Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
The world narrows until it’s nothing but the hum of the penthouse that surrounds us, the warmth of his body pressed against mine, and the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. My thoughts drift, unspooling as something undeniable settles into place.
This is exactly what I’ve been searching for.
Not intensity or a distraction, but a connection.
When Laiken shifts against the pillows, one arm wrapped around me, I curl into his side without hesitation. It feels so natural. Easy in a way that’s almost surprising. His chin rests against the top of my head, protective without being possessive, steady without claiming more than I’m ready to give.
He simply holds me.
As sleep pulls me under, one last thought slips through the fog.
If this is what it truly feels like to be held, I don’t know how I’ll survive losing it.
For the time being, I don’t let myself think about what tomorrow will bring.
Instead, I fall asleep held securely in strong arms.
32
Laiken
I wake gradually, suspended in that half-dream state where nothing feels entirely real. Morning sunlight spills through the curtains in pale, muted stripes, warming the room without fully pulling me back to consciousness.
Kia is curled against my side, one leg draped over mine, her head tucked beneath my chin. Her breathing is deep and even. The kind that only comes when someone feels safe enough to completely let go.
I stay exactly where I am, enjoying the warmth of her skin against mine and the faint citrus scent of her shampoo. Her chest rises and falls steadily against my own.
The sight of her in my bed should feel strange.
Instead, it feels right.
The last woman I woke up with was my wife. And even then, it didn’t last long. After Elody was born, Sarah moved out of our bedroom, not wanting to chance another pregnancy. Another responsibility she’d have to take on. Another tie she wasn’t sure she wanted. Intimacy became something we tiptoed around.
Distance crept in quietly. Nights turned into routines, and touch became rare.
I’d always believed having a child would draw two people closer. That love multiplied when it was shared.
For us, it did the opposite.
With Kia, waking up with her in my arms feels natural. Easy. As if my body recognizes something my mind is still trying to understand. Tension doesn’t buzz through my system, and I don’t feel the urge to pull away or overthink the moment. Instead, a quiet certainty settles deep in my bones—an undeniable feeling that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Her hand shifts, fingers brushing over my rib cage in an absent sweep. Even though the touch isn’t deliberate, my body reacts instantly. It’s enough to have me gritting my teeth with how much I want her. It’s been a long time since I’ve let myself feel this way.
For the last year, I’ve kept everything locked down tight. No dates. No risks. No women allowed close enough for anyone to twist the narrative and use it against me in a courtroom.
She stirs, her lashes fluttering as she surfaces from sleep. Her gaze meets mine, hazy at first before sharpening. For a heartbeat, uncertainty flickers across her face.
Does she regret last night?
If that turns out to be the case, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Instead, I see the moment she realizes exactly where she is, and the tension in her shoulders loosens.
“Morning,” I murmur.
“Morning,” she replies.
Her hand stills, hovering between us. It would be so easy for me to take control, but I don’t. I stay still and let her decide how this morning will unfold. For me, control has never meant taking. It’s about restraint and knowing when to pause and let someone else choose.
She studies my face, as if searching for something.
Permission, maybe.
Or reassurance.
Her fingers curl again, this time with intention. My body relaxes and I shift just enough to face her. My hand rises to cradle her jaw, my thumb drifting along her cheekbone.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Rather than give me an immediate response, she takes a moment to consider the question. “Yeah, I am.”
Relief rushes through me.
It’s almost a surprise when her hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my boxers. Her fingers slide over my skin before continuing their descent and brushing the hard length of my cock.
The slight touch is enough to pull a groan deep from my chest. Before I can protest and tell her she doesn’t have to do this, her fingers curl around my thick shaft. She strokes upward, then slowly back down, testing the weight in her hand like she’s learning exactly how she affects me.
The heat that rushes through my veins is enough to make me lightheaded, and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. My control continues to slip as my body reacts so violently, it feels like it might short-circuit.
All I can think about is that I’m in trouble. If she keeps touching me like this, I won’t last. I learned long ago how to ignore my impulses and bury them down so deep they barely registered. Hockey. Elody. Responsibility. Those were the only things I allowed myself to want.