Page 167 of Kentrell

No hesitation.

“Let’s take a shower and watch a movie,” he said, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip.

I leaned back slightly, tilting my head. “You brought movies?”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, we can stream somethin’. Maybe you can put me onto some shit I never seen.”

“Oooh,” I grinned, already turning in his arms toward the stairs. “I think Iknowwhat we can watch.”

“Here we go,” he groaned, taking my hand and leading me out of the kitchen.

“No, don’t take that attitude.” I giggled, loving how easy it felt between us—this constant shift between lust and intimacy like we couldn’t decide which lane to stay in. “You’ll like it. I promise.” I added once we made it into the master suite.

Kentrell didn’t say much else after that.

Maybe because our quick shower turned into a full-blown balancing act—with me bent over on all fours, him taking me from behind, both of us trying to grip slick tiles while sudsy soap threatened to knock us over with every deep stroke he gave me.

And when we finallyfinished“cleaning,” he carried me straight out the shower, laid me on the bed, and slid right back in for another round.

And I was all for it.

Sleep couldn’t keep me.

My body couldn’t stop me.

Anytime he tapped his dick against my clit… I opened my legs and let him have me. Every. Single. Inch.

Damn.

If Mars could hear the wicked thoughts swirling through my head right now…

Who knew all it took was a little romp between the sheets to get me thinking just as nastily as she does?

I bit my lip, reaching for another handful of M&M’s from the tray resting on the bed between us. Half-empty bowls of pasta sat beside crumpled napkins dotted with garlic breadcrumbs. Two wine glasses—refilled more than once—sat nearby, one lipstick-stained, the other nearly empty.

The room stayed dim, lit mostly by the flicker from the TV across from the bed.

Kentrell stretched out beside me, one arm behind his head, the other wrapped tight around me as I curled into his side, blanket tucked up under my chin.

Whatever was playing on screen faded in and out of focus—not because it wasn’t good—but because he was warm… and my heart wouldn’t stay still.

His fingers moved slow against my bare shoulder, drawing lazy, absentminded circles while his eyes stayed locked on the episode.

Scrubs, Season 2, Episode 3.

“I still don’t understand how you got me watchin’ this,” he muttered with a smirk.

“Because it’s hilarious,” I said, smiling against his chest. “And wholesome. And a little weird.”

“So basically like you.”

I laughed and reached for a piece of bread, breaking it in half and handing him a piece.

We ate in silence for a few beats, wrapped in pillows and plush throws, our bodies tangled like the sheets we’d already wrinkled beyond repair.

This was peace.

This was the kind of night I never knew I needed.

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