Terms & Conditions | Chapter Four

One hallway.

Two enemies.

Zero boundaries.

We’ve reached the final chapter of Terms & Conditions Apply, and apparently Clara and Noah have decided that if they’re ending a year-long cold war, they’re going to do it properly.

🔥 Reader note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content and is intended for adult readers.

Now let’s see exactly what happens when these two stop fighting long enough to admit what they actually want.

Chapter Four

Clara

The distance between Unit 4A and Unit 4B feels entirely ridiculous when my apartment is practically a staging ground for unfinished business.

Noah’s hand is locked tightly with mine as we step back across my doorway late Sunday evening.

The chaotic mess of the kitchen, the empty espresso pods, the sticky notes, the stark, glaring white screen of my laptop, is still sitting there exactly where I left it Friday night.

But the panic that used to cling to it is entirely gone.

"You're staring at it again," Noah murmurs, his voice dropping low right beside my ear as he shuts the front door behind us and immediately backs me against it.

"I'm evaluating my life choices," I whisper back, though my breath hitches instantly as his large frame crowds into my space, his body heat radiating right through my clothes.

"Evaluate this instead."

His mouth crashes down onto mine with a raw, demanding hunger that sweeps away any lingering resistance.

This isn't the heated, exploratory friction of our first kiss on Friday night. This is absolute possession.

His hands slide down my back, gripping the curve of my hips with a roughness that makes me whimper, his fingers digging in like he's marking territory.

"You have no fucking idea how many times I jerked off to the thought of you," he growls against my lips, his voice gravel-rough and filthy. "All weekend watching you fall apart under me, and I'm still not close to done."

His hands slide lower, gripping the backs of my thighs and lifting me effortlessly so my legs automatically wrap around his waist.

I gasp against his lips, and he takes immediate advantage, deepening the kiss as his tongue sweeps inside, tasting of heat and pure arrogance.

He grinds against me, his hard length pressing right where I need it most, and I can feel the smirk against my mouth when I moan.

"That's it," he mutters, his voice dripping with sinful approval. "Let me hear you. Let your neighbors know exactly who's making you scream."

I sink my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer as he carries me across the small apartment, not breaking the kiss until he sets me on the edge of the kitchen counter.

He steps between my thighs, his broad chest heaving, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that makes my head spin.

"Noah," I breathe, my hands sliding down to grip the hem of his black T-shirt, bunching the fabric in my fists.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes raking over my flushed face with a predatory satisfaction that makes my thighs clench.

"Say it again," he demands, his thumb tracing my swollen lower lip. "Say my name when you're this wet for me."

"Noah."

His jaw tightens.

"I told you," he mutters, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my jawline, over my throat, and right to the sensitive hollow beneath my collarbone where my pulse is hammering wildly.

His hand slides beneath the hem of my shirt, his warm palm splaying flat against the bare skin of my ribs before moving higher, cupping my breast with a proprietary greed that makes me arch into him.

"Fuck, look at you," he breathes, his thumb dragging across my hardened nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. "Responsive as hell. I knew you'd be like this. Knew you'd take my cock like you were made for it."

Every sarcastic remark, every late-night war over thin walls and stereo bass, condenses into this single, burning point of friction.

Noah groans against my skin, the sound rough and vibrating with a desperate edge that matches the frantic rhythm of my own pulse.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down my hips with a deliberate slowness that feels like torture.

"Lift."

I obey instantly, my breath coming in shallow pants as he strips me bare from the waist down.

His gaze drops to where I'm exposed, his jaw tightening with a raw hunger that makes me feel like the most wanted thing in the world.

"Jesus, Clara. You're soaked."

He drags one thick finger through my folds, circling my clit with a teasing pressure that has me bucking against his hand.

"Is this all for me? This pretty little pussy begging for my cock?"

"Tell me to stop," he dares, his eyes lifting to mine as his thumb brushes over the sensitive apex of my hip.

For one suspended second, he waits.

I don't even hesitate.

My hands slide up to grip his shoulders, my fingers digging into the hard muscle as I pull him back down to me.

"If you stop now, I'll call the super and tell him you're running an illegal sublet ring."

A dark, lethal smirk touches the corners of his mouth.

"Good thing I have no intention of stopping."

He pushes two fingers inside me, stretching me with a delicious burn that sends my head falling back with a sharp cry.

"But you're going to wait," he murmurs, curling his fingers to hit a spot that makes my vision blur. "Not going to let you come until I'm buried balls-deep in you, understand? You're going to take every inch, Clara. Going to fuck you so hard you feel me for days."

"Noah..."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes."

His eyes flash.

"Yes, what?"

I glare at him through the haze of pleasure. Even now, he's infuriating.

"Yes, you arrogant asshole."

His grin is immediate.

"There she is."

Then he pulls his fingers away.

I make a sound of protest that only makes him laugh before he hooks his hands beneath my thighs and lifts me from the counter.

"You're enjoying this way too much," I mutter.

"You've been yelling at me through a wall for a year. I've earned this."

"You started half those fights."

"More than half."

"Asshole."

"Keep talking, Miller."

He hoists me higher against his hips and carries me straight toward the narrow hallway leading to my bedroom.

The ambient city light spills through the window as he lays me back against the mattress, following me down instantly, his solid weight blanketing me completely.

When his mouth meets mine again, it’s deeper, hungrier, stripping away any remaining pretense of control.

He tears his shirt off in one rough movement, and I do the same with mine, my bra following seconds later until we're both panting and bare-chested, skin sliding against heated skin.

"Look at me," he orders, his voice tight with restraint as he shoves his jeans down, his cock springing free, thick and heavy against my stomach.

