Page 41 of Faded Rhythm

For a moment, everything stills.

This is something I haven’t felt in years. It feels so good, my eyes close again. My breathing deepens. She’s in my arms, and she’s real. Her touch grounds me like nothing else ever has.

This is stronger than arousal. I’m hard, but I barely notice. This is…human connection. It’s the feeling of existing and being seen. I don’t often get the chance to feel that.

She caresses the back of my head with her fingers. I tighten my grip on her waist. We inhale at the same time. It almost feels like we’re breathing for each other.

Her breath fans across my neck, where she’s tucked her head. Her heart beats against my chest. This space we’re in, it’s comfortable. Peaceful. Time doesn’t exist here.

It’s a powerful feeling.

I know she feels how hard I am, but she also seems to know that’s not what we’re doing tonight. Neither one of us wants to move and lose this moment.

She was right.

We both needed this.

We stay here. Once I feel her drift off, I relieve myself from my duty. I close my eyes and drift off, falling into a sleep more peaceful than I’ve had in as long as I can remember.

18

Sable

I wake up warm.A little too warm.

Something’s pressing against my back, causing heat, but it’s too heavy to be a blanket.

I open my eyes. There’s an arm looped around my waist, and that’s a chest behind me, solid and steady, rising and falling rhythmically.

My eyes roam frantically, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, confused by heavy curtains I don’t recognize that are drawn shut against the morning light. Beige walls. A suitcase tucked into the corner. For a brief moment, I can’t remember where I am.

Then I smell him and I remember.

King.

His heavy arm is tight around me like it belongs there.

I stiffen, my instincts screaming at me to pull away, to untangle myself before something happens. But it feels too good. It feels like being anchored after drifting too far out into the sea.

So I don’t move.

I let my naked body relax his. I let my breathing match his. I let myself pretend, just for a few minutes, that I’m not running for my life and hiding from a man I thought I knew.

Carefully, I reach out to the nightstand and grab my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I tap out a message to Ebony.

Tell the girls I love them

I hit send.

“You good?”

His voice—rough, low, and thick with sleep—rumbles against the back of my neck.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I shift a little, pushing back slightly against him.

Then I freeze.

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