I pushed at his chest, a weak attempt to break the hold, but he only gripped the back of my neck harder, kissing me deeper, like he could anchor me through it.
Then I gagged.
Right into his mouth.
That’s when he finally yanked back, his expression twisting fast, from lust to pure horror.
“Tatum?” Naeem reached for me, hand firmly wrapping around my arm. “What’s going on?”
“I need to—” I pulled back, but he didn’t let go.
That hesitation cost him everything.
Before I could warn him again, the nausea surged past every bit of self-control I had left. My body jerked forward, and I threw up, forceful and loud, straight down the front of his white shirt, and it didn’t stop until I was weak and felt as though I had nothing left in me.
Naeem stood frozen, stiff as stone, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what happened. I stumbled back, heart racing, watching the horror crawl across his face as he looked down atthe mess between us. His lip curled like the smell had slapped him.
“Tatum… what the hell?” he croaked, his voice strained.
Then he gagged.
Twice.
Bent at the waist like it hit him in the soul.
I swayed on my feet, trying to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, mortified beyond words. “ I-I told you to let me go.”
“Oh no,” he muttered, stumbling back a step, eyes wide, face pale. “Oh, hell no. Why is it warm? What was that? Shrimp?”
I couldn’t help it. Even as I held my stomach, even as my face flushed with embarrassment, a laugh cracked free of my throat.
Naeem backed up another step, hand hovering over his mouth like he was at war with his own stomach. “You think this shit is funny?”
I laughed harder, the sound jagged and ugly. “No, but you should’ve let me go when you felt me trying to pull away.”
He pointed at his shirt like it had personally offended him. “We are never talking about this again.”
“You might not, but I am,” I whispered, wiping my eyes.
My voice cracked, but I didn’t have the strength to care anymore. I was tired of biting my tongue, of holding everything in, of pretending life wasn’t swallowing me whole.
“I’m telling Riley and Sophia,” I said, the words trembling as they left me, my lips barely able to form them.
Then the world tilted. The air thickened, the walls pulsed, and before I could catch myself, my legs folded beneath me. Heat, adrenaline, the meeting, the fight with my husband, the blood, the murder—it all hit at once, colliding in my chest and crashing through me like a wave I couldn’t ride.
And just like that, I was gone.
When I slowly came to, my body was suspended somewhere between warmth and weightlessness, like I was floating beneath the surface of a dream. The scent of him hit first. It was earthy and clean, with a sharp trace of clove and whatever expensive cologne clung to his skin. The steam wrapped around me in soft tendrils, and then I felt it—his hands. One steady at the base of my spine, the other cradling my thigh as he guided us down into the water.
It was then I realized Naeem was naked.
And so was I.
My pulse stuttered, but I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The bath was hot, not scalding, but close enough to sting. Still, his grip never faltered. He held me like he’d done it a hundred times before, as if there was nothing unusual about lowering his wife—his enemy—into a bath after she'd passed out in his arms.
His chest pressed to my back, and when he finally settled behind me, his arms circled my waist, pulling me flush against him. There was nothing between us—no barriers, no layers to hide behind, no lies to soften the truth, no fabric, and no pretense. Only skin, slick and flushed, and heat simmering in places water couldn’t touch. My body tensed on instinct, but his mouth brushed my shoulder, soft enough to steal the breath I was reclaiming.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered.
