Page 30 of Love Letters from a Libra
Afterward, I collapsed on his chest with him still inside me. Jules held me against his chest, my head tucked under his chin, our legs tangled together on my small couch. His heartbeat gradually slowed beneath my ear.
Eventually, we moved to my bedroom, the sheets cool against our heated skin. We went in for another round of pleasure.
He fell asleep first. Mama Tilda always said if a man went to sleep first, he was at peace around you. I was struck by how perfectly he fit in my bed, in my space, alongside the ecosystem of my plants, books, and crystals that made up my world.
I watched him sleep, tracing his profile with my eyes rather than my fingers, afraid to wake him.What happens when I fall too fast for someone who doesn’t know how to stay?
I knew this feeling, this rushing, this falling sensation that came with a new connection. I felt it before, only to watch it crash and burn when reality set in. The other person couldn’t match my depth or fled from my intensity when they saw the real me beneath the balanced exterior Jules so accurately named.
I pushed the fear away, focusing instead on the present moment, the weight of his arms across my waist, his breathing, and the way my bed no longer felt too big with him in it.
Tomorrow would bring what it brought, questions would need answers, and patterns would either be repeated or broken. But tonight, I’d allow myself to believe in timing and fated connections and all the things I wrote about for others but rarely experienced myself. Tonight, I’d choose to trust, and maybe the stars had finally aligned in my favor.
I curled against him, fitting my body to his like puzzle pieces designed to connect, and allowed sleep to claim me. Dreams waiting on the other side that, for once, might be less vivid than my waking reality.
Notes app– Her place looks lived in on purpose. Comfortable. I didn’t want to leave. That’s new.
This wasn’tthe first time I’d spent the night with a woman, but it might be the first time I felt this peculiar sense of rightness the morning after. Usually, I was planning my exit strategy, mentally reclaiming my solitude. Still, now, watching Zanaa steep tea with the same focus I brought to my security protocols. I felt something take root, a desire to stay and integrate into her mornings rather than retreat to my own.
Last night replayed in my mind, her body moving with mine, the way she arched against me, and how she cried out my name like it was something sacred. It wasn’t just the physical connection that had undone me. It was the way she looked at me afterward, like she was seeing all of me, not just the parts I curated for display, but the shadows, too, and instead of turning away, she drew closer.
“Morning, Moon Man.” Zanaa’s voice startled me from my thoughts. She was in front of me, handing me a mug.
I took the mug, our fingers touching in a way that shouldn’t have felt significant, but somehow, it did. “Moon Man?”
“Mm-hmm. You have a gravitational pull like the moon on the tides.”
The name settled into my chest, warming me even more than the hot tea I was drinking. It was intimate in a way that made my breath catch. Not because it was particularly romantic, but because it suggested she’d been watching me too.
“I like watching you move through your space. Everything here feels intentional,” I admitted, surprising myself with honesty.
Zanaa smiled, reaching up to brush a loc back from my face. Her touch was confident. “That’s high praise coming from Mr. Everything-in-its-place.”
I followed her back to bed, where we sat cross-legged, facing each other, mugs cradled in our hands. The sheets were pooled around her waist, and her skin was golden in the morning light.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asked, studying my face.
“Better than I had in a while,” I answered truthfully. I felt peace, waking up in this chaotic space that should’ve made my orderly soul wince. Bigger than any security breach I’d ever encountered because it suggested that what I’d been seeking through control and precision might actually be foundin surrender. In the messiness of connection and allowing someone else’s system to overlay my own.
I’d been a rock for troubled women before. I knew exactly how to hold onto someone who was falling apart, how to be the steady center to someone else’s storm, but this being chosen by someone who didn’t need saving was uncharted territory.
Zanaa leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek, lingering just long enough for me to catch her scent again. “You’re thinking very loudly,” she murmured against my skin.
“Just processing,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
I set the mug down on her nightstand, aware that my body was already shifting, tensing subtly as self-preservation kicked in. My shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly. My breathing became more measured, and the vulnerability of the night before slid behind a familiar mask of calm capability.
“I should probably get going. I’m meeting my sister for lunch,” I noted, glancing at the clock.
It wasn’t a lie. I did have plans with Amir today, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. The real truth was, I needed space to process what was happening between us, to rebuild the walls that the one night in her bed had already begun to erode.
I nodded. There was no disappointment or suspicion visible in her expression. “Tell her I said hi, even though we’ve never met,” she said with a smile that suggested she saw through me but chose not to press the issue.
That was another thing that frightened me. She didn’t grasp or cling, didn’t try to extract promises or extensions. She simply accepted making space for my retreat without making me feel guilty. It was so different from what I was used to. I didn’t quite know how to navigate it.
As I gathered my belongings, I slipped on my shirt and checked for my keys and wallet. I felt her watching me, not with anxiety or insecurity, but with a quiet attention that she broughtto everything. I wondered what she saw in my movements, what my body was saying, and what my words were avoiding.
“I’ll text you later,” a phrase that was used as if it were a question rather than a promise.
