Page 256 of The Wright Man

I opened my mouth, then closed it. My throat felt tight. My chest too.

"I can handle this," I said, softer this time. Not a whisper, but close.

He shook his head, just once. "No. You don't have to anymore. Not with me. You never did."

I remembered my daddy's words—the day Gavin put my shit on the curb and Maleek came to collect like I'd always belonged to him. "That boy's gonna make sure you never need saving again."

And he had.

Time and time again.

But I still wasn't sure how to let go here. Wasn't sure I could.

He must've seen the wall I was trying to hold up. Because he turned fully on the couch, knees spreading wide to cage me in where I sat behind him. His hands landed on my thighs. Warm. Heavy. Grounding.

"Let me help you," he said again. "For real this time."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable—it was electric. And then he leaned forward and kissed my knee, just above where my shorts stopped. His mouth was warm, deliberate. I felt it in my spine.

"Let me help," he whispered again, this time into the inside of my thigh.

And just like that, my breathing changed.

My hands slid down his back, across the planes of muscle I knew better than my own name, and I let him shift me until I was stretched out on the couch, legs parted, his face hovering over my center. The man was methodical—meticulous—but this wasn't soft.

This was purposeful.

He had my shorts and panties off with one hand, and his mouth on me with the other. My breath hitched the second his tongue slid across my clit—slow at first, then faster when I gasped and arched into him.

"Oh my God, Maleek—"

"Shhh," he murmured against me, breath hot. "I got you."

He dragged his tongue low, lower than he'd ever gone before. He let his tongue circle her in the one place I never thought I'd let anyone go—and my knees damn near gave out.

"Oh... oh fuck," I gasped, one hand flying to his shoulder, the other clutching the braid I'd just finished.

He didn't stop.

Didn't ask.

Didn't rush.

Just teased and circled, slow and sinful, until I was squirming, breathless, babbling.

His fingers slipped inside—one, then two—curling just right, just deep enough to make me moan.

Then he went lower.

A third finger slid behind the others, teasing the place no one else had ever touched. I flinched—but not from fear. From surprise. From the way it made every nerve ending spark.

His voice was in my ear now, body curved over me, fingers working in tandem. "Let me in, Angel. All the way."

I opened up for him without hesitation. He pressed deeper—one hand on my stomach to hold me still, the other never letting up. My thighs were shaking. My mind was gone.

And then, that wicked, wicked mouth returned to my ear.

"Goddamn, Angel." He chuckled against my skin, deep and dark, voice honeyed and hoarse. "Look how you open up for me. Didn't know this was your thing."