“Okay. A chance.”
From there, everything shifted. The conversation flowed easier. The tension melted into something warmer, something charged but not threatening. He told me about growing up with his brothers. I told him about Yusef’s piano talent. He asked about Sweet Zin and I found myself opening up about my dreams—the commercial kitchen, the storefront, all the things I wanted to build.
And he listened. Really listened. Like every word mattered.
By the time dinner ended, I was warm all over. And it wasn’t just the wine.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he drove past my neighborhood.
“You’ll see.”
We stopped at the Lincoln Memorial. Stood at the base of those massive steps, looking up at the statue illuminated in golden light.
“You ever been here before?” he asked.
“Once. Years ago. Before…” I stopped myself. Before I came to DC running. Before I became someone else.
“Before what?”
“Before life got complicated.”
He turned to face me, his hands settling on my waist, pulling me closer. The heat from his body radiated through my clothes, making me hyperaware of every point of contact.
“Life’s always complicated,” he said, his voice dropping low, dangerous. “Question is whether you want to face it alone or not.”
I looked up at him. At this man who’d saved my life, who brought me groceries, who made my son smile, who looked at me like I was something he intended to keep whether I was ready or not.
“Prime…”
He didn’t let me finish. Just slid one hand into my hair, tilting my head back, and claimed my mouth with his.
No hesitation. No asking. Just pure, dominant possession.
His lips were firm, demanding, moving over mine with a hunger that made my knees weak. I gasped against his mouth and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping in, tasting me, claiming me, marking me as his in a way that should have terrified me but instead made heat pool low in my belly.
My hands came up to his chest. Whether to push him away or pull him closer, I didn’t know. But the moment I felt the hard muscle beneath his shirt, felt his heart pounding as hard as mine, I grabbed his shirt and held on.
The kiss deepened. His other hand slid down to the small of my back, pressing me against him so I could feel every hard plane of his body. Feel exactly what I was doing to him.
God, the man could kiss. It wasn’t tentative or testing. It was consuming. All-encompassing. Like he was pouring everything he felt into this one connection and demanding I feel it too.
When his phone buzzed against my hip, neither of us stopped. He kissed me harder, like he could make the outside world disappear through sheer force of will.
It buzzed again. And again. And again.
He growled against my mouth. Frustrated, possessive. But he didn’t pull away. Just shifted the angle, kissing me deeper,one hand fisting in my hair while the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.
The phone wouldn’t stop. Buzz after buzz after relentless buzz.
“Prime,” I managed to gasp out when he finally let me breathe. “Your phone.”
“Don’t care.” He went for my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point in a way that made me moan.
“Someone needs you.”
“I’m exactly where I need to be.” His mouth traveled lower, to the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder.
Three more buzzes in rapid succession.
