“Messiah.” She sighed. He kissed her forehead, and her eyes lowered until the black behind her lids greeted her. He lived there too. He haunted her. There was nowhere to run, because he existed everywhere. He kissed her nose, and she gasped. Her stomach lurched as he moved to the valley above her lips, the oddest place, but he deemed it worthy to kiss as well. Her stomach went crazy with anxiety. There was no aggression in his touch. This time, she felt weakness. He took her lips, and she let him. It was a soul-stirring kiss. The kind that made electricity shoot through her nerves and made the slightest touch feel erotic. This was the gentlest he had ever been, and it felt so good. It felt earned. Morgan melted.

Morgan’s head was cloudy, spinning, as confusion made a mess of her. She placed both hands on his chest and pushed softly, not really wanting space, but wanting their lips to disconnect so she could breathe … so she could think … so she could find her no … but as he looked at her, brows dipped low in pain, cheeks heavy in devastation, all Morgan felt was yes. She lunged for him, unleashing the aggression he had taught her, the aggression she had locked away since the last time she had seen him.

The buzzing of her cell phone snapped her back into reality.

What am I doing?

She pulled away, breaking the trance he had her under. “I can’t do this,” she said.

“I can’t not do this, shorty, so what we gon’ do?” Messiah asked. “I’m ready, Mo. I’m ready for you, ready to do whatever I got to do to make it right … to be your man, shorty.”

“I have a man, Messiah,” she said as she shook her head. He thought she was talking about Bash, but her heart had given the title to Ahmeek. Ahmeek was her man. Yes, she was trapped by Bash, but she was trying to figure out how to escape. One day, when she was able to break free, she would be Ahmeek Harris’s woman. “And I ain’t shit because I’m here with you. He doesn’t deserve this. I’ve got to go,” she said.

Every step she took away from Messiah burned him. He had walked away from her many times before, and if she had felt like this, like she was suffocating, he was sorry as hell because the ache was unbearable.

“Yo, shorty,” he called out as he stepped into the hall, shirtless, tattoos covering him, marking him up, proving he was a glutton for pain.

She pressed the elevator button repeatedly as he strolled up to her.

“Just let me go, please.”