Chapter 16 Like Gravity
Like Gravity
Sabrina
The second the question leaves my mouth, I regret it.
I can feel the nerves twist low in my stomach, my fingers tightening in his hand as I mentally kick myself for even asking.
Why me? Why now?
I know better.
Questions like that never end well. Not when the marriage isn’t real. Not when we’ve both already agreed it’s temporary.
Langston closes his eyes for a moment, breathes in deeply like he’s trying to find the right words—or maybe the least painful ones. When he opens them again, he looks off into the distance, voice steady but heavy.
“Combining our families’ businesses made sense,” he starts, tone all business now.
“With your family’s shipping and transport company, we’ll be able to move product more freely—discreetly—across more territories.
And the Kensingtons will get the financial backing they’ve wanted for expansion, along with the reputation boost that comes from being tied to the Blackwell name. ”
Every word slices deeper than the last.
Of course. It’s all business.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my face neutral, but I can feel it—the crack forming somewhere deep inside me.
I thought… maybe these last few days meant something. The tacos, the garden, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
I thought maybe he saw me.
Not just a name on a deal.
Not just another transaction.
I stare at him, and for a second, I wish I could take the question back. Pretend I never asked. Pretend this ache in my chest doesn’t exist.
But then Langston turns to me.
His hand comes up—gentle, deliberate—as he takes my face between his palms. His thumbs trace just beneath my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“But,” he says, voice low now, raw. “That’s not why I chose you.”
My heart stutters.
“I chose you because I’ve wanted you since the first night I saw you at the Reserve,” he admits. “Before I even knew who you were. I kept telling myself it was bad timing. That I had obligations. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
He shakes his head, a hint of frustration there—at himself, not me.
“I even thought about walking away from everything—deals, plans, my father’s approval—just to know your name. Just to talk to you.”
His words steal the air from my lungs.
He leans closer, his forehead brushing mine. “I don’t know what this thing is between us, Sabrina. But I feel it. Like gravity. Like a pull I can’t fight. And I hope someday… you’ll feel it too.”
I close my eyes, because if I look at him any longer, I’ll break completely.
But I can’t lie to him either. Not now. Not when the truth is pressing so hard against my ribs it hurts.
“I already do,” I whisper.
Langston freezes.
And then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss starts slow—like he’s giving me a chance to pull away—but the second I don’t, everything shifts. His hands slide into my hair, his body pressing closer, the heat between us sparking to life. The world around us fades until there’s nothing left but him.
His mouth trails down my throat, tasting, claiming, worshipping. I can barely breathe, barely think. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my fingers clutching his shoulders as he carries me back through the house—through the soft glow of lights, up the stairs, down the hall—until we reach the bedroom.
He still tastes just as sweet as whatever he had been drinking, and he moans into my mouth. I answer in whimper as I ground my pussy against his cock. It's throbbing, desperate to slide inside me.
His lips never leave my skin.
And when my back finally hits the bed, I realize the one thing that scares me most.
This isn’t supposed to feel like falling.
But it does.
His hands move over me like he’s memorizing something sacred.
Every touch deliberate. Worshipful.
My skin feels too tight for my body, heat pooling everywhere he’s already been and everywhere he hasn’t.
He leans in close, his breath a rough whisper against my ear.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and trembling at the edges. “I touch you, and it’s like I forget how to breathe.”
His thumb slides over my collarbone, slow, reverent. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, the words half-broken, like he’s confessing a secret. “Every inch of you. Every sound. I want to know them all.”
When I shiver, he smiles against my throat—as a soft, hungry sound escapes his mouth.
“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s me trying to remember that you deserve slow. That you deserve to be looked at like this.”
I can’t speak. I can barely move.
His lips find the space just beneath my ear. “Mine,” he breathes, and the word sends a ripple through me.
Langston pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and full of want. “You make me want things I never thought I’d need. You make me want to lose control.”
He drags a knuckle down my jaw, gentle and rough all at once.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, but he’s already memorizing the rhythm of my breath, the way I tremble when he speaks. “Because I swear, sweetheart… the second you say stop, I will.”
He presses his forehead to mine, voice breaking in a quiet confession. “But until you do, I’m going to show you what it means to be wanted. Really wanted.”
His mouth hovers just above mine, voice rough enough to scrape against every nerve.
“Do you have any idea what it does to me when you look at me like that?” he murmurs, his breath ghosting across my lips. “Every time you bite that lip, every time you blush, I start thinking about all the ways I could make you forget your own name.”
He drags his thumb over my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “You’re shaking,” he whispers. “Is it because you’re scared… or because you know I’d give you everything you’ve been afraid to ask for?”
My heart stumbles against my ribs. I can’t answer him. I don’t think I could form words even if I wanted to.
Langston’s lips find my jaw, the corner of my mouth, the hollow of my throat—each kiss a promise and a warning. “You make me lose focus,” he murmurs between kisses.
His hand slides to my hip, tracing the edge of my dress like he’s memorizing the shape of me. “Every inch of you, sweetheart… I could spend a lifetime learning you.”
The words alone make my pulse flutter.
Then his tone shifts—lower, softer, but heavy with intent. “Tell me what you want.”
I shake my head, breathless.
He chuckles, dark and low. “That’s all right. I’ll learn your answers one touch at a time.”
His hand glides down, slow enough to make me tremble, and before I can stop the sound from escaping, it’s already out—quiet and broken.
I can’t move. I can’t think.
When he finally pushes his hand against my panties my back arches and I moan. The air between us feels charged, alive.
He pushes hard against my core as I moan and whimper under him and he hasn't even touched me yet.
He removes his hand and trails it down my legs and then back up.
He runs his hand down my stomach and slips it into my panties. The first brush of his rough fingertip against my clit makes me gasp and arch against him.