After the meeting, I slipped away with Drake. My hands were still trembling from the idea of my own heartbeat stopping. His, too, if something went wrong. And our kids… I couldn’t think about that.
Drake followed me into our room silently, like a shadow. When I turned to say something, he closed the distance and kissed me—hard.
It wasn’t passion. It was desperation. It was a prayer in the form of touch.
He didn’t undress me gently this time. His hands were quick, reverent and rushed, needing to feel me, see me, claim me before the next wave of chaos crashed over us.
We stumbled into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind us. I turned on the shower, too wired to wait. Steam filled the space instantly as Drake pressed me against the wall, mouth hot and demanding on my throat.
I moan
