Chapter Nineteen Xalori Carson
I woke up to the weight of his arm slung heavy across my waist, and the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against my back — like my body had finally found a rhythm it could breathe in.
For a split second, it felt good. Too good.
The kind of good that used to scare the hell out of me. The kind of good that made me brace for the fall.
But the fall never came.
This time, something was different. It wasn’t just the way his arm stayed locked around me, or the way I could still taste him on my lips from the night before, or how the sheets smelled like him and me tangled together. It was heavier and deeper than that.
It was the weight of his trust.
The memory of his voice echoed in the back of my mind — low, rough, deadly serious — telling me he was putting Ginger in my name. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Like handing over custody of his daughter was as simple as handing me a cup of coffee.
But I knew better. That shit wasn’t simple.
It was huge. Bigger than anything I’d ever had to hold before. Bigger than my grief, bigger than the guilt I still carried around like a second skin. Bigger than the baby growing inside me.
Because it meant Eason didn’t just love me. He trusted me. With his world. With his blood. He saw me as more than the woman who held his heart, more than the mother of his next child. He saw me as family.
And maybe, for the first time in a long damn time, I wanted to believe I was.
This wasn’t survival anymore. It wasn’t just surviving another day without drowning. It was something else. Something more dangerous. Something closer to peace.
And I didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.
“You just gon’ lay your stink mouth ass there and keep actin’ like you sleep?” Eason mumbled, his lips brushing the back of my head like they belonged there.
I chuckled, low and slow, before turning around in his arms, facing the man who somehow made this hell of a life feel like home.
He didn’t even loosen his hold. He just shifted enough for our foreheads to touch, like even space wasn’t an option.
Every morning in this bed still felt like a fuckin’ dream I was waiting to wake up from. Like the life I swore I didn’t deserve somehow wrapped itself around me in the form of this man and refused to let me go.
“My breath don’t stink,” I whispered, rolling my eyes even as a smile tugged at my lips. “And I thought you were sleep.”
His nose wrinkled. “Nah, babe… that shit humming. Soon as I felt your breathing shift, I was up. Can’t sleep when you not pressed against me.”
I tried to pull back, tried to act like I wasn’t melting inside. “That’s creepy as hell. But fitting for you, I guess.”
“Nah. What’s creepy,” he murmured, his brows furrowing like I’d truly offended him, “is you tryna sneak out this bed without kissing me first. What kinda backwards shit is that, Muffin?”
I smirked. “Didn’t you just say my breath stink? Let me brush my damn teeth first—”
Before I could move, he snatched me closer, crashing his mouth into mine. Not a soft kiss. Not a gentle peck. But a deep, unrelenting, breath-stealing, and soul-snatching kiss that left no room for misunderstanding.
His tongue slid past my lips like he owned every inch of me, like he wasn’t just kissing me, he was branding me.
By the time he finally pulled back, his forehead dropped against mine again, both of us breathing heavy as hell.
“Funky ass breath and all,” he murmured, voice thick and low, “my body still craves you. Don’t you ever get out this bed without feeding me first. Might fuck around and die if you not my first taste of the day.”
I laughed, breathless, shaking my head. “You so extra.”
He grinned slow and wicked, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
“You lucky I love your crazy ass,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could catch them.
The moment I said it everything in the room went still.
My body tensed. My heart stuttered against my ribs.
Those three words just hung there between us, thick and raw, daring either of us to move first.
I hadn’t planned to say it. Hadn’t even let myself think it too long. But they came out anyway.
And when Eason’s eyes darkened with something fierce — something that looked a whole lot like reverence — I knew he felt it too.
He didn’t say shit right away. Didn’t smirk.
Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t call me dramatic or brush it off like men usually do when they hear something they ain’t ready to feel.
He just looked at me like he was seeing my soul blink for the first time. Like those words had stitched themselves into his chest and settled right behind his ribs.
“You said that shit too easy,” he muttered after a beat, his voice low.
