The soft, warm glow of Los Angeles filtered in through the sprawling windows, casting long, golden shadows over the meticulously decorated living room. It was one of those late nights where the city felt alive, pulsing with a quiet energy that was both comforting and unsettling. Ava Daniels stood in the kitchen, still stewing from the argument earlier. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter as she stared down at the half-empty glass of wine she'd abandoned an hour ago, its pale contents reflecting the glow of the overhead lights.

Deborah fucking Vance. Ava rolled her eyes, her jaw clenched tight as she replayed the scene in her head for the hundredth time.

The argument had started, as most things between them did, over something petty and had escalated into something much bigger. Deborah's tone had been that perfect mix of smug and playful, the one that always got under Ava's skin. Ava could still hear the words ringing in her ears, Deborah's voice heavy with that self-assured, no-nonsense drawl.

"I'm just saying, maybe if you didn't take everything so damn personally, you'd be better at your job," Deborah had quipped, leaning back in her chair with that infuriating smirk.

Ava had snapped back, of course, because how could she not? That was their thing—biting remarks, quick jabs, the kind of banter that always skirted the edge of something more. But tonight, it had been different. The sting of Deborah's words had hit harder than usual, and before Ava knew it, she had stormed out of the room, grabbing her jacket with more force than necessary and muttering something about needing space.

That had been two hours ago.

Now, as she stood in the dark kitchen, the tension still thrumming in her chest, she wondered if maybe—just maybe—Deborah had a point. Ava hated how that thought made her feel, how it churned in her stomach. She hated even more that Deborah had the ability to get to her like this.

And the worst part? She was probably sitting in the living room right now, sipping on some overly expensive whiskey and basking in her own righteousness, waiting for Ava to come crawling back. Deborah always did that—gave her space, but just enough to let Ava stew in her own frustration before swooping in to prove she was right.

Taking a deep breath, Ava ran her fingers through her disheveled hair and picked up the glass of wine, swallowing what was left in one go. She didn't want to give Deborah the satisfaction of being right, but she also didn't want to go to bed angry. The thing about their relationship was that, despite all the sarcasm, all the biting humor and heated arguments, there was something deeper there—something that kept Ava tethered, even when she wanted to run.

She couldn't stay mad at Deborah for long. Not really.

"Fuck it," Ava muttered under her breath, pushing herself away from the counter and heading toward the living room.

As she walked, her socked feet silent on the hardwood floor, she could already hear Deborah's faint hum from the other room—a soft, tuneless melody that told Ava everything she needed to know. Deborah wasn't mad. Hell, she was probably waiting for this moment, tipsy and smug, her defenses lowered just enough for Ava to make her move. Ava could picture her perfectly, sprawled on the couch with a drink in hand, that familiar twinkle in her eye that said, I know I'm right, and you know I'm right.

When Ava rounded the corner, her suspicions were confirmed. There she was, Deborah Vance, Las Vegas legend, comedy queen, and general pain in Ava's ass, lounging on the couch with a half-empty glass of whiskey resting casually in her hand. The room smelled faintly of cedar and vanilla from one of Deborah's overpriced candles, and the soft sound of the city outside filtered in through the cracked window. Deborah's hair was slightly mussed, and she had that look on her face—the one that made Ava's chest tighten and her hands clench into fists.

"Well, look who finally decided to come back," Deborah drawled, her voice smooth but thickened slightly by the alcohol. She didn't bother to sit up or even look over her shoulder, as if she'd known Ava would come back all along. "Took you long enough. I was beginning to think I'd have to send out a search party."

Ava narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she stopped in the doorway, her own stubbornness flaring up despite herself. "Don't flatter yourself. I came back because I don't want to sleep on the couch, not because you're right."

Deborah let out a low, throaty chuckle and finally turned her head to look at Ava, her gaze lingering for a moment before she shrugged and took a sip of her whiskey. "Oh, honey, you always come back because I'm right."

