I grabbed my drink, raised it in cheers, then dropped it—oops—right into his lap.

  “Oh damn, my bad. Slippery when wet.”

  I strutted out, heels clacking, ass swaying, coochie ready for Kross.

  11

  Kross

  I slipped the valet a folded hundred and a card with an address scribbled on the back.

  “Take her car here. Leave the keys with the front lobby. And make sure there’s not a single scratch on it.”

  The kid nodded fast like he just met a cartel boss. “Yessir, I got it.”

  I turned toward Rivah—still standing there looking like temptation in heels and attitude. I opened the passenger side door and pointed to the seat. No words needed.

  She crossed her arms. “I can’t drive my own car home now? What is this—kidnapping?”

  I looked her up and down slow. Deliberate. “No. This is me being responsible… because where we’re going and after what we do, you won’t be in any condition to drive.”

  That made her blink, but she didn’t say no. She slid into the seat like she didn’t want to admit she liked being told what to do.

  I closed the door behind her, walked around to my side, and got in. I hit the ‘Home’ button on the screen.

  Her head tilted when she saw.

  I looked at her—calm, but direct.

  “We’re not going to your house.”

  We pulled into my driveway and I noticed the way her eyes wandered—taking everything in like she was trying not to be impressed. I hit the button and the garage door eased up, revealing the lineup inside.

  She leaned toward the window and muttered, “Damn. You really wasn’t lying about living in The Toast.”

  I smirked. “I’ll never lie to you, Rivah Renée Banks.”

  Her head snapped in my direction when I said her full name, like she wasn’t expecting me to have it ready like that. I got out, walked around to her side, and opened the door.

  She stepped out in those heels that made her legs look even longer. Her eyes bounced between the vintage ‘67 Mustang, the all-black Audi, and the candy red classic Impala sitting like it belonged in a photo shoot.

  “Okay, Fancy Pants,” she said, lips curled into a grin. “Garage lookin’ like a whole showroom.”

  I chuckled, locking the car behind her. “I like classic cars. I like luxury. Nothing wrong with that.” I paused and looked at her. “I like you too, right?”

  She raised a brow but nodded slowly. “Yeah, you're right.”

  She didn’t say anything, but the way she walked past me with that little sway in her hips told me everything I needed to know.

  She stepped inside like she belonged there, like this wasn’t her first time walking through million-dollar homes. Her eyes didn’t even widen—just flicked over everything with cool interest as she walked further in, her heels clicking across my hardwood floors.

  She took in the clean lines of my living room, the oversized sectional, the glass art installation on the wall that looked like broken time. Her fingers brushed over the edge of the marble counter in the open kitchen.

  “You got taste,” she said over her shoulder. “But I already knew that because you've been trying to taste me since day one.”

  I smirked, leaning against the doorway with my arms folded. “Still waiting on that invite, Miss Banks.”

  “You got one the other night,” she said, peeking down a hallway. “You just didn’t know how long it was good for.”

  I pushed off the frame and walked up behind her. “Still valid?”

  She turned toward me, that slow smile playing on her lips like she knew she was leading me into something I wouldn’t come back from. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If you can handle it.”

  I didn’t respond. I just stepped in closer, brushing a finger down her arm. “You keep talkin’ like you weren’t the one who was laid out breathin’ like you saw Jesus the other night.”

  She laughed. “And you keep talkin’ like you weren’t the one stuck in the moment.”

  “Are you done exploring?”

  She tilted her head. “Not yet. But you can assist me.”

  “I plan to,” I said watching her dress slide down her shoulders.

  She didn’t stop me, just let it drop. I kissed the side of her neck first. Soft. Then let my lips trail down her collarbone, across her chest. She sighed, finally faltering for a second—just long enough for me to wrap an arm around her waist and lift her off her feet.

  She gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking what’s mine. You knew what this was.”

  I laid her on my bed, and she looked at me with that look. The one she tries to mask with attitude and sarcasm, but I saw her. I always did. And I was going to make sure she felt seen.

  I took my time.. Letting my eyes eat up every curve like it was my last meal. She smirked, but I caught the shift in her breathing. The way her thighs pressed together when I pulled my shirt over my head.

  “You gone keep starin’, or you gone do something?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

  I climbed onto the bed, slow and controlled, crawling up her like a storm coming in quiet.

  “Don’t rush me, Rivah. I plan to enjoy every inch of what’s mine.”

  Her breath caught.

  I kissed her shoulder first. Then her neck. Then that soft spot under her jaw that makes her moan loud. My lips trailed down, warm and slow. My tongue teased one nipple, then the other, until she arched her back and gasped my name like it was the only word she knew.

  “Fuck…”

  “You good?” I murmured, dragging my tongue up her stomach before kissing her again—deep and open.

  She nodded, but I didn’t stop to let her answer.

  When I slid inside her, she cried out. “Kross!” Like that. Loud and breathless. I gripped her hips and gave her every inch. No holding back. I wanted her to feel me for days.

  “Just like that,” I growled. “You feel what you do to me? You hear it?”

  The sounds of our bodies—wet, wild, unapologetic—filled the room like music. I looked into her eyes, and I swear she was close to crying.

