“Nairobi, you’re thirty-eight,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve gotta stop running and let this martyr shit go. Haven’t I shown you I’m all in?”
I didn’t respond. But when I looked up at him, I saw the fire in his eyes. He was restraining himself from really going off on me. I hated how easy I folded for him. How one look could make me forget why I built a wall around my heart in the first place.
My hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt and felt the heat of his skin against my palm.
“Take it off,” I murmured.
He caught my wrist. “Nah. You’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
He held my gaze. “Every time shit gets uncomfortable, you flip the switch. You think if you fuck me good enough, it’ll smooth everything over and I’ll forget what we’re talking about.”
I pulled my hand back. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing. And it works every time. That’s the fucked up part.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not saying I don’t want you. You know I do. But I need you to hear me, for real—not just wait for me to stop talking so you can get out of doing something hard.”
The silence between us stretched and I stood there, arms folded, jaw clenched like a petulant child.
“This is too much,” I said. “I don’t know how to letsomeone help me. And yeah, maybe I default to sex to avoid the hard shit. It’s easier than sitting in it.”
Something in his expression softened. He closed the distance between us and tilted my chin up.
“You gotta stop running game on me, Nai. I’m not one of your marks.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
He held me there for a long moment, his hand warm against the side of my neck. And I could see the question written on his face. Am I enough? He kissed me like he was making sure I understood this wasn’t just physical. I rose onto my toes and kissed the base of his throat. “I don’t wanna argue anymore tonight, Bear,” I whispered before dragging my tongue slowly across his chest. He tensed under me, and when I looked up, his eyes had darkened.
“Pants off,” I said, sliding my leggings down my hips.
He licked his lips and obeyed, pushing his sweats down and freed himself—already hard, a bead of pre-cum gleaming at the tip.
I pulled off my top and let it fall to the floor. His eyes dragged over me as I tugged down my leggings, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to ruin or savor me. It was that same look from two years ago in the private room at Stilettos—desire and possession, like he hated the hold I had over him.
I climbed into his lap and straddled him.
“You done lecturing me?” I breathed against his ear and rolled my hips so he could feel how wet I was.
He exhaled sharply. “Fuckin’ tease.”
I kissed him hard, biting his bottom lip as I wrapped my hand around his throat. “Open,” I whispered, giving it a slight squeeze.
He parted his lips. I spat in his mouth and kissed him again, deeperthis time.
That sent him over the edge.
He gripped my ass and lifted me just enough to line us up, then drove into me with a force that made my back arch. I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He was so deep I swore I could feel him in my ribs.
My nails raked down his back as he started thrusting into me, slowly like he wanted me to feel every inch. My breath came out in ragged moans as I moved with him. He buried his face in my chest, pulling a nipple into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth.
“Giving orders like you run shit,” he gritted against my skin.
His grip on my hips tightened, guiding me to match his rhythm.
Right as I felt my release coiling low in my belly, he stopped.
“Turn around,” he said, voice thick with heat.
