Page 16 of Awakening
Taking a step closer. Then another. And then we were face-to-face, barely a breath between us. I could smell her, and what was once fear was morphing into arousal and adrenaline, a scent that had lodged itself deep in my brain and my dick.
“I’m not supposed to feel like this,” I said, half to myself and half to her.
Ajaih’s brow furrowed. “Like what?”
Shaking my head, eyes dropping to her lips before I could stop myself from looking at them, “Attracted.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t move away. “Why not?”
Running a hand down my face, my voice a rough whisper, “Because I’m gay.”
Ajaih looked at him, really looked, and something in her expression softened, before mischief and intrigue flashed in her eyes. “And yet here you are.” Her gaze worked its way down my body, settling at the evidence of my attraction to her.
My heart thundered, “I don’t understand it.”
“You don’t have to.” Her fingers brushed the back of my hand, featherlight. “Attraction isn’t math.”
I should’ve pulled back, though I didn’t. The heat of her skin seeping into mine. I felt it spread through my chest, my stomach, moving lower.
“I don’t want to be a complication for you,” she said, her voice trembling now, “But you make me feel… safe. Seen.”
I took another breath, then reached out to slowly tuck a curl behind her ear.
Ajaih leaned in so close that I could feel the softness of her lips without them touching. And finally, our mouths met, not with urgency, but exploration. A hesitant crash of opposites: my doubt and her fire, my confusion and her certainty. Her hands found my waist as my fingers tangled in her hair.
This kiss had opened the door for a moment where there were no labels, no identities to reconcile, just heat and a kiss that made the world outside the curtain disappear. A code white was called, interrupting the kiss that was growing more erotic by the second.
The kiss we shared had been seared into my memory, and I’d thought of it since. Internally, I was trying to understand what was going on with me. It’d been more than 20 years since I’d done anything with a woman or even had the desire to, but there was something about her that I needed to know more about. I wanted to be her safe space, her man. There was a familiar feeling that until now I’d only felt with Knox, passion—possession.
She was the kind of woman who made silence feel loud. At forty-two, she wore her years like a luxury, her beauty seasoned, deliberate, and carved by both the sky and the scars beneath it. When she arrived in the ER, she was wearing her work ID badge, identifying her as the leadflight instructor. She’d commanded cockpits and cadets with a voice smooth as jet fuel and twice as potent, but beneath that cockpit-calm exterior, something deeper stirred, something I needed to know.
Her skin held the glow of sunrises caught at 30,000 feet, kissed golden-brown by years above the clouds. Her honey-blonde curls, wild and free, defying the rigidity of her profession, a quiet rebellion she never explained. The tattoo on her collarbone was the only visible fragment of the private woman beneath the polished uniform, a symbol of a promise or a past she didn’t often share. The ink down her arm was louder, a vivid story scrawled in symbols of survival, strength, and perhaps a hint of sin. Ajaih was in control until lately, and in a world full of turbulence, Ajaih was starting to realize she might be ready to fly without a flight plan, and I’d accompany her.
Open Heart, Closed Inhibitions
I saw him the second he walked in, Nurse Maverick Carter. As if it was possible, he was finer out of the Naruto, Akatsuki scrubs I’d seen him in weeks prior. Tall, muscular, smooth as sin in his black-on-black tux with the silk pocket square that whispered wealth but screamed restraint. My fantasies had become reality as I’d been fixated on seeing his fine ass again. I asked Layanna about him casually, the days after I was released from the ER. She said he was the charge nurse of the ER; his colleagues revered him as one of the most brilliant, skilled, and kind nurses they’d ever had the pleasure of working with, even when he floated between other departments to lend his help.
“From what I hear, he’s pretty private,” Yanna went on. So he was the type who handled his personal life like a sculptor, quietly and precisely, keeping the beauty of intimacy intact, not allowing ruin to seep in by leaving the door open, which was perfect for me, I thought.
I wasn’t prepared for how fucking fine this man was tonight, because our last encounter was under stressful circumstances. In this moment, with a clearer head and the absence of beeping machines and medical emergencies happening around us, I could look at him, and this man was the kind of fine that makes your chest ache because it feels like someone just stole the breath from your body and forgot to give it back. Skin like deep oak, eyes like late-night confessions. That beard? Perfect. The kind of perfect you want to trace with your fingertips. Or tongue.
I shouldn’t be looking, or should I? Not like this. Not in the middle of my lover’s work holiday party, not under the soft gold lights and Lalah Hathaway’s version of “This Christmas,” not when I’m two ginger bourbon cocktails in and trying so damn hard to keep it professional. But then he looked at me, really looked at me, and in that moment, the floor might as well have disappeared beneath my feet.
He didn’t smile, but the subtle lift at the corner of his mouth, exposing his gold fangs, let me know he knew exactly what he was doing to me as he stared at me unashamedly. It was the kind of look that made promises in a room full of people. Dangerous ones. Slow-burning ones.
Our eyes held for several seconds. Maybe longer. But long enough for me to remember his taste. Long enough for me to remember I’m not built to play it cool. Long enough to know: if he says my name tonight, I might forget every boundary I’ve ever drawn for myself.
And then he walked away. Just like that. Smooth. Silent. Like the tension in the room hadn’t just snapped taut enough to choke. I took a slow sip of my drink, praying it’d settle the fire crawling up my spine. Spoiler alert—it did not. I was engulfed in intrigue, and I decided I was going to learn more about Mr. Carter.
“Maverick has my baby aroused?” I jumped slightly, hearing Yanna’s seductive voice in my ear as she gently stroked my arm.
Feeling comfortable being honest with my lovers, I answered with no hesitation, “Yes, it’s the way he looks at me like he wants to taste every inch of my body.”
“He would be a fool not to,” she replied as Maverick looked at us both, a smirk etched on his beautiful face.
I’d been with Yanna, Caleb, Ahmir, and Dana for over a year now, and all the love they’d promised me had been given freely and in abundance. I had beautiful relationships with the collective and each person individually, to the point where I had no desire to date outside of them until I laid eyes on Maverick Carter. I found a safe space with my lovers where I could be myself, I could express myself, and I was encouraged to freely explore my desires, even if it led me in a new direction.
“You should talk to him, feel him out,” Yanna added as she rubbed my hand to reassure me before she stepped away to go mingle with her colleagues.