  “You think you in control?” I whispered, lips brushing hers. “You think this pussy yours?”

  She started to speak, and I cut her off by flipping her on her stomach and dragging her to the edge of the bed by her waist. She looked back at me, dazed, mouth parted. I slapped her ass once—light, but enough to make her gasp.

  “You’re mine, Rivah. All of you.”

  I bent over her, kissed her back, and pushed in again, this time slower, deeper.

  “I want you to feel this in your chest. In your fucking throat.”

  She clawed at the sheets, her legs shaking.

  Then I did what she didn’t expect—I slowed down. Got soft with it. Kissed her shoulder again. “I want to make love to the parts of your nobody’s ever touched.”

  She whimpered. Whispered my name like a prayer.

  So I flipped her again, made her ride me. Her curls wild, her hands on my chest, her body taking every stroke like she was built for it.

  She leaned down, bit my lip, whispered, “You gone make me fall for you, acting like this.”

  “You already have.”

  I let her take over—watching her bounce, ride, fall apart on my dick like she wanted to ruin me.

  Then I grabbed her waist and met her stroke for stroke, fucking up into her so hard her moans turned into screams.

  I felt her start to come again, her walls pulsing, eyes rolling—and I didn’t pull out.

  I came deep. Hot. Heavy. Every ounce of me spilled into her like a man who already knew he’d never want another woman again.

  She collapsed beside me, breathless.

  I picked her up, one arm under her thighs, the other on her back.

  She blinked up at me, dazed. “Kross—”

  “Shower,” I said, carrying her like she weighed nothing.

  “I can’t even feel my legs,” she whispered, giggling.

  “You won’t feel anything if I stay in this bed with you,” I said, setting her down in my bathroom. “And baby…”

  I turned the water on, stepped into the steam behind her, pressed her against the glass.

  “…we’re not done.”

  I stepped into the shower with her body still wrapped around me.

  Her back hit the tile, and her arms tightened around my neck. She whispered something soft and breathy, but I didn’t hear it. I felt it. Her nails dragging along my shoulders, the way her thighs locked around my waist like she wasn’t done either.

  “Are you sure you got anything left?” I teased, pressing my forehead to hers.

  She smiled through swollen lips. “Try me.”

  So I did.

  Right there, water pouring down our skin, her body pressed between me and the wall—I held her up with one arm and fed her everything I had left with the other. Deep strokes that made her whimper and beg, that had her moaning into my mouth like she couldn’t believe she was still climbing.

  And when she came again, she damn near collapsed.

  I held her tighter. Kissed her shoulder. Slowed my pace until I gave her the last of me, buried so deep she shook all over.

  After that, I didn’t say a word. Just kissed her temple and set her gently down.

  She leaned against the tile, trying to catch her breath, and I reached for the body wash. I lathered up my hands and ran them over her body. Not like a man trying to rush, but like one trying to memorize.

  She watched me quietly and a little dazed. Her long lashes heavy over sleepy eyes.

  When I got to her legs, she lifted her foot like she trusted me with every part of her.

  I rinsed her off, then turned the water down so it wouldn’t burn while I washed myself. She didn’t say a word—just sat on the little bench in the shower, legs curled under her, watching me. Eyes low. Tired, but trying not to show it.

  I cut the water off and grabbed a towel. She didn’t even move when I picked her up again. Just sighed into my shoulder like she could fall asleep right there.

  I laid her on the bed, kissed her forehead. She sat up, fighting to look alert.

  “I need to go home,” she mumbled, voice soft and groggy. “It’s Thursday. I have work in the morning.”

  She was already grabbing her things—heels, phone.

  But I took them out of her hands and set them back down.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, raising a brow.

  I pulled the blanket back, slid into the bed, and patted the space beside me.

  “Lay down.”

  “Kross, I’m serious. I can’t just stay—”

  “You can. And you will.”

  “I have a job. I don’t just take random days off—”

  “You barely ever take days off at all.” I looked at her, dead in the eyes. “Call in, Rivah. Tell them you’ll see them Monday. Or I’ll pull up to your job tomorrow morning in a black hoodie and cause a bigger scene than I did at that damn restaurant.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Kross, be so fucking for real”

  “Try me,” I said, pulling the cover back even more. “Be the reason I go viral.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she got in the bed anyway. That mouth of hers wouldn’t stop, but her body already told the truth.

  I handed her the phone and raised an eyebrow. “Go ‘head. Make the call.”

  She sighed dramatically. “You are a menace.”

  “And yet, you love it here.”

  She grinned despite herself, pressed the phone to her ear, and when a lady picked up, I leaned over and whispered.

  “Tell them you’ll see them Monday, baby. That’s all they need to know.”

  12

  Rivah

  The smell hit me first. Buttery. Savory. Coffee-brewing rich.

  I blinked into the morning light spilling through the curtains, confused because… I knew I smelled food, but Kross’s arm was still draped heavily across my waist.

  Wait.

  I turned slowly.

  The man was still asleep behind me. Breathing deep and peaceful like he wasn’t the one who turned my damn body into mashed potatoes. His legs tangled with mine. His chest pressed to my back. And we were still naked.

