Chapter 23 Zahara #2
“Talk to me,” he said.
“About what?”
“About why you’re sitting next to me, acting like I’m a stranger when we both know better.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Zahara.” The way he said my name—full of patience and heat and something that felt dangerously close to affection—made my chest tight. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Liar.” But he said it gently. Like it was an endearment instead of an accusation. “You’ve been scared since the moment I picked you up. So tell me why. Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why are you running from me?”
“I’m not running. I’m sitting right here.”
“Physically, yeah. But everywhere else?” He shook his head. “You’re miles away.”
Prime ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and within minutes the cork was popped. “Drink. Relax. And talk to me like I’m someone you trust instead of someone you’re trying to keep at arm’s length.”
“But I don’t trust you. I don’t even know why I’m here. You just barged into my life.”
“You needed me to.”
“What makes you so sure? Why do you think I need you?” I smirked.
He slid his hand up my thigh, rubbing right outside of my pussy. “Cuz, I needed someone like you.”
I pushed his hand away, even though I desperately wanted it here. I just couldn’t shake some of the feelings I had about him. And I wasn’t in a place in my life where I could date someone.
“The lipstick,” I said quietly. “On your collar. Who was she?”
“Farah. A friend of my mentor and my interior decorator. She hugged me when we met about my penthouse. That’s it. I’m not fucking her, Zahara, never have. I’m not fucking anyone. Haven’t been interested in anyone until you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re real. Because you don’t want anything from me except for me to stay the hell away from you.
” He smiled slightly. “And because when I look at you, I see someone fighting just as hard as I am to survive. Someone who’s been through hell and came out the other side still standing. That’s rare. That’s beautiful.”
My throat tightened. “Prime—”
“I know you’re scared. I know you’ve got secrets you’re not ready to tell me. And that’s okay. I’m not asking for everything. Not yet. I’m just asking for a chance. A real one.”
I stared at our joined hands. At the contrast of his tattooed knuckles against my smooth skin. At how right it looked despite how wrong it should feel.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Okay?”
“Okay. A chance.”
From there, everything shifted. The conversation flowed easier.
The tension melted into something warmer, something charged but not threatening.
He told me about growing up with his brothers.
I told him about Yusef’s piano talent. He asked about Sweet Zin and I found myself opening up about my dreams—the commercial kitchen, the storefront, all the things I wanted to build.
And he listened. Really listened. Like every word mattered.
By the time dinner ended, I was warm all over. And it wasn’t just the wine.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he drove past my neighborhood.
“You’ll see.”
We stopped at the Lincoln Memorial. Stood at the base of those massive steps, looking up at the statue illuminated in golden light.
“You ever been here before?” he asked.
“Once. Years ago. Before…” I stopped myself. Before I came to DC running. Before I became someone else.
“Before what?”
“Before life got complicated.”
He turned to face me, his hands settling on my waist, pulling me closer. The heat from his body radiated through my clothes, making me hyperaware of every point of contact.
“Life’s always complicated,” he said, his voice dropping low, dangerous. “Question is whether you want to face it alone or not.”
I looked up at him. At this man who’d saved my life, who brought me groceries, who made my son smile, who looked at me like I was something he intended to keep whether I was ready or not.
“Prime…”
He didn’t let me finish. Just slid one hand into my hair, tilting my head back, and claimed my mouth with his.
No hesitation. No asking. Just pure, dominant possession.
His lips were firm, demanding, moving over mine with a hunger that made my knees weak. I gasped against his mouth and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping in, tasting me, claiming me, marking me as his in a way that should have terrified me but instead made heat pool low in my belly.
My hands came up to his chest. Whether to push him away or pull him closer, I didn’t know. But the moment I felt the hard muscle beneath his shirt, felt his heart pounding as hard as mine, I grabbed his shirt and held on.
The kiss deepened. His other hand slid down to the small of my back, pressing me against him so I could feel every hard plane of his body. Feel exactly what I was doing to him.
