I see the bottle of pills in his hand. “Did you take one?”
“No.” His sigh is so heavy it seems to deflate his whole frame. “It’s a crutch, Luna. How will I ever get free of it if I rely on pills all the time?”
“You don’t always, but sometimes you need them, and that’s okay.”
“It doesn’t feel okay not to be able to get to sleep on my own. It’s an endless loop. A fucking broken record.”
His exhaustion and frustration are warring against each other in a fight he won’t win tonight. I uncurl his stiff fingers from around the bottle and set it aside to take his hand in mine. “Come back to bed. You don’t have to sleep, but you don’t have to be over here in the dark by yourself either.”
He stands up with me and lets himself lean a little. I climb into bed first. Not giving DK a chance to go around to his side, I pull him down, wrapping myself around him, my arms and legs cradling his shoulders and hips. I run my fingers over his shoulder blades and up the back of his neck, my thumbs pressing into the tight, knotted muscles where he carries his stress.
“Let your mind go,” I murmur, slipping off his durag. “Just focus on how this feels.”
DK exhales a soft groan, his eyes closing, his body sinking deeper into the mattress—and into me.
Moving steadily, I use the pads of my fingers to knead the tension away, tracing the edge of his hairline toward his ear. I take my time, gently rubbing the sensitive spot behind his earlobe, feeling his breath sigh against my chest, the only sound in the room.
I shift my hand higher, my fingers weaving through his hair, massaging his scalp. I make slow, circular motions, working from the base of his skull up to the crown and back again, feeling the dense strands beneath my fingertips.
His forehead rests against my collarbone, his cheek on my breasts. I hear his breaths finally slowing, the jagged edgessmoothing out to match my own. When my fingers pause for a moment, his arms tighten around my waist—a silent appeal to keep going.
I smile into the dark. It’s a quiet kind of trust that lets him share the weight with me—at least for a little while. I trace the shell of his ear before returning to the roots of his hair, my fingertips staying there until his breath deepens into the heavy pull of sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DK
Iwake up alone. The first thing I notice is the silence. Not the ringing, pressurized hum of 3:00 a.m. I’m on my back, the sun filtering through the opaque curtains in muted rays of pale, buttery light. I don’t feel the brittle grind of exhaustion. A reminder that I hadn’t taken anything to help me sleep. It had been Luna.
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 theNew York Timescrosswords 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.
