Prologue
Sky
January 29
Three knocks hit the door—slow and heavy knocks that rattled the frame. I knew it wasn't nobody but Zio. My heart did that stupid, involuntary skip it always did when he showed up. Even after four years of this game we played, I still couldn't breathe right when he was near. Taking a slow, deep breath slowed my heart.
I checked my reflection one last time—making sure my hair was laid, my skin glistening—before cinching the silk belt of my robe and pulling the door open.
Zio was leaning against the frame, sensuality clinging to him. Looking good.
His dark skin caught the light in a way that made it look carved and polished. His beard was thick and neat. He was wearing a White T-shirt. Grey sweatpants. The uniform of a man who knows he would be let in. He smelled like wood smoke and the clean scent of his soap. Even when he scrubbed his body, he could never wash the scent of the kitchen flames away; I actually liked it. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t ask if I was busy. He just stepped past me into the foyer.
I closed the door, the lock clicking back into place. I waited for the "You good?" or the casual question about whatever book Iwas currently writing. But that night, he was silent. He walked into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on the rug like he had something heavy on his mind. I stood at the threshold of the room, my hands buried in the pockets of my robe, wondering what he was thinking about. The silence lasted too long.
"Zio?" I called his name, but he didn't look at me.
"Come here," he said, finally looking up. He cocked his head.
I rocked my hips in his direction. He caught me just as I was moving to straddle him, his large hands sliding under the silk to find my bare skin. He pulled me into him, burying his face in the crook of my neck, and for a second, I felt him just breathe me in.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. He moved again. He didn't go for my lips; instead, he leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my thigh. Right there at the top, where the skin was the softest. I let out a moan. His lips on my skin felt so good. He chuckled, deep. He was making me slick, and he knew it.
He looked up at me, his jaw set. "I missed the hell out of you, Sky."
The look in his eyes had some density to it.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel sexy enough. I felt like I should’ve worn just my skin instead of that silk robe.
He held onto me as he situated himself on the sofa, then finally pulled me down, forcing me to straddle him. When he kissed me, there was more energy behind it. Then he pulled back, kissed my cheek, my throat, then back to my lips again. He kissed me like he was ready to confess a sin—one I didn't need to hear.
I slid my hand into the waistband of his sweats, and he let out a low growl against my mouth, his head falling back against the couch. His Adam’s apple bobbed—a perfect target. I wanted to suck on it and trace the tats on his neck with my tongue, but the tension was too heavy, too weird. I reached down, guiding his thick, heavy, veined, curved dick to my entrance, and slowly lowered myself. We both groaned as he filled me, stretching me to that point of delicious, aching fullness.
"Fuck, Sky," he growled, his hands gripping my hips tightly. "You feel so good to me, baby."
"Talk nasty to me, Zio," I whispered, my voice trembling.
I needed the filth. I needed him to say those reckless things that usually spilled from his lips when we were like this. I wanted him to strip away the intimacy and replace it with uncomplicated lust.
"Not tonight. Just move, Sky," he groaned, his hands gripping my ass tight enough to leave his fingerprints in my skin. "Just give me this."
I started to work, my hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm. I leaned back, changing the angle, and he hissed, his head falling back against the couch. I picked up the pace, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter. Zio’s hands were on my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples, sending sparks straight to my core.
"Zio," I moaned, my voice breathless. "I’m close."
He looked up at me, his eyes pitch-black with a hunger that bordered on violent. "Cum for me, Sky. I want to feel you nut all over my dick."
That was the breaking point. I cried out, my body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through me in waves. Zio didn’t stop; hiships thrust up to meet mine, drawing out the pleasure until I was shaking and boneless. Then, he flipped us. He pinned me to the couch with his weight, his dick still buried deep inside me. I could feel the rough fabric of his pants against my legs—a friction that made my skin crawl in the best way.
Usually, this was the part where he’d pound into me until we both saw stars. But tonight, he slowed down. His forehead dropped to mine. His breathing was heavy, rhythmic, and controlled. His hand slid up my side, holding me with a tenderness that made my chest tighten with a different kind of pain.
This wasn’t our brand of chaos. This was intimate. This was dangerous.
I was used to deep strokes with my legs thrown over his shoulders.
He pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. Then my cheek. Then my temple. Not rushing. Not chasing a nut. Just… deep, soulful strokes that felt less like fucking and more like a promise. I swallowed hard, my hands flattening against his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart under my palms. Why was he holding me like this?
He felt too good. My body reacted before my mind caught up—my body let loose again, but my thoughts were too loud now to really enjoy it.
