Chapter 9 #2
He stood to grab a condom out of his nightstand and rolled it on.
Langston gripped his dick and pressed the head to my entrance.
I gasped as he inched inside me. Langston shuddered when he was inside.
He moved slowly at first before lifting my leg over his shoulder.
I matched his movements. I hissed in pleasure because my clit was already sensitive from my first orgasm.
He lifted my other leg over his shoulder.
Langston jiggled and slapped my ass while he pumped.
I stiffened and found my release again, whimpering in pleasure. Soon after, Langston got his. He held his body stiff as my walls pulsated around his dick.
“Aven, oh… fuck.” He groaned. He clutched my ass again, moving slowly as he released fully.
We lay there exhausted and sweaty, my head pressed to his chest, and his leg draped over my body.
Langston pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Mmhmm. That was good.”
“It was. Thank you.”
Everything about Langston was good, from his manhood to his defined arms, broad back, and thighs. His natural PH was an overindulgence.
Afterward, I found the outline of a scar on his shoulder.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“Security job gone bad. A dickhead pulled a knife on me when we caught him breaking into a client’s home,” he replied, his voice still rough.
I frowned, suddenly confronted with the reality of the dangers in his chosen profession. “Does that happen often?”
“No. It was years ago before I had a team. Now I mostly stay behind a desk,” he assured me, pulling me closer against his chest.
He buried his face in my hair. The vulnerability from the security room remained but had now transformed into something warmer and more intimate.
There were so many things to figure out, and conversations to be had. Still, for now, his arms around me was enough.
Disoriented from the morning light, I blinked slowly as memories of last night flooded back.
From Langston’s confession in the security room to the way my body ached pleasantly, muscles used in ways they hadn’t been in longer than I cared to admit.
I turned my head to find Langston still asleep beside me.
His face was relaxed in a way I rarely saw when he was conscious.
His beard was slightly mussed, and one arm still draped possessively across my waist.
I allowed myself a moment to catalog the changes years had carved into his features, the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the stronger set of his jaw. He was still Langston but refined, hardened, and improved like aged whiskey compared to the raw moonshine of his youth.
A ring shattered our peaceful bubble. Langston’s eyes snapped open immediately, years of security work evident in how quickly he went from sleep to full alertness. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, glancing at the screen before answering.
“Hello?” His voice was rough with sleep but already taking on a controlled quality I’d come to recognize as his professional mask.
Even without being on speaker, I heard the woman’s voice loud and clear. “Langston, Tanya at the salon said she saw Aven Compton at your office. Is she back in town?”
I froze. His mother, Tabitha Black, had never approved of me back in high school, the “too ambitious” girl who was clearly a distraction from her son’s potential. Based on her tone, those feelings hadn’t mellowed with age.
Langston’s jaw tightened as he sat up against the headboard. “Morning to you, too, Mom.”
I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep while shamelessly eavesdropping. Langston’s fingers absently stroked my shoulder as he spoke, the gentle touch at odds with his clipped tone.
“Yes, she’s back. She’s working for me temporarily. That was fifteen years ago, Mom. We were kids.” Another pause, longer this time.
I practically heard her disapproval through the phone. Langston’s shoulders grew increasingly tense as she continued.
He listened for another moment. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later this week. No, I’m not bringing her to Sunday dinner. Jesus, Mom.” There was a final pause. “Love you, too. Gone.”
He ended the call with more force than necessary, tossing the phone onto the mattress between us. I opened my eyes with what I hoped was a convincing stretch, blinking up at him innocently.
“Morning,” I murmured, my voice still husky with sleep.
His expression softened as he looked down at me, one hand coming up to brush hair from my face. “Morning, Trouble. Sleep okay?”
“Mmm. Better than okay. Who was on the phone?” I sat up, letting the sheet fall to my waist, enjoying the way his eyes tracked my movement.
“Nobody important,” he replied, leaning in to press his lips to my bare shoulder.
Before I could call him on the blatant lie, my phone pinged with a text notification. I reached for it, really wanting to ignore the outside world for a few more hours.
The text from Raina made my stomach drop:
Raina: With a madman hunting you, it would be respectful to let me know you were safe. We need to talk.
