Page 223 of Kentrell

My hands slid from her waist to her hips, then up under her tank, palms grazing warm skin. She sighed into my mouth, tilting her head and deepening the kiss, her fingers threading through my hair.

“You been turnin’ me on all night,” I murmured against her throat, dragging my lips along her jaw, then down to the soft curve beneath her ear.

Zoe gasped, her hips shifting in my lap.

“I noticed,” she whispered back, voice thick with heat.

I smiled against her skin, lips tracing along her collarbone. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’ma forget how tired you are.”

“Who said I was tired?” she challenged, unzipping her jacket, then pulling her tank over her head and tossing it aside like it was nothing.

That’s all the invitation I needed.

I laid her back gently against the pillows, my hands never leaving her skin. I kissed her stomach, her ribs, her breasts—taking my time, learning her all over again.

Zoe writhed beneath me, her fingers clutching the sheets, her body arching to meet every touch, every flick of my tongue.

“Kentrell…” she whispered, breathless, her voice catching when I slid two fingers down the front of her leggings and discovered just how ready she was.

“Yeah, I know, baby,” I murmured, eyes locked on hers. “I got you.”

She watched me as I peeled her leggings down her legs and kissed my way back up—slow, reverent, hungry.

By the time I finally sank into her, we were both gone—lost in each other, in the rhythm, in the slow grind that built from soft moans to something deeper.

“Say my name,” I whispered against her lips, hips rolling into hers.

“Kentrell…”

“Again.”

She clung to me, her mouth finding mine between gasps.

I didn’t rush. I didn’t let up. I just stayed right there with her—meeting her pace, listening to every sound she made, responding to every tremble.

When she finally fell apart beneath me, body shuddering around mine, I held her through it, never breaking rhythm.

I followed soon after, her name on my lips like a prayer, a promise, a permanent mark.

Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest, fingers tracing lazy circles along my stomach.

“Still feel like you belong?” I asked, voice husky.

She smiled without looking up. “Now more than ever.”

I pulled the covers over us and kissed her forehead.

“Good. ’Cause this—” I wrapped my arms tighter around her— “ain’t no temporary thing.”

“Not for me either,” she whispered.

And with that, we drifted off, skin to skin, heart to heart.

EIGHTEEN

ZOE

I wokeup reaching for him.

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