Page 141 of Kentrell

Didn’t stop.

I kept fucking her through it. Letting her ride the wave out while I chased my own.

“Say it,” I growled again, voice hard, breath jagged.

“I… want it,” she breathed, soft. Wrecked. Her voice barely there.

A grin pulled at my lips.

Because Iknewwe had ears downstairs—Mars and Stacia.

I wasn’t just fucking Zoe.

I was making herknown.

Her moans were ricocheting off these walls, vibrating through the floors. After today, there would beno doubtabout who took Zoe’s virginity.

They’d knowIwas the change in her.

The shift.

And she wasn’t gonna be able to look her girls in the face for a few days after the nasty shit I was gon’ make her say.

And do.

TWELVE

ZOE

It was exactly5 in the afternoon. I was sitting in Kentrell’s truck waiting on him to finish loading our luggage in the back. The leather still smelled like him.

That warm, masculine mix of cologne, skin, and sin clung to the seats like it had been branded in. Just like me. I shifted, winced a little, then smiled.

I was sore.

Between my thighs, in my lower back, even in the arch of my damn foot from how hard I’d curled my toes when he?—

Whew.

I blew out a breath and leaned my head against the seat. The music playing low from the speakers wrapped around me like a secret.“I Hope It’s You”by Donell Jones. I hadn’t even touched the radio. Somehow he just knew. Or maybe I was hearing him in everything now.

The truck bounced lightly as the trunk shut. A few seconds later, I saw him in the side mirror—walking slow like he always did, heavy and confident. Like time moved for him, not the other way around.

And I could still feel him. Deep.

A shiver ran through me, slow and sweet. Not from the chill in the air, but from the way he’d looked at me after. Like he’d just unwrapped something sacred.

I didn’t regret it. Losing my virginity. Giving it to him. Letting myself feel that much, want that hard, fall that deep. I felt…chosen. Not in the way little girls dream of with rings and roses. But real. Grown. Claimed.

The driver’s door opened, and there he was. My stomach flipped.

His eyes landed on me first. Then dipped down to my thighs, like he could still see what he did to me. He got in, one hand on the wheel, the other still adjusting his watch like we weren’t on the run from everything else that existed outside this truck.

“You good?” he asked, voice low like he was trying not to smirk.

I swallowed, met his gaze, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah,” I breathed. “I’m good.”

He didn’t press. Just shifted into drive, arm resting easy between us, fingers grazing the edge of my thigh like it was second nature now.

---