When I finally walk into the bedroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but basketball shorts, broad chest bare, skin golden in the low light.
Tightness blooms in my stomach, crawling up my face until my cheeks burn.
He notices.
Of course he notices.
Langston chuckles, low and dark, like he’s caught me staring.
I square my shoulders and hold my ground, even though my instinct is to step back. To hide. He rises from the bed with that smooth, predatory grace and stalks toward me, stopping just inside my space.
He reaches up and pushes a damp strand of hair behind my ear, fingers brushing my skin.
I close my eyes, convinced he’s about to kiss me.
Instead, his breath is warm against my ear.
“Get into bed, sweetheart.”
Then he steps back, walks past me into the bathroom, and shuts the door.
The sound snaps me out of whatever trance I was in. My pulse is still hammering when I crawl into the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin like armor. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Maybe if I’m already “asleep” when he comes out, I won’t have to explain the chaos in my chest.
Maybe I’ll have more time to figure out what to say.
Or maybe, deep down, I’m just afraid that if I open my eyes… I’ll want him to touch me again.
I hear the bathroom door open.
My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t move. Not even when his footsteps cross the carpet. Not even when the mattress dips under his weight.
I lie stiff as a board, eyes squeezed shut, covers tucked under my chin like they’ll protect me from him.
And then it comes—that laugh. Low, deep, beautiful. The sound curls over me like smoke.
“Sweetheart,” he rumbles, amusement threaded through every syllable, “get comfortable. Lay like you would at home.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I obey, rolling onto my side with my back to him. It feels safer this way. Safer, but not safe enough.
Because then he shifts.
I feel the weight of his arm slip over my side, pulling me closer until his chest is pressed firm against my back. Until there’s no space left between us.
And then—God help me—I feel him.
Hard. Thick. Pressing against my ass like it belongs there.
My whole body goes rigid.
His breath brushes the back of my neck, and then his nose is in my hair, his face buried against my skin like he’s memorizing me.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. “Ignore it. I’ve got no control over it when it comes to you.”
The words send a shiver racing down my spine.
He wants me.
