Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DK
She found me in the wee hours when the D.C. brain-loop wouldn’t turn off. I could have told her then, but I wasn’t in the right shape for that conversation. I was anxious and drained, fighting myself over the meds, drowning in frustration.
Growing up, I was always independent. I learned responsibility at a young age, and I even welcomed it.
It suited my personality—serious, structured, achievement-focused.
But at some point, that all got twisted.
By college, accomplishment was a habit. By the time I started my career, it was my sole identity.
I was a prisoner to my own expectations: the man who didn’t fail, who didn’t stop, who didn’t depend on anyone.
The only times I’d let myself be cared for were by my family after I fell apart…
and by Luna last night. That worry of making her feel responsible for holding me steady was the reason I resisted it at first. I’d snapped at her for mothering me, a defensive reflex against the version of me that broke.
But stubborn, beautiful, relentless Luna wouldn’t let me go it alone.
She didn’t just anchor me—she hauled me back from the ledge, urging me to lean on her when I otherwise wouldn’t have.
I climb out of bed, surprised to find it’s already ten o’clock.
I can’t remember the last time I slept this late, or the last time my body felt this fluid.
I wash up, moving around the neat order of her things—rose-water toner, toothbrush in a holder next to mine, satin robe hanging behind the door.
I pull on board shorts and a tank top, and follow the smell of coffee, jogging down the stairs.
Luna is sitting at the island, a mug in one hand, a pen in the other.
Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling glass, illuminating the curls piled on top of her head.
She’s wearing a black tankini. The material clings to her plush curves, her soft flesh blooming from the spaces it doesn’t cover.
I want to carry her right back to bed, or better yet, just clear the counter.
But the way her face is pinched in concentration, that’s not on her mind.
I’d guess the book open on the counter is the New York Times crosswords she likes to do.
“Morning, my lady.”
She jumps slightly, looking up. Her eyes remain distracted for a second longer before they settle on me, and a smile fills her face. “Morning, boo.”
The name used with playful affection gets me every time.
“You been up long?” I ask.
“Only long enough to make coffee and find the amber honey.” Her eyes warm, clearly touched that I remembered that little detail. “Did you sleep okay?” she asks, studying me now.
“I slept great, thanks to you. I needed that.”
“I’m glad.” She climbs off the stool and approaches.
My eyes track the faint love bites, pale purple, on her collarbone and cleavage.
She’s a mayor in the running, polished and poised for the public, but here with me, she’s raw and unbridled.
Watching Luna claim her sexual desires is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
And I know we’ve barely scraped the surface.
I’m eager to see what limits she wants to explore. My dick stirs as she fills my arms.
“Somebody woke up ready.” She grins before she kisses me, tasting like sweet coffee.
“I’m always ready for you.” I lightly trace my fingertips over the bruises. “Do they hurt?”
“No.” She shivers from my touch. “They’re where you left your mark.”
“Now you’re mine.”
“Don’t get cocky,” she teases with a soft pinch to my flank, then slips away.
“More like wishful thinking.” I haul her back, my hands roving her body as I kiss the air out of her.
“Boy, you better stop.” But her eyes have that glazed look I like putting there. “Breakfast first.”
“Fair.” I smack her ass with just enough sting to make her yelp. “Need me to kiss it better?” I toss over my shoulder.
“Later.” She grins. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nope. Finish your puzzle. Eggs over easy, right?”
She quirks an eyebrow. “How do you remember all the things I like?”
“I store them up here,” I say, tapping my temple, “and on my phone for safekeeping.”
“You got a spreadsheet with my name on it?”
“Not exactly. It’s more like a running ledger.”
Her smile says she likes being the subject of my focus.
Luna puts on show tunes while I move with efficiency, grabbing eggs from the fridge and getting started on the sausages.
I know musicals come in all flavors, but whatever she’s playing is an assault on my eardrums. I live for the deep, hypnotic crawl of Amapiano.
Music that lives in the sub-woofers. This stuff lacks any semblance of chill.
It’s a frantic barrage of tinny tambourines and brassy, theatrical screeching that crowds the kitchen.
I want to plug my ears, but looking over at her bopping happily on the stool, completely lost in the candy-coated rhythm, her shoulders twitching to the beat, puts a sweet shine on the torture.
As I turn the sausages browning in the skillet, Luna glances up. “Four-letter word for desire?”
“Urge? Lust? Burn? Fire? Fuck?”
“Okayy, how’d you rattle those off so fast?”
“I have inspiration.”
That makes her grin. “The second letter is a ‘t’. Ah… itch.” She fills in the squares, then looks back up. “I have inspiration, too.”
I grin back, and the mood stays light over breakfast. And thankfully, she’s turned off the music.
“That was incredible,” she says when we’ve finished the last bite. “You’re far too good at all this.”
“All what?” I ask, bringing our empty plates to the sink.
“Being attentive. Making a woman feel like a queen. It’s giving experienced-boyfriend energy, which seems at odds with a man who claims he’s never been in a serious relationship. Why has no one ever locked this down?”
Here’s the pivotal moment. No more glossing over it. No more dodging. Just the truth.
“Because I wasn’t like this before,” I admit, rinsing the plates.
“Like what?” she asks, stacking them in the dishwasher.
“Work wasn’t just a job for me. It was my entire makeup. There wasn’t room for another person—no space to build anything real.” I glance over at her, wanting to be as transparent as the glass walls surrounding us. “If you talked to the women I dated in D.C., they’d probably tell you to run.”
“Why?” Her eyes widen.
“Because they felt like they came second. To the work. To whatever crisis was blowing up. To everything.” She doesn’t move away, but I feel the warmth between us cool as my admission unearths the ghost of Hollis, and every man who made her feel like an afterthought.
“I wasn’t a partner, Luna. I was a man who fit women, friends—even my family—into the gaps of his schedule. ”
The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the steady stream of water. I turn it off, dry my hands, then frame her face with my palms.
“That’s who I was,” I say. “It’s not who I am now.”
Luna nods, her expression thoughtful, her hands coming up to rest on my wrists.
“I get that. I’m not the same woman I was with Hollis, either.
I barely recognize her or how I let myself shrink into the version he expected of me.
His cheating was a blessing. It woke me the fuck up,” she says, her voice grounded in hard-won clarity.
“I’ve spent the last year learning how to take up space again.
How to love and respect myself. How to never settle for a man who’s less than I deserve. ”
“Yeah. You did that,” I say with admiration. It glows all around her—in her confidence, in the conviction behind every move, in the way she holds herself like she doesn’t just know her worth now… she owns it.
“You deserve a man who uplifts you. Who puts you first. Who knows you can stand on your own, but is there so you don’t always have to.
” I hold her gaze, emotion arcing between us.
“I want to be that man for you, Luna. I’m not perfect.
I’m still working through my shit. But I promise, you won’t be second to anything.
You’ll be at the center. Just give me the chance to prove it. ”
“You have nothing to prove.” Her hands cover mine. “I love how you show up for me. I love what we’re building. But you said some things about the way you were that scare me a little. I need to understand how you got from there to become the man you are now.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” I say, resolved to tell her everything and hope she can see me as the man who’s worthy of her.