And for DK, the cost was higher because his family had walked through that fire with him.
He’d let the mask fall away and trusted me with the darkest part of his soul. That right there makes me feel safer than a thousand security details ever could.
Slowly, he pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes behind the lenses are bloodshot, his face is damp. I can already see his mind working to pull himself together.
“Luna.” He clears his throat and brushes a tear from my cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to... meltdown on you.”
“That wasn’t a meltdown.” I keep my arms around him, letting him know he’s more than a systemic collapse. “It was real. And honest. The sexiest thing you’ve ever shown me.”
A ghost of a smile answers mine. “That was sexy?”
“Very. You let me see the man behind the structure. All of you. That’s what I wanted.”
He kisses me then—sweet and tender—before taking my hand and pulling us to our feet.
“Maybe this is the wrong time to say this.” He looks in my eyes, his gaze open and hopeful. “But I’m going to anyway. I’m falling in love with you, Luna.”
My breath catches, my response coming easy. “I’m falling in love with you.”
He blinks, questioning it. “You don’t have to?—
“DK, I don’t use that word lightly. I’m surprised by it, too. Not the feelings, but allowing myself to have them. This is not me reacting to an emotional moment. It’s me not blocking my heart anymore. He doesn’t get that kind of power.”
His whole expression shifts, a surge of energy replacing the uncertainty of moments ago. He lifts me off my feet and kisses me again—this time it’s fiercely possessive. I wrap my legs around him, his hands gripping under my thighs as we lose ourselves… until a lake seiche wave crashes in, knocking us off balance. We go down laughing, the water swallowing us. DK snatches his glasses just before the tide steals them and goes right back to kissing me.
We spend the next hour on the beach, swimming and playing. I love seeing him this relaxed. Around noon, we brushoff sand and let the sun dry us before heading back to the house. We shower and laze the afternoon away.
After lunch, he’s sprawled on the oversized sofa with a cooling charcoal mask tightening on his face, looking utterly ridiculous and incredibly handsome at the same time. On the screen, NeNe is in the middle of a classic showdown, and DK is leaning into the madness.
“Watching these women throw shade is like a masterclass in psychological warfare,” he muses.
“Right?” I say, my grin testing the mask. To see this high-powered strategist analyze the Atlanta housewives is something I didn’t know I needed.
When our faces are clear and glowing, I settle back on the couch. DK pulls me back until I’m cradled between his legs. He traces the line of my neck, and the playfulness in the room fades, replaced by a heated awareness. He might have been vulnerable on that beach, but the virile man holding me now is the same one that claimed me last night.
“You’ve been taking very good care of me, Luna.” His voice drops into that low, gravelly register. “But I think I’m officially relaxed enough.”
I turn, looking up into eyes that are dark with a very specific intent.
“So,” I whisper, my core already clenching. “You wanna see my toys?”
“Oh yeah.” He flips me onto my back, letting me feel the hard evidence of his desire. “What’s on today’s menu?”
“You’ll see,” I play it coy. My pulse is pounding, but I’m steady in my skin, ready to hand him the reins and let him take us as far as we want to go. “Give me ten minutes,” I say. “Then come find me.”
As I get ready, I can picture DK downstairs, pacing the living room, tracking the seconds. I go for all black and shake out my curls, leaving them loose, frizzy, and wild. I spritz on fragrance, then grab my toy bag. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I lay out a curated spread for him to choose from—leather, steel, and silicone.
When my phone timer hits zero, I hear his hurried tread on the stairs. A slow, wicked grin touches my lips.
He knocks.
“Come in,” I call, turning from my reflection to watch him walk through the door.
He enters. Freezes. Wide shoulders and delicious thickness fill the frame. He’s got that substantial, big-man power that’s less about size and more about presence. The kind that brings out my feminine energy.
“Hi,” I say, leaning against the dresser, crossing one leg in front of the other.
He doesn’t say anything at first—just breathes, heavy and ragged, making my skin tingle. Behind his glasses, his eyes drag over every inch of me from my hair to the tips of my shoes, and back up, clocking each detail. The stockings that stop at my thighs. The six-inch stilettos. The pearl opening of my crotchless thong frames me in front, while the mirror reveals the strand behind, notched between my cheeks.
