Chapter 13 #3
Brent leaned in, eye to eye because of course her short ass had heels on. When his lips pressed into hers, she didn’t swoon or close her eyes desperate to savor the moment.
The kiss was soft at first. Brent tasted like good wine and mint, and for a moment, Meadow let herself sink into the familiarity of it…let herself enjoy a man wanting her without complication. His hands framed her waist, pulling her in, and she let him. She kissed him back.
Except…
Her body responded in a way her heart didn’t. Every spark she felt came from a place Brent didn’t reach. And the truth hit her like a ton of bricks, deep in the fucking gut - this wasn’t a Brent reaction. This was a Zaire reaction her body kept trying to give to the wrong man.
Brent felt the shift. They broke apart slowly, breathing the same air, but not saying a word.
He didn’t address it though. He only smiled before making sure she got into the car.
There was no need to ask silly questions with answers he already knew.
He’d put it all into perspective when he showed up at the range and saw Zaire staring holes into him.
Regardless, he liked her so until she told him to back off, he was going to keep pressing forward.
Meadow pushed her bedroom door open and didn’t even have time to relax before she noticed the shape sitting on her bed. It wasn’t threatening. It wasn’t even surprising once her brain caught up. The lamp wasn’t on, but she didn’t need the light to know exactly who that was.
Zaire sat there in the dark, elbows resting on his knees the way men do when they’ve been sitting too long with their thoughts.
His hoodie shadowed most of his face, but she felt his attention break across the room like heat.
There was a long, stretched pause before he reached for the lamp and flicked it on at the lowest setting. Warm, soft light filled the space.
Meadow stood in the doorway, holding her heels loosely in one hand with glossy eyes from one drink too many.
Zaire took his time lifting his head. When his eyes finally landed on her, there was no anger - just something deep, something weighted, something she’d felt simmering between them long before tonight.
“Where that nigga take you?” he asked, voice low but deep enough to make her body shiver in a good way.
Meadow walked inside and leaned against the dresser. “Dinner.”
Zaire nodded, confirming it for himself. He didn’t look away from her dress, her hair, the faint sheen on her lips. His gaze roamed…he was trying to memorize how she looked coming home from with someone else.
Meadow’s pulse thumped in her chest, but she didn’t shrink under his sexy gaze. She crossed her arms loosely just to keep her hands from shaking.
Zaire pushed himself up from the bed with that deliberate, controlled movement he always had, the one that suggested there was so much more energy inside him than he allowed out.
He didn’t rush toward her, but the space felt smaller anyway.
There was a moment where neither spoke, neither breathed, neither pretended they weren’t feeling exactly what they were feeling.
“You enjoyed yourself?” he asked it without softness, but without accusation either.
“I did.” Meadow pursed her lips. The words felt honest. Incomplete, but honest.
He let the admission settle in his chest. “You let that nigga kiss you?”
Meadow didn’t look away, in fact she poked her big breasts out even more. “I did.”
Zaire absorbed that without flinching. His jaw did a quiet shift, and his hands dropped to his pockets like he needed somewhere to put the tension building inside him. “And while he was doing that…you were thinkin’ ’bout me?”
He need to know like he needed oxygen.
Meadow didn’t break her gaze. Whatever held her together before loosened under the weight of his voice. “Yes.”
The word landed between them like something neither could ignore anymore.
Zaire closed the remaining distance. He didn’t touch her, just let his presence speak for him.
His eyes moved across her face slowly, lingering at her mouth, her throat, her cheek before finding her eyes again.
His voice dropped into something quieter, deeper, controlled but trembling at the edges.
“That’s why I’m in here,” he confessed. “I needed to see you standin’ in front of me after lettin’ another man put his mouth on you… knowin’ it wasn’t him you wanted.”
Meadow felt her breath change, felt it settle in her stomach. She held her ground, though, even if she felt like she was unraveling under the sound of him. “What do you want from me, Zaire?”
Instead of answering her, he reached up and moved a curl behind her ear, smoothing his thumb across her cheek with a gentleness that made her knees soften.
His hand lingered, just resting, not holding her in place, not pulling her close—just grounding her.
“I want the truth.” Those brown eyes stared into her soul.
“I want the part you tried to leave at the restaurant.”
“That is the truth.” Meadow gulped, fidgeting with her nails.
Zaire sucked in a heap of air through his nose.
His fingers slid from her cheek to her jaw, then down the side of her neck until they reached her shoulder.
He moved closer until the front of her dress brushed against his leg.
Meadow’s breath shortened as she lifted her chin just barely.
“Tell me something to stop my mind from spazzing on you,” he whispered.
She didn’t break. “Kiss me, Zaire.”
He dipped his head, brushing his lips against hers—not in a kiss, but in a question… a warning. Meadow didn’t hesitate to taste him. She closed the distance, letting her mouth find his in a smooth, deep press that felt like everything they’d been avoiding and everything they’d both needed.
This kiss felt nothing like Brent’s. Zaire kissed like hesitation wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
There was nothing rushed about this kiss.
There was no frantic tugging, no clashing hands.
Just pressure and warmth and the slow, aching realization that this was the place she’d been walking toward without noticing.
Zaire’s hand slid beneath her jaw, guiding her mouth the way a man guides something he cherishes.
Meadow’s fingers curled into the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer not because she needed him to move, but because her body needed the anchor of him.
It felt like the version of Sienna’s Spiro’s Die On This Hill, that came with fireworks and twinkling stars. The version that shifted your heart and re-routed your dreams.
She rolled her pussy forward, always in need of something thick between her folds.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm on her lips. “We gotta slow down.”
“No, we don’t.”
He laughed faintly, but got lost in her pouty eyes and swollen lips. “You keep looking me like that and I’m not offering restraint, Meadow. I’m taking it all.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Then take it…all.”
He kissed her again. This time deep enough to make her toes curl before breaking away with a rough breath, stepping back to put space where there was none.
“Go to bed,” he asserted, “before I forget why I’m trying to be careful with you.”
Meadow didn’t move. Her hand remained on his hoodie, gripping lightly. “Sometimes it’s good to forget.”
Zaire tilted his head and looked at her in a way that said she wasn’t wrong. “Goodnight,” his lip curved. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He walked out before she could take him by the hood and ruin the little restraint he had left.
And Meadow stood there, lips swollen, dress warm where he’d been pressed, knowing damn well sleep wasn’t coming for either of them tonight.
“Ugh!” She flopped back on the bed. “Just fuck me already,” she said to herself knowing Zaire was long gone.
Reaching over, she grabbed her rose, spread her legs, and dreamed of Zaire.