Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “Yes.”
I kissed her again, more intensely this time, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck. She responded with equal intensity, rising on her toes to press herself against me, her hands exploring the curves of my shoulders, my back, everywhere she could reach.
We moved toward the bed in unspoken consent, never breaking contact. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, I paused briefly. “Tell me what you need,” I said against her lips, needing her to guide this and give her control.
Nia pulled me down with her onto the bed, her body arching up to meet mine. “You. Just you.”
Her hands moved over my chest, tracing the line of my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder, the ridge of my abdomen. “You’re a beautiful Black man,” she whispered, her words sending a shiver through me. No woman had ever called me that before. Handsome, sure. Strong, yes, but beautiful? The word undid me.
I kissed my way down her neck, savoring the taste of her skin, the soft sounds she made when I found a sensitive spot. Her towel soon joined mine on the floor, and then there was nothing between us—no badges, no causes, no sides of the line—just skin against skin and truth exposed.
Her body responded to my touch with each gasp, each arch of her back.
“Look at me,” I said as I spread her legs wide to play with her clit. I brought my mouth back to hers, sinking my tongue deep inside while pushing my fingers deep into her folds.
Nia groaned against my lips, getting wetter as I played with her. Then I pinched and held, causing her to squirm.
“Fuucck,” Nia whispered against my lips.
I pulled her closer, ready to bury myself deep inside. For a moment, I didn’t move. I wanted to relish the sensation of being inside this woman. Then I pushed purposefully slow, inside her, needing to see her eyes to ensure we were both present at this moment.
Her eyes locked with mine, stealing my breath. Our bodies fell into a groove as natural as breathing. I wanted her to feel every inch of me. My hands roamed up her thighs, to her hips, and over her stomach, to her breasts, where I took my time with each one.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured.
I reached a point where slow wasn’t enough. I needed friction, so I moved faster and deeper. I anchored my hands on her hips as I built toward a physical release. Her hands mapped every inch of me, lingering on my shoulders, my chest, the small of my back.
“What are you doing to me?” She murmured as she came apart in my arms, her body contracting around mine. She pushed me over the edge, too. The physical release was secondary to the emotional walls crumbling between us. I buried my face against her neck, breathing her in as aftershocks rippled through us both.
Afterward, we lay together, spooning. Neither of us spoke right away, like words might break the spell we’d created in this room, in this bed, between us.
“They did not list this in the protest handbook,” she joked.
The unexpected humor pulled a laugh from deep in my chest. “Definitely not in the police chief manual, either.”
“This is real, isn’t it?”
I caught her hand, lifting it to my lips. “Yes. This is real.”
I realized we’d crossed a line there was no walking back from. Whatever happened next, whatever complications awaited us outside this cabin, we’d confronted something honest between us. Something we couldn’t dismiss as adrenaline, trauma bonding, or simple attraction.
Something that terrified and excited me in equal measure.
My stomach growled so loud it actually made Nia laugh, unexpected in the aftermath of what we’d just shared.
“Damn, was that you or is a bear outside?” she asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me, her locs falling forward around her face. She looked relaxed now, her guard down in a way I hadn’t seen before. Seeing her soft and playful instead of ready for a fight did something to me.
“Man’s gotta eat. Been a minute since those crackers in the holding cell,” I defended, feeling a smile tug at my lips.
She wrinkled her nose, then poked my stomach gently. “Mmm, don’t remind me. Let’s feed the beast before it gets angry again.”
We left the bed slowly, both of us reluctant to break the closeness we’d found. Nia grabbed a T-shirt from the bag and pulled it on. It hung to her mid-thigh and slipped off one shoulder, somehow more tempting than if she’d been naked.
I pulled on a pair of sweatpants but left my chest bare, caught between modesty and the pleasure of watching her eyes track the movement of my muscles. This new awareness between us thrummed like electricity, making even the simplest actions feel charged with meaning.
“Hope you like breakfast for lunch. I got eggs, bacon, and stuff for pancakes,” I said as we made our way to the kitchen.
“Breakfast food is anytime food. My daddy used to make pancakes when I couldn’t sleep. Said breakfast at midnight confused the bad dreams,” she replied, trailing her fingers along the wall as she walked ahead of me.
