I shake my head, unable to look away. “I know, baby.”
He holds my gaze, silent, intense and unreadable. “You okay with this?” he asks, voice low and rough like gravel under silk.
I nod, slow. “Still adjusting… but I understand.”
And I do. It’s not perfect. But with him? I’m learning to hold space for both the fire and the comfort.
He pulls me into his chest, wraps his arms around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. Then he bites my lip, and the sting is light, but I still whine.
“Nickoi,” I mumble, touching it, “You already bit it.”
He kisses the spot, gently this time. Soft. Careful.
“Love you,” he whispers.
It lands in the quiet space between us like a promise. Like a truth he doesn’t tell often. I smile at him, and for a second, I forget everything else. The noise, the past, the worry.
“You’re really handsome enuh… I hope she gets your smile,” I tease, brushing my fingers across his cheek.
He narrows his eyes, lips twitching. “Yuh mean yuh hope him get my smile.”
I laugh softly, rolling my eyes. “Let’s see.”
He slips his arms lower, hands settling on my waist, trailing down like he’s been waiting all day just to feel me again.
“Jah Jah,” he mutters, then grabs my ass. His fingers sinking down in my flesh. My silk shorts ride up from the grip, and heatshoots through me. Not just because of the touch. But because it’s him. This man who rarely says what he feels but shows it in how he holds me, how his fingers linger like they’re claiming every inch of me. And even though his body is all tension and edge, his touch? It’s home. He’s home.
“Mi have sup’m bad fi tell yuh,” he says, voice pulling me from the high.
My smile drops slightly. I blink up at him, searching. “You a go understand?”
I inhale. “Tell me.”
“Talia kiss me.”
He says it low. Honest. No excuses in his tone. And even though a flicker of heat rises in my chest, I see it in his eyes. That regret. That softness he never gives anyone else.
And I feel… safe. Still wanted. Still his.
“A she kiss you, baby. So yuh don’t need fi apologize,” I say, brushing his jaw.
And just like that, his whole energy shifts. His gaze drops, slow and heavy.
I know that look. The one he gives me when his words stop working, and it’s just his eyes telling me what he wants. What he needs.
And my body? It listens before I even think. My stomach flutters. My thighs press close. And I feel that ache. That craving. Because being wanted like this? By him? It makes me feel soft without feeling small. Powerful without needing to be loud. I don’t have to ask for love.
He just gives it, raw, unspoken and buried in the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this world.
“Mi miss yuh enuh,” he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot and heavy, dancing along my skin like temptation itself.
I smile, lips parting. “Mi miss yuh t—”
But I lose the rest of the sentence. His hand is already sliding down my waist, grazing the curve of my hip before gliding across my navel, slow and deliberate. Then it dips into my shorts. I gasp. Not from surprise, but from the way it feels, the way he touches me like he owns every inch of me.
His palm presses against my print through my lace panty, rough fingers curling agonizingly close to where I want it, he holds back for me to yearn for him to move just a little closer.
I look up at him, frustration painting my glare. He has the prettiest smile, looking down at me, my essence trickling down his fingers. “Why you a play with me?” my back arches just a little, instinctively and I bite my bottom lip to stifle the sound rising in my throat.
