"We might have to head home and get into a few things." Her suggestion seemed innocent enough. Except for the heat beneath the words. The heat I'd been feeling since we met.
"I'd love that."
The words hung between us, a thin thread of familiarity weaving through the room. I couldn’t tell if it was comfort or danger, but the pull was undeniable.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, and I felt it everywhere—like the brush of silk over bare skin.
Tasha cleared her throat, pulling us back to the room, but not before I saw the way Selena’s brow arched, curiosity lighting her features. They felt it too—the charge, the promise, the simmering tension that we’d only just begun to acknowledge.
And for the first time since I’d arrived, I knew it was only a matter of time before everything between us came to a head.
8
LENNOX
I’d tried everything to quiet my mind—breathing exercises, a book, even stretches—but nothing worked. My father’s voice tangled with thoughts of Naima, her soft tone, the way she carried calm like it was her birthright. Together, they made a storm I couldn’t sleep through.
The moon hung fat and low when I wandered into the kitchen. I thought maybe a glass of warm milk might help—a trick my mom swore by when my mind refused to settle. The air smelled like cinnamon and herbs drying by the window. The fridge hummed, steady, the only sound until I heard light footsteps behind me.
Naima stood in the doorway, wrapped in a nightgown thin enough to make a man forget every virtue he’d ever held. The fabric clung to her curves, translucent in the kitchen light. Her thick curly hair was loose, and her eyes were heavy with sleep—or something far more dangerous.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” I asked, my voice a low rasp, rougher than I intended.
She shook her head, stepping closer. “Thought I’d make some warm milk and cinnamon. It usually helps.”
I nodded, swallowing hard at the thought that we had the same idea. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard, needing something to do with my hands. She reached for the spice jar, but on the way down, her hand trembled, and the canister slipped from her hand, spilling the powder across the tile floor.
“Shit,” she whispered, dropping to her knees to clean up.
I wet a towel and moved beside her to help, our hands brushing against each other as we cleaned up the cinnamon. When she stood, her strap had slipped down her shoulder, exposing the dark, pebbled skin of her nipple. My breath caught, a guttural sound escaping before I could bite it back. I couldn’t look away. Any second, she'd cover herself, and this sliver of temptation would be gone.
But she didn’t. Didn’t move. Her lips parted, a soft exhale slipping free. My pulse thundered, heat coiling tight in my belly.
“May I help you with that?” My voice was thick, laced with need.
“Please,” she breathed, her eyes locked on mine, a storm brewing in those dark pools.
I closed the space between us, capturing her lips in a kiss that burned away the chill of the night. She tasted of mint and warmth, her mouth soft and willing beneath mine. My hand slid up, cupping the weight of her exposed breast, and she gasped into my mouth, her fingers threading into my locs, pulling me closer. My hips pressed against her, my arousal evident, throbbing against the thin fabric that separated us.
I broke away from her mouth, my breath heavy, my lips tracing a path down her jaw, over the delicate curve of her neck. She shivered, arching into me as if her body couldn’t get close enough. Her nightgown hung precariously, the strap slipping further, baring more of her to me.
I brought my mouth to her exposed breast, my lips closing around the hard, pebbled tip. I sucked, slow and deliberate,letting my tongue lave over her, swirling around the sensitive bud. She moaned, her back arching, pressing more of herself into my mouth. Her fingers tightened in my locs, and I let her guide me, let her pull me deeper into the soft heat of her skin.
I pulled on her nipple, my teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out, the sound vibrating through me, sparking every nerve. I switched to the other breast, my hands sliding up to cradle her, to hold her still as I worshiped her with my mouth.
Her breaths came in sharp, uneven pulls, her chest heaving as I sucked, kissed, and nipped at her. Each pull of my mouth sent a ripple of pleasure through her, her body responding, her hips rolling, seeking friction.
Her head fell back, exposing the elegant curve of her throat, and I couldn’t resist—my mouth moved up, my tongue tracing the line of her collarbone, my teeth grazing over the pulse that thrummed wildly beneath her skin.
“Lennox…” she whimpered, her voice a soft, desperate plea.
I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, her lips swollen, her eyes hooded with need. “Tell me what you need, Naima,” I whispered, my fingers rolling her nipple, keeping the sweet ache alive.
“More,” she panted, her hips grinding against me. “I need more.”
And God, I was going to give her everything.
“Bend over the counter,” I ordered.
