Page 28

LENNOX

P acking was harder than I thought it would be.

Not because I didn’t know how to do it—I’d packed for two-week work trips and international conferences with less hesitation.

It was the emotional weight. Folding sweaters felt like folding away pieces of myself I wasn’t ready to deal with.

Every shirt, every heel, every pair of jeans—somehow, they all reminded me of the night at the lake. Of everything I didn’t say soon enough.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring down at the half-filled suitcase. My heart felt like it was somewhere between my throat and my stomach.

I’d missed my window. He was engaged. And I was too late. A knock on my door broke the silence.

“Yeah?” I called out, not moving.

The door opened slowly, and Lawrence stepped in, leaning against the frame with that same skeptical big brother look he always gave me when he could tell I was about to lie and say I was fine. “You heading back tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Flight’s in the morning.”

He looked around the room, then pointed at the suitcase. “You moving slow on purpose or just emotionally paralyzed?”

I cracked a half-smile. “Somewhere in between.”

He walked in, took a seat in the chair near my window, and exhaled like he’d been saving this conversation for the right moment. “So,. . . you done pretending?”

I looked over at him. “Pretending what?”

“That everything’s cool. That you’re good. Ma said you saw some dude. Omir?”

I sighed and leaned back on my hands. “Yeah. I saw him.”

He nodded slowly. “And?”

“And I told him how I felt. Finally. After all this time.”

“Okay.” He scratched his chin. “And what’d he say?”

“That he loved me too.”

“But you’re still here packing like somebody broke your heart.”

I laughed, but it didn’t come out joyful. “Because I walked away.”

“Wait, . . . hold up,” he said, sitting forward. “He told you he loved you but then left?”

“He’s engaged. Loving me doesn’t mean he can just walk away from everything he built with her.”

Lawrence scoffed. “Sis, look. I don’t know dude, but I know men. He walked away because he wasn’t ready to deal with what you laid at his feet. Not because he doesn’t feel it. But that ain’t your fault, Lennox. You showed up. Finally. You did what you were supposed to do.”

I looked down at my hands. “I just. . . I waited too long.”

“Maybe. But maybe the timing had to break for y’all to realize what it is.”

I didn’t say anything. Because part of me was still pissed I hadn’t gotten the perfect ending. The clean resolution. The dramatic kiss in the rain moment. Instead, I got silence. And regret. And now I had to go back to Chicago and pretend none of it happened.

Lawrence stood and walked over to me. “You leaving because it’s what you want, or because you’re scared to see what happens if you stay?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, figure that out. But don’t run ’cause your feelings got hurt. That ain’t the woman you are.”

That was a week ago. Now, I was back in Chicago. Back in my element. Or at least, that was what I told myself. My calendar was jammed, inbox overflowing, and every second of every day was filled with deadlines, calls, and presentations.

It was easier to throw myself into my work than deal with the echo of his name in my head.

I sat at the head of the long glass table in the boardroom, finishing up a campaign presentation for a new client—a tech startup with a slick AI concept and zero branding. The CEO, a young black woman with a sharp bob and sharper ideas, nodded as I walked her through my strategy.

“This is exactly the energy we’re going for,” she said, clearly impressed. “I feel like your team gets us.”

“That’s what we do,” I said, smiling, even though I felt emotionally numb inside. “We help visionaries look like what they are.”

We wrapped up, shook hands, and I saw her out just as Bethany, my assistant, hovered by the door.

“Ms. Anderson?”

I looked up. “Yeah?”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

I frowned. “Do they have an appointment?”

“No.” She glanced over her shoulder. “He wouldn’t give a name. Just said it’s important.”

I blinked. “Okay. . . Send him back in five.”

“Sure thing.”

I straightened the papers on the table, tidied up, ran my fingers through my hair, and figured it was probably a walk-in trying to pitch something or complain about something. I had a million of those. But when I turned around and saw who was standing in the doorway, I forgot how to breathe.

Omir.

Tall. Clean. Heartbreakingly fine in a charcoal suit, his tie loose, shirt unbuttoned just enough to remind me how dangerous he was. He was holding a bouquet of deep red roses. Big. Bold. Dramatic. Just like this moment. His eyes found mine, and I swear the room disappeared.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. Almost unsure.

I blinked, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.”

I cleared my throat. “Come this way.” He followed me into my office. I closed the door behind him, trying to pull myself together. “What’s going on?” I asked, arms crossed. “You show up in my office out of nowhere? After everything?”

He stepped forward and held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

I hesitated, then took them. “Thanks.” I set them down and looked up at him, not trying to hide my confusion. “Why are you here?”

“I ended it with Anya.”

The words hit hard. I blinked. “Wait. You. . . what?”

“I broke it off,” he repeated. “I told her the truth. That I’ve been in love with someone else and ignoring it.”

I felt the walls I’d built around my heart tremble. “Are you serious right now?”

He stepped closer. “I should’ve said it back then. At the lake. But I was in my feelings. Pissed at you. Torn about. . . everything. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I couldn’t keep lying. Not to her. And not to myself.”

I stared at him, trying to keep it together. “So you broke off an engagement. . . for me?”