God, the man could kiss. It wasn’t tentative or testing. It was consuming. All-encompassing. Like he was pouring everything he felt into this one connection and demanding I feel it too.
When his phone buzzed against my hip, neither of us stopped. He kissed me harder, like he could make the outside world disappear through sheer force of will.
It buzzed again. And again. And again.
He growled against my mouth. Frustrated, possessive. But he didn’t pull away. Just shifted the angle, kissing me deeper, one hand fisting in my hair while the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.
The phone wouldn’t stop. Buzz after buzz after relentless buzz.
“Prime,” I managed to gasp out when he finally let me breathe. “Your phone.”
“Don’t care.” He went for my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point in a way that made me moan.
“Someone needs you.”
“I’m exactly where I need to be.” His mouth traveled lower, to the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder.
Three more buzzes in rapid succession.
I pushed lightly at his chest, even though every part of me was screaming to let him keep going. “Check it. Please.”
He pulled back with a curse, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving. For a moment he just stared at me. Looking at my kiss-swollen lips, my flushed face, the rapid rise and fall of my chest. Like he was memorizing the sight of me coming undone for him.
Then he yanked out his phone, his jaw clenching as he looked at the screen.
“Serenity.” He said it like a curse.
I took a step back, trying to steady my breathing, trying to rebuild the walls he’d just demolished with a single kiss. My lips still tingled. My body still ached for his.
He caught the movement. Saw me retreating. His expression shifted. Hardened.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t pull away from me.”
“I’m not…”
“Zahara.” He caught my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“That was my sister blowing up my phone. My baby sister, Serenity. Not a girlfriend. Not a side piece. Not anyone you need to worry about.” His grip tightened slightly.
“You’re the only woman I want. The only woman I’m thinking about. You understand me?”
The authority in his voice, the absolute certainty, it did something to me. Made me want to believe him even though every instinct screamed that men like him didn’t stay. Couldn’t be trusted. Would leave eventually.
“I understand,” I whispered.
“Good.” He released my chin but didn’t step back. “Now I need to answer this before she loses her mind.”
He hit the call button, his free hand still resting possessively on my hip.
“Ren? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I could hear that she was crying. Sobbing actually. Tears that came from somewhere deep and broken.
Prime’s whole body went rigid. His hand on my hip tightened. Protective. Violent.
“Where are you?” His voice was deadly calm. The kind of calm that meant someone was about to have a very bad night. “Stay there. I’m coming.”
He hung up and looked at me, conflict written all over his face for just a second before the alpha mask slammed back into place.
“I need to go,” he said. Not asking. Just stating fact.
“I need to get home to Yusef anyway.”
“Tomorrow,” he said, already pulling me back toward the car. “I’ll pick up Yusef after school. Take him to the gym. And then I’m coming back for you. We’re finishing this conversation.”
It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t a suggestion. It was a promise. A command.
And God help me, I wanted him to keep it.
The drive back was silent but charged. Electric. His hand rested on my thigh the entire way. Possessive, claiming, reminding me that even though we were interrupted, he wasn’t done with me.
Not even close.
He pulled up in front of my building and turned to face me, his hand sliding from my thigh to cup the back of my neck.
“One more thing,” he said.
Before I could ask what, he kissed me again.
Hard. Consuming. A brand that said mine even though we both knew this was complicated and dangerous and probably a terrible idea.
His tongue swept into my mouth, taking, claiming, leaving no doubt about what he wanted. What he intended to have.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His thumb traced my bottom lip, now swollen from his kisses.
“Tomorrow,” he said again, his voice rough with promise. “Don’t make plans.”
Then he released me before I could respond. Before I could argue or question or overthink.
I got out of the car on shaking legs and somehow made it to my door. Turned back to see him still watching me. Waiting to make sure I got inside safe even though his sister was falling apart and needed him.
The look in his eyes promised that next time, there would be no interruptions.
Next time, he was taking everything.
And I wasn’t sure I had the strength to stop him.
Or if I even wanted to.