His eyes flicked down to the movement, then back to her face. That slow smile spread. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. The man was only using his thick juicy lips to cool catfish, and she was ready to climb him like a tree in the middle of Luther's.
“Open,” he said. Her clit had its own personal connection to his mouth, pulsing every time he spoke.
As she leaned forward to take the bite, their eyes met.
“I like you,” she muttered, the admission falling out before she could catch it.
“I like you too, Kennedi.” He leaned back, eyes never leaving hers. “Tell me this, though… what I gotta do to keep you? That’s the shit I’m on.”
He gripped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. Her throat was so dry that all the moisture pooled between her thighs. The straightforwardness of it—no games, no dancing around, just the eye contact—made her stomach flip. “Why are you so smooth? Mr. I don’t do this.”
“I don't.” He shrugged, smiling, letting her lean back. “You bring it out of me. Or maybe...” he reached for his drink, taking a slow sip, “…when you know what you want, the words come easy. And I want you, Ken. All of you. The professional shit, the shit you try to hide, the crazy you let slip. I want Sunday dinners and Monday morning attitudes. I want the arguments and the making up. I want to be the nigga you call when shit goes your way, when you stump your pretty fucking toe, and when shit goes left. All of it. All for you.”
The weight of his words settled between them. She felt exposed, and he caught it in the way her eyes dropped, and her shoulders pulled.
“Aye, don't do that.” His voice dropped. “I don't want to clip your wings. We can fly together. You need someone who gets you. I get you.”
“You gonna hurt me?” she asked quietly, fear finally voiced.
“Maybe,” he said, and the honesty of it made her look up. “Not on purpose. I'mma fuck up sometimes. Say the wrong shit, do the wrong shit. But I can promise you this — I’mma always show up to fix it. I don't run when shit gets hard. That ain't how Pearl raised me.”
She held his gaze for a long moment. For once, she didn’t feel the need to brace herself.
“I'm not trying to hurt you,” she said quietly. “I'm trying to unlearn how I protect myself.”
A pause.
“Does that include cheating?”
“Ken, fuck no. If I’m cheating, I’m cheating with the money, never with a bitch. That ain’t how I move.”
The certainty in his voice eased a knot she hadn't known she was carrying.
She reached for her water. He reached for the check.
Outside the restaurant, they walked hand in hand. He was trying to keep it low, but everything in him wanted to pull her close and let the whole city know she was his.
“You coming home with me?” he asked, pressing her against the passenger’s side door where no one could see them.
“What about those boundaries we talked about? Taking it slow?”
“We’ll take it slow,” he murmured against her ear. “Real slow. All fuckin night long.”
Her laugh was breathless. “It’s 3 P.M., Rolani. I need to go finish some work.”
“Ken, you fuckin on the boss. I am the work. I want to hold you. Talk more. Learn more about my future wife.”
When he looked at her like a slice of apple pie with vanilla ice cream on top, her resolve melted completely.
“Okay,” she whispered. “But I’m working while we hang out. Deal?”
“You got it, baby.”
Chapter Seventeen
A WEEK LATER
Giovanni's mancave had seen it all. But Rolani's favorite detail was the reading nook Giovanni had built into the far wall for Paige. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a lamp, her own corner in his space. He caught himself wondering if Kennedi would want a corner of her own. Proof she belonged in his world.