He shook his head. “ Because of you. Because I never stopped thinking about you. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw you. Lennox, you’re not easy. You’re strong, complicated, stubborn as hell, but I love you. Always will.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Omir. . .”

“I don’t expect shit to be easy. I don’t expect everything to just fall into place. This ain’t a fucking movie or urban romance book. This shit is real life. But I had to come tell you in person—I love you, Lennox. I never stopped. And I’m not letting you go again.”

Tears stung my eyes. I shook my head slowly. “I hurt you.”

“We both fucked it up. But the thing about time is, that shit always comes back around.”

My hands trembled as I walked toward him. “What happens now?”

“We figure it out. Chicago, Arbor Hills—I don’t care where we live. I care who I’m with. And that’s you.”

The tears fell before I could stop them. “I love you too,” I whispered. “God, I love you so much it scares me.”

He cupped my face with both hands, his thumbs wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Then let’s be scared together, baby.”

Without another word, he pulled me into his arms, crushing his lips against mine with a hunger that stole my breath—rough, deep, unrelenting.

I moaned into his mouth as his tongue slid against mine, hot and wet, devouring me like he’d been starving, and I was the only thing that could satisfy him.

His hands were everywhere, fisting the back of my blazer, sliding up my silk blouse, palming my breasts like he needed to memorize them all over again.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He growled against my lips, yanking the blouse open and exposing my lace bra. “I missed this shit. I missed you .”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My hand was already sliding down between us, grabbing the thick length straining through his pants. He hissed through his teeth and rocked into my palm, his cock growing impossibly harder beneath my touch.

“Shit,” he muttered, kissing me harder, more frantically, like the taste of me was the only thing keeping him sane. Then he broke the kiss just long enough to pant. “I need to taste this pussy. Now.”

I gasped as he grabbed me by the hips and lifted me onto my desk like I weighed nothing. My back hit the cool wood, my skirt hiked up to my waist, and my panties? Gone—tugged off like they offended him.

He dropped to his knees, spreading my thighs wide, and the second his mouth touched me, I damn near screamed. “Oh my God, Omir!”

He groaned as he licked me, tongue sliding between my folds with thick, wet strokes, dragging circles around my clit like he knew exactly how to wreck me. He looked up once, his mouth glistening, and said, “You taste just like I remember.”

I writhed on the desk, my legs shaking as he sucked on my clit, flicking his tongue fast, slow, then fast again, switching up just when I thought I’d figured out the rhythm. My hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. “Don’t stop. . . please, Omir. . .”

He didn’t. If anything, he went harder, groaning into me, burying his face deeper like he was trying to climb inside and stay there forever. My orgasm built fast, brutal, the kind that made my thighs lock around his head and my whole body convulse.

“Oh fuck—Omir!” I cried out, my pussy pulsing against his tongue as I came, wave after wave crashing through me. He held me down, lapping me up like he was trying to drink every drop.

When he finally stood, his mouth was slick with me, his eyes hooded and wild.

“I’ve been dreaming about that pussy,” he muttered, peeling away his clothes. His dick sprang free—thick, long, veins pulsing. I didn’t get the chance to marvel before he grabbed me by the waist and spun me around. “Bend that ass over.”

I obeyed instantly, bracing my hands on the desk as he kicked my legs apart. His fingers slid between my folds, still soaking wet.

“Is this pussy still mine?”

“Yes,” I breathed out, arching my back. “All yours.”

He didn’t need any more than that. I felt the thick head of his dick press against my entrance, then slam into me in one powerful thrust. I gasped, biting my lip as he filled me to the hilt.

“Fuck, Lennox,” he groaned, gripping my hips like he was holding on for dear life. “Still tight as fuck.”

He started to move, slow at first, deep strokes that dragged along every nerve ending, making me shudder. Then he picked up the pace, hips slapping against my ass, his balls bouncing off my clit with each thrust.

“Yesss,” I moaned, fingernails scratching up my desk. “Right there, Omir. Right there.”

“Look at you.” He grunted.

I threw my head back as he pounded into me, each stroke harder, faster, deeper. The sound of our bodies clapping echoed in the office, filthy and raw. His hand slid around and found my clit, rubbing fast circles as he fucked me, and I almost collapsed.

“Omir—I’m gonna cum again?—”

“Let go, baby. Let that shit go.”

I cried out, my pussy tightening around him like a fist, my legs trembling as my second orgasm tore through me. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop. If anything, he started to lose control—his rhythm getting rougher, his breaths coming faster.

“Where do you want it?” he growled, voice ragged. “Tell me.”

I moaned, dizzy with need. “Inside me. Fuck—inside.”

He let out a deep groan, his thrusts turning savage. “You sure?”

“Yes—please. Fill me up.”

His fingers dug into my hips as he buried himself one last time, deep and hard. He let out a low, guttural moan as he came, his dick pulsing inside me, spilling into me in thick, hot waves.

We stayed like that, bodies pressed together, chests heaving—until the storm passed. Omir leaned forward, kissing my shoulder, my neck, the side of my face. “I fucking love you,” he whispered, voice rough, hand sliding across my stomach like he was claiming every inch of me.

I turned my head, meeting his lips, tasting myself on his tongue. “I love you too.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel like I was chasing something. I felt home.