"Say it," Xander's voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried that dangerous edge Daisy knew too well.
Her breath hitched. "Say what?"
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his breath brush her cheek. The room was dim, the city lights painting silver streaks on his jawline. His tie hung loose, his shirt half undone, he looked wild, restless, untamed.
"That you missed me," he said softly. "That every second I stayed away, you burned for me."
Daisy's pulse quickened. She hated that he could still undo her with words alone. She'd built walls after their last fight, promised herself she wouldn't crumble again. But now, with him standing inches away, those walls felt like glass.
"Don't flatter yourself," she murmured, trying to sound indifferent.
He smiled, slow and knowing. "Then why are your hands shaking?"
Her gaze dropped before she could stop it, her fingers were trembling. She clenched them into fists, hating how easily he noticed the cracks in her armor.
"Because you always do this," she said. "You disappear, and then you walk in like you own me."
"Maybe I still do," he replied. "Maybe I never stopped."
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break her ribs. "You don't," she said, barely audible.
"Prove it."
The words hung between them, heavy, taunting, dangerous.
He moved closer until she was backed against the wall, his hand braced beside her head. His presence surrounded her, the heat, the scent, the gravity that always pulled her back to him no matter how far she ran.
Daisy tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes. "You think you can control everything," she said, her voice trembling with defiance. "Even me."
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Not everything," he whispered. "Just the parts you let me touch."
Her breath caught. For a long, charged moment, neither of them moved. The tension was thick, electric, the kind that made her forget reason.
Then she pushed him back, surprising them both. "You can't keep doing this," she said, her tone unsteady. "You can't come back and expect me to fall at your feet."
He studied her, something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes. "And yet," he murmured, "here we are."
Silence. The air between them was thin, sharp.
Finally, Daisy exhaled. "You hurt me, Xander," she said quietly. "And the worst part is, you know exactly how to make me forgive you."
His expression softened just enough to let her see the guilt beneath his composure. "I don't want your forgiveness," he said. "I want your truth."
Her heart twisted. "You already have it," she whispered.
He stepped forward again, slower this time, and lifted his hand to her face. She didn't pull away. His thumb brushed her lower lip, and the contact sent shivers through her.
"Then say it," he breathed.
Daisy closed her eyes, her voice breaking when she finally said it. "I missed you."
He inhaled sharply, like he'd been waiting for those words. And when he leaned in, not to claim, but to surrender. Daisy felt something shift between them. It wasn't control anymore. It was something rawer, more fragile.
And for the first time, she didn't fight it.
Xander's forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling, uneven and shallow. The silence between them was thick with everything unsaid, apologies, confessions, memories of nights when neither of them could breathe without the other.
"Do you even know," he murmured, "what it did to me, staying away from you?"
Her lashes fluttered, her voice a whisper. "You're the one who walked away, Xander. Not me."
"I had to," he said, his tone low, rough. "Because if I didn't, I'd have ruined you completely."
She laughed softly, bitterly. "And what do you think you're doing now?"
He didn't answer. Instead, his hand trailed from her cheek down the curve of her neck, slow enough to make her tremble. She could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of her blouse, and her heart seemed to trip over itself. Every inch he touched woke something she'd tried to bury, want, ache, memory.
"You always do this," she whispered. "You make me forget why I should hate you."
"Maybe because you never really did," he said.
Her eyes met his, and the look in them stole the air from her lungs. It wasn't arrogance this time, it was need, raw and unguarded. For once, he didn't look like the man who wanted to control her; he looked like the one who was afraid of losing her.
When he kissed her, it wasn't careful. It was desperate.
Every inch of distance between them vanished as if it had never existed. His hand slid into her hair, her fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. It wasn't a battle anymore, it was surrender, messy and real.
He broke away only to whisper against her lips, "This isn't about control anymore, Daisy. It never was."
"Then what is it?" she breathed.
He hesitated, eyes searching hers. "It's everything I shouldn't feel… but can't stop."
Her chest rose and fell fast, her pulse wild. "And when you leave again?"
"I won't," he said, with a certainty that scared her. "Not this time."
Daisy wanted to believe him, God, she did, but she'd heard promises before, sweet words that faded by morning. And yet, as he held her now, something in his touch felt different. There was no command in it, no restraint. Just want. Just him.
Her hands trembled as she touched his jaw, tracing the faint stubble there. "You're trouble," she whispered, half-smiling.
He caught her hand, pressing a slow kiss to her palm. "And you love it."
She didn't answer, but the truth shimmered in her eyes.
The room around them seemed to vanish, the hum of the city outside, the flicker of distant headlights. All that remained was heat and breath and the soft sound of their hearts colliding in a rhythm too familiar to deny.
When he pulled her into his arms again, Daisy didn't resist. The last of her walls broke quietly, like glass under a steady hand.
Maybe tomorrow she'd regret it. Maybe she'd remember all the reasons she'd sworn to stay away.
But tonight, with his breath warm against her neck and his voice soft against her skin, she let herself want him again.
And for once, that was enough.