Ava's lips pressed into a thin line, and she could feel the heat rising in her chest again. Don't take the bait, don't take the bait, she repeated to herself, but it was impossible not to. It was always impossible when it came to Deborah.

"God, you're so fucking smug, you know that?" Ava snapped, taking a few steps into the room, her voice rising just enough to match Deborah's easy confidence. "Just because you've been around longer doesn't mean you know everything."

"Sweetheart, it's not about being around longer. It's about being smarter." Deborah's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief, and Ava felt her heart skip a beat in that irritating, familiar way. Deborah always knew how to push her buttons, how to turn everything into a game, and Ava hated that she always fell for it.

Ava shook her head, running a hand through her hair again, more out of frustration than anything else. "You think you're so fucking clever."

"I don't think, I know." Deborah's voice was soft now, but it carried that edge, that playful arrogance that made Ava's skin tingle. "And deep down, you know it too."

Ava let out an exasperated sigh, walking over to the other side of the couch and sitting down, though she left a deliberate space between them. She didn't want to give Deborah the satisfaction of being too close just yet. The tension between them still buzzed in the air, but beneath it, there was something else—something heavier, more familiar.

Deborah's eyes tracked Ava's movements, her gaze lingering on the distance between them for a moment before she took another sip of whiskey. "You're really going to sit all the way over there?" she asked, her voice low, almost teasing.

Ava shot her a sideways glance, her lips twitching into a smirk. "You wish I'd sit closer, don't you?"

Deborah raised an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in her glass with a lazy grin. "I'm not the one playing hard to get."

Ava snorted, rolling her eyes but feeling the warmth of Deborah's presence pulling at her, as always. They had this unspoken push and pull—this thing between them that was equal parts banter and desire, and even in the middle of an argument, it was impossible to ignore.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the two of them, sitting there, the space between them charged with unresolved tension. Ava glanced at Deborah out of the corner of her eye, watching the way her fingers played absently with the rim of the whiskey glass, her lips curving into that lazy, knowing smile.

"So," Deborah finally said, breaking the quiet, her voice softer now, but still dripping with confidence, "are you going to admit I was right, or are we going to do this all night?"

Ava turned fully to face her, leaning back against the cushions as she crossed her arms again, her gaze challenging. "Do what all night?"

Deborah's lips twitched into a knowing smile, that predatory kind she always wore when she felt like she had the upper hand. "Oh, you know exactly what I mean," she said, her voice dropping into a lower, huskier register. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, whiskey glass dangling lazily from her fingers. "The dance, Ava. The push and pull. The back and forth."

Ava's heart sped up, though she tried to play it cool, keeping her gaze steady as she uncrossed her arms and leaned in just a bit, mirroring Deborah's stance. "Maybe I like the dance," she replied, her voice steady but charged with an energy that was undeniable. "Keeps things interesting."

Deborah's smirk widened, her eyes glinting with amusement as she let out a low chuckle. "Oh, honey," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "you've always been terrible at dancing."

Ava's brow furrowed, and she scoffed, the heat in her chest flaring again. "I'm not that bad," she muttered, though she knew Deborah was pushing her buttons on purpose. They both knew it wasn't about dancing—well, not that kind of dancing anyway.

Deborah leaned in just a little closer, her breath warm against Ava's face as she murmured, "But you are. You stumble, you hesitate… and you're always trying too hard. Not bold enough to ever take control."

Ava's heart pounded in her chest, the words biting in that way Deborah's always did, but laced with something darker, something that made Ava's skin tingle and her breath catch. She felt the pull, the inevitable gravity between them, drawing her in whether she wanted it or not.

Deborah's hand, steady and deliberate, reached out to brush against Ava's arm, her fingers grazing the bare skin just enough to send a shiver through her. "But I guess that's why you keep coming back, huh? Because no matter how bad you are at this… you still want to try."

Ava swallowed hard, her breath coming faster as Deborah's touch lingered. "Maybe I just like proving you wrong," she shot back, though the words didn't have the sharpness they should've. Her voice was softer now, a little breathier, like the fight was draining out of her and something else was taking its place.