“Shit,” I muttered, staring at the screen.
Langston peered over my shoulder, his beard tickling my skin. “Problem?”
“Raina’s pissed at me for not telling her my whereabouts since I didn’t come home last night.”
“Is that a problem? People finding out about … this?” He gestured between us, encompassing our naked bodies and the rumpled sheets.
Before answering, my phone pinged again, this time with an email notification. The subject line: Interview Confirmation: Sentinel Security Solutions.
Langston went still beside me, his body suddenly rigid. I knew his eyes were on the screen, reading the email from Adam Torres, CEO of Sentinel, Black Security’s biggest competitor in the region and Langston’s longtime rival.
“You’re interviewing with Torres?” His voice was too calm, the kind of quiet right before a thunderstorm.
My thumb moved to close the email, but it was too late. The damage was done.
“It’s just an interview. I applied weeks ago, before I started working for you,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded.
“With my direct competitor.” Langston slid out of bed, suddenly very interested in finding his pants. The easy intimacy of moments ago had vanished, replaced by the controlled, distant version of Langston I’d first encountered when I returned to town.
“It’s not about you. I need to know I have options, Langston. That I’m not only staying because of… whatever this is,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
He paused in the act of pulling on his pants, eyes meeting mine. “And what exactly is this, Aven? Because from where I’m standing, it feels pretty fucking significant.”
The rawness in his voice made my chest ache. “It is, but it doesn’t mean I can abandon my plans, my independence. I spent years running away, Langston. I need to know I’m staying for the right reasons,” I admitted, clutching the sheet to my chest like armor.
“And I’m not the right reason?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
I slid out of bed, gathering my scattered clothes from the floor, suddenly very aware of how wrinkled my dress was, how obvious it would be to anyone who saw me doing the walk of shame.
“The interview is at eleven,” I said, stepping into my panties. “It doesn’t mean I’m taking the job.”
Langston went into the bathroom.
“Do whatever you want, Aven. You always have.”
The door closing softly behind him somehow hurt more than if he’d slammed it. I finished dressing in silence, my mind racing between the lingering pleasure of last night and the anxiety about what came next.
I’d managed to make myself look somewhat presentable. “I should go,” I said, gathering my purse. “I need to shower and change before the interview.”
The silence between us had calcified into something brittle and sharp. “I’ll be at the office later if you want to talk,” he finally replied.
“I’ll call you after,” I promised instead.
Suppose I didn’t take Torres’s job if I chose Langston over a fresh start. I didn’t need him to fix me. I just needed him not to break me more.
I hesitated at the door, wanting to go back to him, kiss him, to erase the blankness from his expression. Still, something held me back, the weight of Raina’s text and his mother’s disapproval pressing down on whatever fragile thing we’d started to build.
As I left his home, my mind circled back to the way he’d looked at me last night, like I was something precious he’d thought he’d lost forever. The memory made my steps falter as I reached my car.
Was I really going to risk losing that again for a job with a man Langston clearly despised? The alternative, letting my world narrow to Langston, just us, in this town I’d been so desperate to escape terrified me in ways I couldn’t articulate even to myself.
I started my car, the decision still unsettled in my chest with anxiety about what came next. Whatever happened at this interview, one thing was clear, nothing between Langston and me would ever be simple.
At home, everyone was gone. Good. That would make getting ready easier. I jumped in the shower, praying the water would wash away my tension. When I found the right man, his power wouldn’t remove mine.
An hour later, I entered the Savoy, which made me immediately second-guess my outfit choice — a navy interview suit, the only decent one I’d managed to salvage from my pre-South America life.
Suddenly, I felt like I was in a child’s dress-up clothes compared to the sleek clientele sipping twenty-dollar cocktails at the bar.
The hostess’ assessing gaze slid over me, lingering long enough on my scuffed heels to make me stand straighter, chin lifting in the silent “try me” stance I’d perfected growing up on the Southside.
Her smile tightened as she led me to a corner booth.
“Ms. Torres will be with you shortly,” the hostess said, placing a leather-bound menu in front of me before melting away.