I can't look away.

I don't want to.

He grips himself at the base, dragging the head through my wetness with a slow, teasing stroke that has me trembling.

"You want this?" he demands, his eyes blazing into mine. "Say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you raw."

"Yes," I gasp, my nails scoring down his back, desperate and shameless. "Please, Noah. I need you inside me. Now."

He pushes in with one hard thrust, filling me, stretching me around him until I'm gasping at the sheer size of him.

We both freeze for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead dropping to mine.

"Fuck," he grits out, his hips jerking involuntarily. "So tight. So fucking perfect."

Then he moves.

He pulls back and drives in again, setting a ruthless pace that has the bedframe slamming against the wall.

"This is what you were missing," he growls, his mouth at my ear, his voice stripped raw. "This is what I wanted to do to you every single time you mouthed off through that wall. Wanted to bend you over and fuck the attitude right out of you."

I cry out as he hits deeper, angling his hips to grind against my clit with every stroke.

"Noah..."

"That's it, baby. Take it."

He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me up further, driving into me with a force that should be too much but isn't.

It's exactly what I need.

"Going to fill you up," he promises, his rhythm faltering, his muscles coiling tight with his own impending release. "Going to make sure you never sleep in this bed again without remembering how I owned you in it."

I come apart with a sob, my orgasm ripping through me in violent waves that have me clenching around him, my back arching off the mattress.

He follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan that sounds like my name torn in half, spilling hot and deep inside me as he collapses forward, his weight pressing me into the sheets.

We lie there for long minutes, tangled and sweating, his mouth pressing lazy kisses to my shoulder as our breathing slows.

"Mine," he murmurs against my skin, the word possessive and sated. "Say it."

"Yours," I whisper back.

I feel him smile against my shoulder.

Then I turn my head toward him.

"Don't let it go to your head, Bennett."

"Too late."

"Of course it is."

His laugh is quiet against my skin, and I close my eyes, smiling despite myself.

---

By Monday morning, the apartment is entirely transformed.

Not physically.

The empty espresso pods are still scattered across the counter. My sticky notes are still everywhere. There's a coffee mug in the sink that I have absolutely no intention of dealing with before noon.

But the laptop is closed, the final manuscript has been sent, and my book is officially sitting in my agent's inbox with a smug little note attached that Noah insisted on helping me write.

SARAH: It's done. Nobody died. You're welcome.

I deleted Noah's original suggestion.

SARAH: It's done. Clara survived because of me. Please direct all praise and future royalty negotiations to Noah Bennett.

He remains offended by my editorial decision.

Now we're sitting side by side at my kitchen counter, sharing a cup of coffee while sunlight streams through the window.

There is no thumping bass across the hall, no passive-aggressive sticky note waiting downstairs, and no cold war left to fight.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

I glance at the screen.

SARAH: I HAVE IT.

A second message arrives before I can answer.

SARAH: Also, why was this sent at 6:14 in the morning?

Noah leans over my shoulder to read it.

"Tell her creative genius doesn't adhere to conventional business hours."

"Creative genius?"

"Fine. Tell her you were busy all weekend."

I slowly turn my head toward him.

His expression is perfectly innocent.

"Don't."

"What?"

"You know exactly what."

His mouth curves.

My phone buzzes again.

SARAH: Go to sleep.

I hold it up for Noah to see.

"See? Professional advice."

"I've been telling you that since Friday."

"You also kidnapped me."

"Rescued."

"Right. Sorry. You conducted a hostile takeover."

"Much better."

I set the phone face down on the counter and reach for the coffee.

Noah gets there first.

"Hey."

He takes a deliberately slow sip.

"Get your own."

"This is my apartment."

"I made the coffee."

"With my coffee maker."

"Terms and conditions."

I stare at him.

He smiles.

There he is.

The infuriating neighbor I've spent almost a year wanting to strangle.

Except now I know what that smile tastes like.

Which is inconvenient.

Noah reaches across the granite counter, his fingers brushing against mine before lacing our hands together.

He looks over at me, that familiar, infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes are entirely soft.

"Sore?" he asks, his voice dropping into that low, intimate register that makes heat pool in my stomach all over again.

I feel my face flush, but I don't look away.

"In the best way possible."

His thumb rubs slowly over my knuckles.

"So," he says quietly. "Do we cancel your lease now, or are you going to make me officially apply to be your roommate?"

I nearly choke on my coffee.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"We've been doing this for three days."

"I've known you for a year."

"You've annoyed me for a year."

"Semantics."

I stare at him.

He's smiling, but there's something underneath it now. Something softer. Something that tells me he's joking about the lease but maybe not entirely joking about everything else.

I lean my head against his shoulder.

"No."

"No?" he repeats.

"You're not moving in."

"Harsh."

"You haven't even survived the boyfriend probationary period."

He goes very still.

I realize what I said approximately half a second too late.

Slowly, I lift my head.

Noah is staring at me.

That smug smile returns.

Oh, no.

"Boyfriend?"

"Don't."

"You said, boyfriend."

"I know what I said."

"Just making sure."

"I can revoke the title."

His fingers tighten around mine.

"No, you can't."

"Pretty sure I can."

"Terms and conditions already accepted."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Terms and conditions definitely apply, Bennett."

He leans down and kisses my temple.

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

The End

And that’s a wrap on Terms & Conditions Apply. ❤️

Four days, one deadline, a bag of garlic knots, and two neighbors who spent an entire year pretending they couldn’t stand each other.

I hope you had as much fun with Clara and Noah as I did.

Now I need to know:

When did you realize these two were absolutely doomed to end up together? 😂