Page 13 of Before I Should Leave
Diesel had leaned back into the pillows, arms folded behind his head, his tattooed chest and arms on full display. His body took up space, but his energy? Calm. Centered. I curled my legs beneath me, robe still tied but loose now like I’d stopped trying to protect anything hours ago.
“So who’s one of your favorite artists?”
he asked, eyes on me but relaxed.
“I have a few.”
“Pick one.”
I hesitated.
“Jamie Foxx.”
He raised a brow, clearly impressed.
“That Unpredictable album changed my life.”
I smiled.
“Exactly. Dj Play a Love Song? Whewwww.”
“Talk about a slow jam with a damn chokehold on your soul.”
I laughed, soft and free.
“And don’t even get me started on Warm Bed. That song is sex.”
He smirked.
“That song is lit.”
We both laughed then, and something light and easy passed between us. It felt like we’d known each other longer than the hours said we had. “Alright,”
I said, sipping from another small bottle of tequila. I’d lost count of how many.
“Movie question. What’s a lovey dovey film you could watch over and over and never get tired of?”
“Love Jones,”
he said immediately.
“No hesitation.”
I grinned.
“Okay, yesss.”
“I still be mad every time her ass get on that damn train.”
“She had to go!”
“But she coulda told that man where she stood!”
I giggled into the back of my hand.
“You’re really passionate about that.”
He looked at me, calm and low.
“That was the first movie that made me… wanna love somebody out loud.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t say anything, but I leaned a little closer. Diesel noticed, and the air in the room thickened. My breath slowed. His gaze dropped to my mouth for a half-second, then back to my eyes.
“You keep looking at me like that,”
I whispered.
“and I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”
He sat up a little straighter, his tone matching mine.
“Then don’t.”
I didn’t.
I leaned in, slowly.
This time, I kissed him.
His lips met mine warm and sure.
He let me take the lead, let me pour into the kiss all the heat I’d been holding back.
But then his hand found my waist, and the gentleness in his grip made my whole body tremble.
It deepened.
The kind of kiss that promised more than sex.
The kind that said I see you.
He kissed me until my fingers were gripping his broad shoulders, until I exhaled into him like a secret.
When we finally parted, I kept my eyes closed for a moment too long.
And when I opened them, he was watching me.
Brows low.
Lips parted just slightly.
His hand moved from my waist to my thigh, big and warm and steady but not rushing a thing.
He let the silence sit.
Then, in the softest, deepest tone I’d heard from him all night, he asked.
“Can a nigga hold you while you sleep?”
God.
There it was.
That thuggish, quiet tenderness.
That voice like crushed velvet.
That sentence made my thighs clench and my heart melt at the same time. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
We slid under the covers with me still in my robe, still warm and pulsing with too many feelings.
He reached for me gently and pulled me into his chest.
And just like that—his arms wrapped around me, one under my neck, the other over my waist—I exhaled in full.
No weight on my shoulders.
No guard on my mouth.
No pressure to be anything but me.
His lips pressed to my hair once.
No more words. The storm still moved outside. But inside that bed? I’d never felt safer.