  My phone was face down on the side table. I picked it up.

  9:04 A.M.

  I damn near dropped it. Nine? I hadn’t slept in that late since before my last heartbreak.

  I laid there for a second, staring at the ceiling like it might explain what the hell was going on with me. I hadn’t shared a bed with a man in years. Not even Father Abraham stayed past 3AM. I might’ve borrowed his body for some stress relief, but I was always gone before the birds could gossip.

  “Kross,” I whispered, nudging him. “Why do I smell food?”

  He kissed the top of my head without even opening his eyes. “I scheduled my chef to come in.”

  His voice was all low and raspy like he didn’t just ruin my equilibrium the night before.

  I sat up slowly, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around myself, even though the man had been inside every part of me. He reached over and pulled one side of the sheet down, just enough to let my nipple peek out and then he latched onto it, warm tongue and soft lips like it belonged to him.

  “Kross,” I moaned and swatted at his head. “Stop playin’. Let’s go eat so you can take you home.”

  He looked up at me, unfazed. “You’re not going anywhere. My brothers and their girls are on the way over for breakfast anyway.”

  I blinked. “I’m sorry… what?”

  “You heard me.”

  I blinked again. “I don’t even have decent clothes.”

  He smirked and pointed toward the door near the bathroom. “Taken care of.”

  I threw the covers back, walked barefoot across his damn hardwood floors like a woman possessed, and opened the door. And almost passed out.

  I walked in and the lights automatically flipped on. Racks and racks. Tags still on. Everything in my size. Dresses, jeans, cropped sweaters, two kinds of shoes for every look. Designer labels like it was a pop-up boutique.

  I turned around slowly, staring at him with my mouth open. “Krossli Givelle, what in the emotionally manipulative hell is this?”

  He grinned like the devil himself. “Just a few essentials. I didn’t want to fill it completely. Thought I’d leave the rest to you.”

  “You know this is insane, right?”

  “You say that,” he said, stretching as he got out the bed, still naked like his dick didn’t need warning labels. “But you’re smiling like a woman about to max out my card.”

  I tried to hold my face, I swear I did—but the smile snuck out anyway.

  “Yeah, well,” I muttered. “I am crazy. So again, don’t forget your blood pressure medicine fuckin’ with me.”

  He laughed and kissed my cheek. “I got it already in the nightstand. Let’s go eat.”

  I was sitting at Kross’s kitchen table, sipping coffee like I belonged there, which was crazy because I never did no shit like that. We were deep in a conversation about why men who wear slides with socks feel the need to walk like they’re dragging both regret and entitlement across the floor, when the front door flung open like a Tyler Perry play.

  Two tall, chocolate, copy-and-paste examples of God showing out walked in loud as hell—laughing, pushing each other like kids, and smelling like cologne, luxury, and trouble. All three of them had the same strong jaws, deep-set eyes, and broad shoulders that made you reconsider your birth control.

  “Damn,” I whispered, sipping my coffee like it was tea.

  Kross stood up, smirking. “Rivah, that’s Kairo, the oldest. And that fool there is Kordai—the baby.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Kairo said, flashing a smile that looked like it cost him a lot of heartbreak and some lawyer fees.

  Kordai nodded at me with a grin that was too damn confident for someone that fine at that time of hour. “So, this the one got my brother on his best behavior?”

  I didn’t respond. I just blinked slow like a cat and took another sip.

  They sat down like it was just a regular day, and Kross casually asked, “Where’s Khloe?”

  Kairo sucked his teeth and leaned back, clearly annoyed. “Man, she got called in on some emergency. She at work.”

  Before anyone could respond, the doorbell rang again—but that was just a formality because the front door swung open right after, followed by chaos.

  Click clack. Click clack.

  “I TOLD YOU STOP FUCKIN PLAYING WITH ME, KENDRIX!”

  We all turned toward the front hall like it was a live episode of Cheaters.

  Kairo shook his head, already grinning. “That’s Niv. Coming in talking shit to Kendrix like always.”

  All the brothers busted out laughing like this was routine.

  Kross just leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Prepare yourself.”

  Because if that was the intro… I already knew the family brunch was about to be everything but peaceful.

  We were wrapping up breakfast and my stomach was full, but the real main course had been the entertainment.

  “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Niv asked Kendrix, tilting her head like she was ready to throw hands.

  “I ain’t even doin’ nun,” he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin and shrugging with all the fake innocence of a man who absolutely did something.

  Niv sat her mimosa down. “Don’t act stupid. You let that hoe sit in your lap last night like you forgot that I’m crazy as fuck.”

  “She tripped! Slipped on the edge of the stage and just happened to land there.”

  “Oh, so she tripped?” Niv raised a brow, her voice calm but her energy was pre-charged for chaos. “Well, I must’ve slipped when I slapped her ass too, huh? My bad.”

  Kendrix chuckled, trying to act unbothered. “Here you go with the dramatics.”

  “I will be dramatic,” she said, turning fully in her chair. “If I see a bitch blink too slow in your direction again, I’ma show her what a real blackout looks like. Keep playin’ with me, baby.”

 

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