But then I yawn. Once. Then again.
Langston’s lips twitch. “Time for bed, sweetheart.”
The word slips through me like warm honey, and I tense.
He notices. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Not nothing. Everything.
I’ve spent my whole life being told to keep myself pure for marriage. My mother drilled it into me like a prayer before shedied—save yourself, Sabrina. Don’t give that part away until it’s right. Until it’s forever.
Even when Elliott pushed for more, I held the line. I told myself it’s what my mother wanted. Eventually, it stopped being about her and started being about me.
And now?
A virgin bride at twenty-six.
Not something I thought would happen. Not like this.
My stomach flips. My fingers knot in my lap. How am I supposed to tell him? How am I supposed to explain that what he thinks is his isn’t actually his yet?
Langston must see something on my face, because his eyes soften.
“We’ll just sleep,” he says quietly. “Nothing else. Not tonight.”
Relief washes over me so fast it leaves me dizzy.
He stands and reaches out his hand. I stare at it for a beat, then let him pull me up. His palm is warm, his grip steady.
“Come on,” he murmurs.
I follow him toward the bedroom, still twisting my fingers.
“I don’t… have anything to wear to bed,” I blurt.
He glances back at me, amused. “Take a shower. I’ll be right back.”
I hesitate, then nod.
The bathroom is a beautiful sanctuary—white marble, gleaming fixtures, towels so soft they feel like clouds. I turn on the waterand let the heat pound against my skin, tilting my head back, breathing deep.
For a few minutes, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to have Langston’s hands on me. Big. Steady. Strong. Tracing the curves of my body like he’s memorizing them. Pulling me close the way he did at the courthouse, only slower. Gentler.
The thought makes my knees weak, and I grip the edge of the tile until the heat of the water masks the heat in my face.
When I step out, there’s a T-shirt folded on the sink. Big, soft, and worn.
I smile despite myself.
He must have had it in his car.
I slide back into my dirty underwear—hating the feel of it against my clean skin—then pull the T-shirt over my head. It falls just below my ass, and the scent hits me instantly.
Langston.
I inhale, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. It’s unfair how even a smell can undo me like this.
