Page 62 of Kentrell

Couldn’t breathe.

He hadn’t even touched me.

But I was already unraveling.

And he knew it.

I held my ground, spine straight, even though my body was screaming to fold. Kentrell was too damn close—his scent, his heat, the weight of his stare. It was all hitting me like a wave I couldn’t stop, only brace for.

I lifted my chin. “You can’t just show up and expect me to fall in line.”

“Ain’t no line, shorty.” His voice was low. Unbothered. “Just you and me.”

“I’m at work.”

“I’on give no fuck.”

That caught me off guard. Quick. Sharp. No hesitation.

“Watch your mouth!”

“Make me.” He pressed, as I swallowed, slow and deep. “See, I let yo ass talk yo shit for too damn long, Zoe,” he said. “And now you startin’ to smell yo self—think shit sweet. Like that kiss ain’t got you stuck. Like your mouth ain’t opening for me every time you think about it.”

My pulse slammed into my ribs.

“You not in control? You might as well let that shit go.”

“I’m not letting anything go!” My hands curled into fists. “You think you can just press me into saying yes?”

“I know I can.”

“You arrogant bastard.”

“You stubborn as fuck.”

We stared each other down, the tension snapping in the air between us like live wire.

“You don’t know me like that,” I shot back.

He smiled—slow and wolfish. “I’m learning quick.”

My breath caught when he stepped closer. Too close. I had to tilt my chin to keep looking at him.

I moved back.

He followed.

Again.

And again.

Until my back hit the glass.

Cornered. Nowhere to run. Just the city skyline behind me and his body heat swallowing everything in front.

“You can’t make me want this,” I said, quiet but steady.

“I’on need to,” he murmured. “You already do.”

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