The way she reaches for me without looking.
The way I track where she is in every room.
The way silence between us feels full instead of empty.
I’ve had women in my bed before.
None of them ever felt like this.
Then there was last night when she fell asleep on my shoulder while we’re reviewing event details.
Her notebook slides to the floor. Her grip loosens on my shirt.
I didn't move for an hour.
I didn’t check my phone. Didn’t answer emails. Didn’t breathe too deeply.
I just sat there, holding her.
The drive into the city is quiet, comfortable. She hums along to the radio, fingers tapping against her knee. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us.
She reaches for it without looking.
I glance at her, heart tightening.
This. This is what I almost missed because I was afraid of wanting too much.
When we pull up to the building, she gathers her things, ready to step out like any other day.
“Langston?” she asks suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For… all of this.”
I nod once, because if I say more, I might give away what I’m planning too soon.
“Tonight’s yours,” I tell her. “But today—just work.”
She smiles. “Yes, sir.”
I snort. “Careful.”
She laughs, and the sound stays with me long after she disappears inside.
Every Inch of It
Sabrina
We’re walking into the office this morning—his hand resting low at my back out of habit more than intention—when Jack looks up from the front desk with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on his face.
Not smug.
Not amused.
Proud.
“It’s ready,” he says, practically vibrating.