Deborah chuckled again, her fingers sliding slowly up Ava's arm, barely touching but leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "Oh, I don't think you've ever proved me wrong. Not where it counts."

That was it. That familiar push, that teasing edge that always drove Ava wild. The tension between them snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight, and before Ava could think, before she could stop herself, she closed the distance between them, her lips crashing into Deborah's with a force that felt like both a challenge and a surrender all at once.

The kiss was fiery, aggressive, the kind of kiss that spoke of pent-up frustration and desire in equal measure. Deborah's lips were soft, but her response was immediate, firm, like she'd been waiting for this just as much as Ava had. Her hand gripped the back of Ava's neck, pulling her closer, while Ava's fingers dug into Deborah's shoulder, anchoring herself in the heat of the moment.

Ava could taste the whiskey on Deborah's lips, the faint burn of it mingling with the heat between them, and it made her head spin. Deborah kissed like she argued—confident, unyielding, with just a hint of smugness that drove Ava mad.

But Ava wasn't backing down. Not this time.

With a low, frustrated groan, Ava shifted, moving to straddle Deborah's lap, her hands sliding up Deborah's arms, her nails dragging lightly over her skin. Deborah responded immediately, her grip tightening on Ava's waist, pulling her in closer as the kiss deepened, became more urgent. There was no hesitation now, no stumbling, just the raw, electric pull between them that neither of them could ignore any longer.

Ava broke the kiss first, breathless and flushed, but only long enough to mutter, "Still think I'm bad at this?" before capturing Deborah's lips again, this time slower, more deliberate, savoring the way Deborah's body responded beneath hers.

Deborah let out a low, throaty laugh against Ava's lips, her hands sliding down to Ava's hips, holding her in place as she tilted her head back just enough to meet Ava's gaze, her eyes dark with a mix of amusement and desire. "You've improved," she murmured, her voice husky, her breath warm against Ava's lips. "But I'm still in charge here."

That statement sent a thrill through Ava, a challenge she wasn't sure she wanted to take up—but she couldn't resist.

"Oh yeah?" Ava breathed, her hands moving to grip Deborah's shirt, fisting the fabric between her fingers as she leaned in, her voice dripping with defiance. "We'll see about that."

Before Deborah could respond, Ava's lips were on her neck, trailing heated kisses along the soft skin, her teeth grazing lightly, earning a sharp intake of breath from Deborah. Ava could feel the tension in Deborah's body, the way her hands tightened their grip on her hips, the way her breathing quickened, and it only fueled Ava further.

"Careful," Deborah warned, though her voice was thick with want now, the edges of her usual bravado fraying. "You're playing with fire."

Ava's lips curved into a grin against Deborah's skin. "Good thing I'm not afraid of getting burned."

With that, Ava's hands slid down Deborah's chest, her fingers working deftly at the buttons of her blouse, pushing the fabric aside as she kissed her way down, her movements slow, deliberate, savoring every moment. She could feel Deborah's breath hitch, feel the way her body tensed beneath her touch, and it sent a rush of adrenaline through Ava's veins.

Deborah's hand tangled in Ava's hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp, her voice a low growl now. "I'm still waiting for you to admit I was right."

Ava looked up at her, her eyes bright with mischief and defiance as she paused, her fingers still hovering over the last button of Deborah's blouse. "Maybe I'll admit it… after this."

Ava's smirk widened as she deftly undid the final button of Deborah's blouse, her fingers brushing against Deborah's bare skin as she pushed the fabric aside. Deborah's breath hitched, just the smallest intake of air, but enough to give Ava the satisfaction she craved. She was in control now—at least, for the moment.

Ava leaned in again, her lips skimming along Deborah's collarbone, her tongue darting out to trace a warm path across her skin. She could feel the heat radiating from Deborah's body, the way her chest rose and fell just a little faster, her breath heavy with anticipation. Ava wanted to savor this, make Deborah wait for it, draw out every little moment until neither of them could stand it anymore.

