Page 27 of Atlas Uncharted

I couldn’t think, and he knew it. Knew I was right on the edge. Knew every sound, every tremble meant I was about to come undone.

“Don’t run from it,” he said, slowing down just enough to make me whimper. “Take it. Take all of me.”

I hadn’t even realized I was scooting back from him, instinct making me retreat from the intensity. He was so deep.

He pinned me in place.

“Fuck,” I whimpered, clinging to him. My legs shook. My hands were tangled in the sheets, then on his arms, trying to anchor myself.

“Let go, Kairi,” he whispered, forehead pressed to mine, sweat slick between us. “I got you. And I’m not letting up.”

And I did let go.

My orgasm hit me so hard my vision blurred.

A few minutes later we lay side by side, sheets tangled and the scent of sex hanging in the air. My eyes were fixed on the cracked ceiling as I tried to steady my breath. Davis was next to me, propped up on one elbow, staring at me like I was someone he was still trying to figure out. His fingers traced my collarbone, softly. He seemed to be mesmerized by the feel of my skin.

“Breakfast?” he asked, and it caught me off guard. Breakfast wasn’t our thing. We didn’t usually do the next morning. Didn’t do the after, just the before and the fucking. But something in the way he asked, in the way he looked at me, made me pause and think. Had I really healed from the past if I was still keeping myself from experiencing something new?

“Sure,” I said, though I wasn’t sure of anything.

Davis smiled, that crooked grin that always made me feel like he knew something I didn’t. He rolled out of bed, pulling me up with him.

“Shower?” he asked, voice raspy from sleep and sex.

We didn’t speak in the bathroom, not really.

He washed my back. I washed his chest.

Our touches were softer than I expected.

He ended up going downstairs and getting his gym bag from his car and changing into gym clothes. I wore tights and a T-shirt with my book on it.

I followed him out of my apartment. The air was cooler than I expected as we stepped into the morning.

He immediately turned on the heat once we were in his G-Wagon.

It was early enough that Harlem was still quiet, the streets not yet full, the city holding its breath. I leaned back in the passenger seat of his car, watching as he drove us, his focus on the road. He was so fucking handsome—even his side view was fine.

When he took a turn onto the bridge, taking us toward the Bronx, I asked, “Where are we going?”

He glanced over at me, that smirk playing on his lips again. “You’ll see,” he said, turning up the music. Johnnie Taylor flowed through the speakers, his voice rolling over us, followed by Mary J. Blige. It made me smile—Davis’s taste was all over the place, and I liked that about him, the way he could mix it up, keep me guessing.

He pulled up in front of a bodega that looked like it had been there forever. Davis got out, telling me he’d be back, disappearing inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I had no idea what he was up to, but there was something about the randomness of it that I liked too.

He came back with a brown paper bag, looking too pleased with himself. The car filled with the smell of eggs and bacon. He didn’t say anything as we drove back to Harlem. He finally stopped in front of a brownstone about fifteen minutes from where I lived.

“What are we doing here?”

Davis handed me the paper bag, a soft smile on his lips. “Eating. My momma makes the best bacon, egg, and cheese in the Bronx,” he said, and I could hear the pride in his voice.

“Your mother works at the bodega you took me to?” I asked, surprised.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “My family’s owned it since the ’20s,” he said, his eyes watching me closely.

I nodded, leaving the conversation where it was, it was too early to be exchanging information about family. Opening the bag and inhaling the smell I damn near moaned.

“Why eat it here though?”

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