunday afternoon, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, her body still humming from this morning's shower with Zane Carver. The memory of his hands pinning her to the glass, water cascading as he thrust into her, her screamed Yes sealing her move-in—it lingered like a pulse, a heat she couldn't shake. Now, surrounded by cardboard boxes from her Brooklyn apartment, she felt the reality settle—love, chaos, and him, all tangled together in this sleek, transformed space.He lounged on the new charcoal sectional, barefoot in dark sweats and a gray tee, his hair tousled, his gray eyes glinting with amusement as he watched her unpack. The walnut table gleamed nearby, flowers fresh, the penthouse a blend of his sharp edges and her warm touches—her doing, their home now. Her overnight bag from last night sat by the island, but the real haul had arrived an hour ago—boxes of books, clothes, a battered lamp she refused to ditch—delivered by a mover he'd grumbled about paying."Still think that lamp's worth it?" he asked, his voice a low drawl, nodding at the chipped ceramic monstrosity she'd set on the coffee table, his smirk teasing but warm."It's character," she shot back, kneeling by a box of books, her loose white tee slipping off one shoulder, denim shorts riding up as she bent forward. "Unlike this sterile bachelor pad you had.""Sterile?" He laughed, rough and genuine, standing to cross to her, his shadow falling over the box as he crouched beside her, his hand brushing her bare shoulder—a spark that made her pulse jump. "You fixed that. Now it's ours.""Ours," she echoed, softer, her hand pausing on a paperback as she met his gaze—love there, steady and sure, beneath the mischief. "Still weird to say.""Get used to it." His fingers slid to her neck, grazing the fresh bruise from the shower, his thumb brushing her pulse point as he leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "You're stuck with me.""Good." She smirked, shoving a stack of books at him, playful but firm. "Help me unpack, then. Earn your keep."He groaned, taking the stack, his hand lingering on hers, a spark that sent heat up her spine. "Bossy already. Cohabitation's off to a great start."They worked—books slotted onto the office shelves, her clothes hung in his closet (now theirs), the lamp defiantly placed by the sectional—banter flowing, easy and sharp. But the air crackled, their brushes deliberate—his hip nudging hers as they passed, her fingers grazing his arm when she handed him a box, tension building with every touch. By mid-afternoon, the boxes were half-empty, and she flopped onto the sectional, sweaty and grinning, her tee clinging to her skin."Break?" she asked, stretching, her shorts riding higher, flashing thigh as he dropped beside her, his arm slinging over the backrest, his hand resting near her shoulder."Break," he agreed, his voice dropping, his gaze raking over her—the tee, the shorts, lingering on her bare legs. "You're a mess.""Says the guy in sweats." She shoved at his chest, playful, but he caught her wrist, tugging her closer, her legs tangling with his as she landed half in his lap, her breath catching at the heat in his eyes."Mess looks good on you," he growled, his free hand sliding to her hip, gripping through the denim, pulling her fully onto his lap, straddling him. "Too good.""Zane—" Her protest died, a gasp as he rocked up, his arousal evident through his sweats, brushing her core, sparking heat low in her belly. She moaned, soft and needy, her hands fisting his tee, tugging him closer as their lips hovered—a whisper apart, teasing."Love you like this," he murmured, his hands sliding under her tee, fingers splaying over her bare back, pulling her flush against him as he ground up—slow, deliberate, the friction sparking through their clothes. She whimpered, her hips rocking back, meeting him, the sectional creaking under their weight."Love you too," she panted, her voice husky, her hands clawing at his shoulders as he thrust again, harder, the rhythm building—fully clothed, raw, desperate. His mouth found her neck, kissing the bruise, his teeth grazing as she arched, her shorts tight against her thighs, clinging to every curve."Fuck, Harper," he rasped, his lips brushing her jaw, his hands gripping her ass, guiding her as she bucked against him, chasing the heat, the tension coiling tight. She laughed, shaky and needy, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, their breaths mingling—hot, wild, a dance of love and chaos."More," she gasped, her hips rocking faster, the friction pushing her to the edge, clothes a maddening barrier. He groaned, his hand tugging at her tee, lifting it to bare her stomach, kissing the skin there as he rocked harder, the sectional groaning, a book toppling off the coffee table.But then—damn it—the intercom buzzed, a sharp intrusion that broke the spell. He froze, his chest heaving, cursing under his breath as he pulled back, his hands still on her, trembling with restraint. "Fuck," he panted, glaring at the wall unit, his voice wrecked. "Mover's back—forgot a box.""Timing," she muttered, sliding off his lap, her legs shaky, smoothing her tee with trembling hands, her body a live wire of frustration and want."Always," he growled, standing, adjusting his sweats, his eyes dark with hunger as he crossed to the intercom, barking a curt, "Leave it downstairs." He turned back, stalking toward her, his smirk returning. "We're not done.""Good." She smirked, stepping into his space, her hand flattening against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder. "Where were we?""Here." He yanked her against him, backing her to the sectional, pinning her against the armrest, his lips crashing into hers—not a tease, a full kiss, deep and hungry, tasting of sweat and him. She moaned, her legs parting as he pressed between them, grinding slow and hard, the fabric amplifying every sensation—his sweats, her shorts, the heat building again."Zane—" Her voice broke, her hands clawing at his back, tugging his tee up to rake her nails over bare skin, drawing a groan from his throat. He thrust against her, the rhythm relentless, her moans echoing off the marble, the penthouse theirs—a mess of boxes, love, and need."Love you," he groaned, his lips brushing hers, his hands sliding to her hips, gripping tight, guiding her as she rocked back, teetering on the edge. She whimpered, her nails digging in, and he thrust harder, pushing her closer, their breaths a tangle—hot, desperate, a seal on their new chaos.But then—damn it—he pulled back, his chest heaving, his hands stilling, holding her steady. "Fuck," he cursed, his forehead pressing to hers, his voice rough. "Not like this—bed, later. Slow.""Zane—" Her protest was shaky, her body screaming, her hands clutching his shoulders, trying to pull him back."Worth it," he rasped, his eyes locking onto hers, dark with hunger but steady with love. "Unpack first. Then you're mine—all night."Her breath caught, his restraint unraveling her, and she nodded, sliding out from under him, her legs shaky as she smoothed her shorts, her body aching. "You're impossible," she muttered, her skin tingling where he'd touched."You're welcome." He smirked, flopping back onto the sectional, watching her grab a box, his sweats tented, eyes blazing. "Tonight, 9 p.m. Bed. No interruptions.""No promises," she said, smirking back, diving into the box, her hips swaying deliberately as she unpacked, teasing him. He groaned, low and frustrated, and she knew—damn it—this was just the start of their messy, fiery life together.