"Langston," she breathes, her voice a broken whisper that sounds like a prayer. "Please."
It’s the only permission I need. I release her wrists, not to give her freedom, but because I need my hands on her. I trace the delicate line of her collarbone, feeling the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath the pale skin. She shudders, a full-body tremor that I feel against my own chest.
My hands move lower, mapping the curves I’ve tried to ignore. The friction of her shirt against her skin is too much of a barrier. I sit back just enough to grab the hem, pulling it up and overher head in one swift motion. The sight of her, half-bare against the dark silk, steals the air from my lungs. Her hair is a fiery halo around her face, and her skin is flushed with the same heat that’s consuming me.
She is exquisite. A flawless, uncut gem that I finally get to hold.
I lean down, replacing my hands with my mouth, trailing a path of fire from the hollow of her throat to the swell of her breast. She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscle as if she’s afraid of falling off the edge of the world.
"You are so beautiful it hurts," I murmur against her heated skin, the words torn from a place I didn't know existed.
I can feel the tension coiling tighter in her, a silent plea for more that matches my own frantic need. I shift my weight, my knee sliding between hers, nudging her legs apart. The small, hitching breath she takes is undone by the way she willingly opens for me, a silent invitation that shatters whatever patience I had left.
My hand moves to the waistband of her jeans, my knuckles brushing against the soft skin of her stomach. Her muscles clench at the touch. I look up, catching her gaze again. The vulnerability there is staggering, but beneath it is a fierce, undeniable want that mirrors my own.
"Mine," I growl, the word a vow stamped into the charged air between us. "Every inch of you."
I don't look away as I undo the button, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. I need her to see the possessive glint inmy eyes, to know that this—this unraveling, this claiming—is absolute. Tonight, I’m not just the man who protects her from the world; I’m the man who becomes her entire world. And I’m not stopping until we’ve both burned down to nothing but this moment.
The denim slides over her hips, hitting the floor with a dull thud that sounds like a door closing on the rest of the world.
Now, there is nothing between us but the heat radiating off her skin and the frantic, shallow rhythm of her breathing. She looks up at me, her hair a wild, copper silk against the dark pillows, her eyes searching mine for the man I was yesterday—the one who kept his distance.
He’s gone.
My hands find the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and she gasps, her back arching off the bed as I push two fingers inside her. I watch the way the light from the bedside lamp catches the flush on her throat, the way her pulse jumps under the skin. I’m a man who deals in clarity, in the internal fire of a stone, and right now, Sabrina is burning with a brilliance that makes everything else I’ve ever owned look like glass. I work into her until she is crying my name over and over again.
"Langston," she choked out, her fingers curling into the duvet, her knuckles white. "I can't... I need—"
"I know what you need," I interrupted, my voice dropping to a low, rough vibration. I leaned over her again, my weight pinningher down, letting her feel the raw, unyielding truth of how much I want her.
I kissed her then, not with the desperation of earlier, but with a slow, agonizing thoroughness. I traced the line of her lips with my tongue before deepening the kiss, claiming the space inside her mouth just as I was claiming the space in her life.
Her hands found the buttons of my shirt, her movements frantic, clumsy with the same hunger that was eating me alive. I let her. I wanted her to feel the heat of my chest against hers, the friction of skin on skin that obliterated the last of my cold, professional edges.
When the shirt was gone, I pressed my chest to hers, the contact sending a shock of pure, unfiltered electricity through my nerves. She let out a small, broken sound against my mouth, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me into the cradle of her hips.
The movement was an invitation, a demand, and a surrender all at once.
I broke the kiss, moving my mouth to her ear, my breath hot against her skin. "I’m going to make you forget today," I whispered, my hand sliding up her side to cup the side of her face, forcing her to look at me. "I’m going to make you forget everything but the way my name feels in your throat."
I moved lower, my mouth finding the curve of her hip, the sensitive skin of her stomach. Every touch was deliberate. Every kiss was a mark of ownership. She was trembling now, a fine, rhythmicvibration that I felt in my bones. I could feel her reaching the limit of her endurance, the way her muscles tensed, the way her breath came in short, jagged hitches.
I looked up, meeting those emerald eyes one last time before the world narrowed down to the two of us. I slide out of my jeans, never breaking eye contact with her.
I slowly crawl back up her body, cupping her face with one hand while the other grips her knee and opens her up to me. “You are mine, Sabrina. I am never giving you up.” I whisper into her ear as I slide into her.
Patterns, Not Routines
Sabrina
The first thing I notice is how normal it feels.
Waking up with Langston’s arm draped over my waist should feel heavy. Too much. Like something I’ll eventually want to shrug off.
Instead, it feels… right.
His breathing is slow and steady against my neck, his hand warm where it rests on my stomach like it belongs there. I lie still for a moment, listening to the house breathe around us, the soft hum of morning settling in.