Her hands moved lower, fingers grazing the waistband of Deborah's slacks as she slowly unbuttoned them, her touch deliberately slow and teasing. Deborah's eyes, half-lidded with a mix of desire and impatience, flickered with that familiar confidence, but Ava could tell she was getting to her. The veneer of control was slipping, just a little.

"Still think you're in charge?" Ava murmured, her lips brushing against Deborah's ear as her fingers finally slid the slacks down Deborah's hips, revealing the soft, pale skin beneath.

Deborah chuckled, though it was rougher now, breathier, and her hand tightened in Ava's hair, tugging just enough to keep her grounded. "Oh, honey, you haven't even begun to see me in charge."

Ava grinned against Deborah's skin, her lips trailing lower as she shifted on the couch, settling between Deborah's legs. She glanced up at Deborah, meeting her gaze with a challenge in her eyes before she slowly, deliberately, kissed her way down Deborah's stomach, her hands guiding the slacks the rest of the way down and off.

Deborah's body tensed beneath her, a soft sigh escaping her lips as Ava's fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties. Ava hesitated for just a moment, drawing out the tension, her breath warm against Deborah's skin, before she finally tugged the fabric down, leaving Deborah bare beneath her.

Ava took her time, her hands sliding back up Deborah's thighs, her touch firm but gentle, teasing. She wanted to make Deborah feel every second of this, to drive her to the edge and back again. She could hear Deborah's breathing quicken, feel the way her body responded to every touch, and it sent a thrill through Ava's veins.

She dipped her head lower, her lips pressing soft kisses against the inside of Deborah's thigh, her tongue flicking out just enough to make Deborah shudder beneath her. Ava smirked, satisfied with the reaction, and moved higher, her breath hot against Deborah's most sensitive skin.

Deborah's hand, still tangled in Ava's hair, tightened its grip, her voice low and commanding now. "Stop teasing."

Ava grinned, her eyes flashing with mischief as she glanced up at Deborah. "Where's the fun in that?"

But she didn't wait for an answer. With one fluid motion, Ava's mouth was on her, her tongue sliding against Deborah's wet heat in slow, deliberate strokes. The taste of her was intoxicating, and Ava moaned softly against her, the sound vibrating through them both as she lost herself in the moment.

Deborah's body tensed, her hips lifting slightly as Ava's tongue worked in a steady rhythm, her hands gripping Deborah's thighs to hold her in place. Ava's mouth moved with purpose, her tongue flicking and swirling, exploring every inch of her with an intensity that left Deborah breathless.

The hand in Ava's hair guided her, Deborah's voice thick with need now. "Just like that… don't stop."

Ava obeyed, her movements growing more focused, more deliberate, as Deborah's moans filled the room. The air around them felt thick, electric, as Ava's pace quickened, her tongue moving faster, deeper, driving Deborah closer and closer to the edge. Ava could feel the tension building in Deborah's body, the way her thighs trembled beneath her touch, the way her breath hitched with every stroke of Ava's tongue.

Deborah's grip on her hair tightened, her hips rocking against Ava's mouth now, her voice a low, breathy moan. "Fuck, Ava…"

Ava felt a surge of pride, her own need burning hotter as she doubled down, her tongue working in perfect rhythm, her lips sucking gently, then harder, until Deborah was practically trembling beneath her. Ava could feel it—the moment right before Deborah would fall over the edge, the way her body tightened, her breath caught in her throat, and then—

Deborah's release washed over her, a soft, broken cry escaping her lips as her body tensed and then relaxed all at once. Ava kept her mouth on her, drawing out every last wave of pleasure, her tongue slowing but never stopping until Deborah was left breathless, her chest heaving, her body spent.

Finally, Ava pulled back, her lips swollen and glistening, her breath heavy as she rested her head against Deborah's thigh, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She looked up at Deborah, her eyes dark with a mix of triumph and desire, and whispered, "Still think I'm bad at this?"