Page 143 of Heavy Is The Crown

For the first time in a long time, Krys wasn’t thinking. She wasn’t planning, wasn’t calculating.

She was feeling.

Kenyatta made sure of that.

The world outside ceased to exist, the only thing that mattered was the way they moved together, the way their bodies spoke a language neither of them could deny. The heat, the rhythm, the give and take; it was unspoken, intense, explosive.

Musa had long since retreated to the edge of the room, his ears twitching at the occasional sound, but he stayed put. Still watching. Still aware. This definitely wasn’t danger; it was something else.

And when it was over, when the last remnants of breathless gasps and tangled limbs gave way to stillness, Krys lay sprawled across Kenyatta’s chest, her body still humming, her heart still racing.

His fingers lazily traced her spine, his other hand resting possessively on her thigh. Neither of them spoke, the weight of what had just happened settling between them.

Musa finally stretched, standing from his spot at a distance before padding over to the couch, sitting beside it with a quiet huff.

Krys turned her head, eyes locking onto the massive dog, amusement flickering through her exhaustion.

“You okay, Musa?” she murmured, her voice still breathy, teasing.

The Cane Corso let out another deep huff, his eyes assessing her before giving the closest thing to an approving grunt.

Kenyatta chuckled, his fingers tightening slightly around her hip. “You know he ain’t used to you making all that kinda noise. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t hurting you. Just making sure you was straight.”

Krys smiled softly, her fingers tracing absent patterns against his bare chest. “Well…I am.”

Kenyatta’s grin was slow, knowing. “Yeah. I know.”

She felt the dangerous realization settling into the air between them.

Shit just got real.

**********

Krys stirred beneath the smooth silk sheets, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips before she even fully woke up. The warm weight of Kenyatta beside her, his arm draped lazily over her waist, was a foreign but welcomed sensation. It had been a long time since a man had been allowed to stay the night, let alone wake up in her California king.

She stretched slightly, the soreness in all the right places reminding her just how thoroughly Kenyatta had put in work last night. A slow satiated grin tugged at her lips as she turned over, propping herself up on one elbow.

Kenyatta was knocked out.

Laid out on his stomach, the sheets barely covering his waist, his back muscles flexed even in his sleep. His face, usually so sharp and serious, was relaxed, lips slightly parted as his body rose and fell in an easy rhythm.

Krys bit her bottom lip, her fingers trailing over his back lightly, tracing the outline of his many tats along his shoulders and at his flanks. She liked seeing him like this; comfortable, unguarded, here.

The bed dipped at the foot, grabbing her attention. She glanced up to find Musa posted there like a silent guardian, his massive black frame taking up damn near half the space. He stared at Kenyatta, then at her, then back at Kenyatta again.

“Oh, now you checking on me?” Krys whispered, reaching out to scratch behind Musa’s ear.

Kenyatta groaned, shifting slightly, his voice thick with sleep. “That dog still watching me?”

Krys laughed softly. “Mmhmm. He wants to make sure you ain’t do me dirty.”

Kenyatta cracked an eye open, his lips curving into a lazy smirk. “You look like a woman who got handled last night. Bet he smell the difference.”

Krys rolled her eyes, swatting his shoulder, but she couldn’t even fake an argument.

Kenyatta chuckled, finally rolling onto his back, stretching with a deep exhale before looking around the room like he belonged there. His gaze roamed over the high ceilings, the soft natural light spilling in through the oversized windows, the expensive but cozy decor.

“You really living good in here,” he mused, running a hand over his face before resting it behind his head. “Ain’t gon’ lie, I could get used to this.”

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