Page 208 of Kentrell

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just… texted the girls back. They mad.”

He smirked, that lazy curl of his mouth I was starting to crave more than air.

“They care.”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “That’s all.”

He crossed the room…

Stopped at the edge of the bed.

Looking down at me—tucked under his sheets, hair still damp, wearing clothes he bought… sitting in a house I didn’t know existed 12 hours ago.

“You comfortable?” he asked… eyes scanning my face… like he was checking for cracks.

I nodded.

“Need anything?”

“No,” I murmured.

And softer…

“You already gave me more than I even knew I needed.”

For a beat…

He stood there… just looking at me.

Then without a word, he reached down… adjusted the covers… tucked one edge beneath my arm like I was something precious.

“I gotchu, ma,” he said… voice thick. “Get some sleep.”

He turned to leave…

Slow… like it took effort to pull himself away.

But just as he reached the door…

“Kentrell?”

It slipped out before I could stop it. Barely above a breath.

He paused… turned back…

Shadowed in the soft gold light…

Half of him hidden… the rest of him glowing like the night was bending just for him.

My throat felt tight…

But I said it anyway.

“Can you lay with me?”

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, framed in the soft spill of firelight and hallway shadows, staringat me like he was weighing something heavier than my simple question. Then, with a slow, steady nod—sure, solid, unshaken—he turned back toward the bed. He walked over with that quiet confidence that always made my breath catch, like second-guessing wasn’t in his DNA.

The mattress dipped as he sat, then he swung his legs up and stretched out beside me, moving like he’d done it a hundred times before. It felt so natural, the two of us lying together like this, too close for it to be anything but comforting. Like my space was his space too. No tension. No awkwardness. Just warmth settling between us.

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