I started to pull back, play it off and say never mind, but he wasn’t having that shit.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me steady. Holding me like I was something fragile he was finally allowed to protect.
“I mean it,” I whispered, the words dragging over the edge of my tongue like broken glass.
His eyes flickered with something soft, dangerous, and full of heat.
“Say it again.”
“Eason…”
“Nah,” he murmured, dragging his thumb across my jaw.
“You said it. Now say it again, Muffin. For me.”
My chest rose and fell on a shaky breath.
And when I whispered it the second time, it didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like betrayal. It felt right. Like Aaliyah was giving me permission to live.
“I love you,” I breathed.
Eason groaned low in his throat, like the words punched him straight in the stomach.
Then his mouth was on mine again—gentler this time, slower, deeper. Like he wanted to savor the taste of hearing me finally say what he already knew.
“I been in love with you,” he rasped against my lips, his hand sliding down to my hip, gripping me like he couldn’t breathe unless I was under him.
“You had me fucked up since the moment you stepped into that emergency room with our son.”
I laughed, breathless. “You didn’t even know me then. I honestly thought you were some creepy ass, cocky nigga who just wanted to fuck.”
“And now look at me,” he muttered, kissing a trail down my neck.
“Trapped in love with a stubborn ass woman who talk too damn much and don’t listen for shit.”
His voice was teasing, but the way his arms wrapped around me—tight and unrelenting—told me exactly how serious he was. Told me he wasn’t going nowhere. Told me he was mine just as much as I was his.
I laughed again, louder this time, the sound spilling from my throat before I could catch it. Something about mornings with him made my heart feel full and light, like all the darkness I’d carried was finally making room for something softer. Something permanent.
“I ain’t stubborn,” I whispered, carding my fingers through his dreads. “I’m just not easy to convince.”
“You a goddamn nightmare, Muffin,” he grinned against my skin, “but you mine.”
And the way he said that didn’t feel like a line. It felt like a scripture. Like a vow etched into the marrow of my bones.
Eason moved slow as hell, like he had all day to worship me and maybe he did.
His hands traced every inch of my body like he was mapping me out for the thousandth time.
Touching me like he knew he’d never get tired of memorizing me.
Like the curves of my body, the heat of my skin, the sound of my breath catching beneath his lips were his to learn forever.
His hand slid between my thighs, knuckles grazing sensitive skin that throbbed for him before he even made it there.
“You wet for me already.” He growled, voice rough as gravel as he stared down at me, wild and unhinged.
“You just told me you love me, and your pussy tryna prove it.”
“Shut up,” I whispered, even as my hips tilted into his hand.
“Nah,” he rasped, sliding two fingers through the slick heat of me, slow and deliberate, “you gon’ feel this love too, baby. From the inside.”
I moaned, my head tipping back, toes curling as he touched me like a prayer.
But then he was pulling away, gripping my thighs, spreading me wide open like he needed the full view.
“Look at me,” he ordered, deep voice dipping into something darker. “I wanna see your face when I slide inside you.”
And when he did—slow, thick, and deep—my whole damn soul screamed. My eyes slammed shut, jaw going slack as the stretch of him filled every inch of me.
“You feel that?” He groaned, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, sweat beading on his skin.
“That’s what love feel like.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on as he started to move.
Deep strokes.
Slow strokes.
Every drag of his hips, making a promise that I’d never be alone again. That I’d never carry pain by myself again. That I’d never question my place in a man’s life again.
He kissed my collarbone. My shoulder. My mouth. And I kissed him back like I was starving.
Because maybe I was. Starving for comfort. For peace. For something real. And Eason fed all of that and more.
When I came, it was with a cry I didn’t even recognize—half pain, half praise. And when he followed, burying himself so deep inside me, I swore he touched my soul, I felt every ounce of his love, sealing into my bones like armor.
Afterward, we didn’t say a word. He just held me. And for the first time in a long time, I let him. Because love didn’t scare me anymore. Not with him. Not in this bed. Not in this life we were building—together.