---
Chioma's POV — The Next Morning
I barely slept.
The night dragged on like a cruel taunt, every shadow in the room a reminder of what happened in that kitchen. I kept hearing his voice. Warn those guns on your chest. It replayed in my head like a stubborn melody, one I neither asked for nor could silence. I buried my face into the pillow more times than I could count, groaning in frustration. Not at him. At myself.
How dare he say that?
How dare he see me like that?
And worse… how dare my body respond?
Each time the memory resurfaced, my stomach clenched, heat pooling low in my belly. I hated it. Hated that it left me restless, wide-eyed in the dark, tangled in sheets that felt suffocating against my overly sensitive skin.
By dawn, I'd given up on sleep altogether.
The first rays of sun broke through the slats in the blinds, painting faint golden stripes across the room. I could already feel the heaviness in the air—the weight of unspoken things, the tension from last night clinging to the walls like thick mist.
I slipped out of the guest room as quietly as possible, pulling a robe over my camisole and shorts. No way was I about to serve him another visual feast. Not after the way his gaze had lingered—bold, unapologetic, and possessive in a way that made my pulse quicken.
The kitchen felt like neutral ground, though deep down I knew it wasn't. Nothing about this space was safe anymore. I moved quickly, boiling water, hunting for mugs like I could outrun the memory of him.
I was halfway through rummaging in the cupboard when that voice curled around me, low and rough with sleep.
"Good morning."
I froze, my fingers brushing the handle of a mug I suddenly forgot how to grip. The sound of him was too much—smooth, deep, laced with a rasp that made the tiny hairs on my neck stand on end.
Swallowing hard, I turned, my heart thudding against my ribs.
There he was.
Kelvin stood at the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing beneath a snug white tee. The grey joggers he wore clung low on his hips, just this side of indecent. His hair was a tousled mess, a single rebellious curl falling onto his forehead. And damn him, he smelled good. Clean linen, fresh soap, and something darker, something distinctly him that made my pulse stutter.
"M-morning," I stammered, cursing the way my voice wobbled.
He moved with a lazy grace, like he had all the time in the world, every step deliberate as he crossed the room. He reached for the coffee pot, poured two mugs, then slid one toward me.
Except… at the last second, he lifted it instead and brought it to my lips.
"Here," he murmured, his voice rough velvet.
I hesitated. Every nerve in my body screamed for distance, but my body betrayed me again. I leaned in, brushing my lips to the warm rim of the cup as I took a cautious sip.
The foam clung to my upper lip.
I knew it even before his gaze dropped to my mouth.
His eyes darkened, lingering far too long.
"You've got…" His thumb ghosted toward my lip, stopping just shy of contact. I felt the phantom touch like a spark against my skin. "Right there," he finished, voice a husky murmur.
The air thickened between us. My skin prickled with awareness. His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and I hated how beautiful and dangerous it looked in the soft morning light.
"Foam casualty," he teased.
I wiped my mouth quickly, my pulse hammering in my ears. "Thanks," I muttered, desperate to reclaim even a shred of composure.
Kelvin leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee like he hadn't just shattered the fragile peace I was trying to build inside myself.
"So…" he said between sips, "still into hot movies, or was that just a lonely-night thing?"
I nearly choked on air.
"I—it was just—something random on Netflix," I blurted, wishing I could disappear into the floor.
"Of course," he drawled, mocking. "Random. Sure."
His eyes glittered with amusement. He was enjoying this—watching me squirm, pushing my buttons with the ease of someone who knew exactly where they were.
I shoved his mug toward him. "I made coffee."
"Appreciate it," he replied, then paused. His gaze softened for a beat. "You always wake up this early?"
"Only when I have nightmares," I mumbled without thinking, instantly regretting it.
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made my stomach twist. "Guess I was a bit of a nightmare last night, huh?"
I met his gaze, the sting of his words softened by the warmth behind them. "More like a plot twist I didn't see coming."
His smirk faltered for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he straightened, finished his coffee in a long sip, and set the mug down.
"Get dressed," he said, his tone shifting. "We're heading to the Lagos branch this morning—need to see what's really going wrong over there."
I nodded, tension still clinging to my bones.
"And Chioma?" he added.
"Yes?"
His grin was pure sin. "Better wear something that doesn't aim to shoot me."
I stared, my jaw dropping as a heated flush raced up my neck.
Before I could find a single retort, he turned and left, his laughter a low rumble in the hallway.
I gripped the counter's edge, steadying myself. My entire body was a riot of sensations—my pulse pounding in my ears, my skin too warm, every nerve ending humming with sharp awareness. Kelvin was dangerous in a way no one had ever been before.
And I hated how a part of me didn't want him to stop.
---
Kelvin's POV
I knew she barely slept.
Heard the restless toss and turn through the thin wall separating our rooms. Could almost feel the tension radiating from her, thick and charged. It was better this way. Tension sharpened appetite. And I wanted her starving.
I could feel her slip out of bed before dawn, hear the soft shuffle of her feet, the creak of the floorboards. She thought she could beat me to the kitchen, get her footing back before I showed. Cute.
Control was mine to give. And this morning, I wasn't feeling generous.
When I saw her—barefoot, hair slightly mussed, skin still carrying the glow of restless sleep—it took every ounce of restraint not to drag her against me, feel that warmth flush against my chest, consequences be damned.
I greeted her low, knowing exactly what that voice would do to her.
She jumped. Good.
The way her eyes widened, lips parting, breath catching—it was a thrill I couldn't explain. I poured the coffee slowly, made her wait for it, then brought it to her lips myself, watching to see if she'd pull back.
She didn't.
That sip, the foam clinging to her lip… Jesus.
I wanted to wipe it away. Wanted to let my thumb trace that soft curve, feel the tremble in her body when I touched her. But not yet. Tension needed space to grow.
The banter about her movie was just to keep her talking. I wanted to hear that voice, watch those lips move. And when she called me a plot twist, it took everything not to laugh.
Damn right I was.
What she didn't know yet was that I intended to be her favorite one.
I left her there rattled, leaning against the hallway wall just out of sight, listening to the shaky breath she let out once she thought she was alone. The clumsy clatter of mugs in the sink. I liked her off-balance.
Liked knowing she wouldn't stop thinking about this moment even after we left for the Lagos branch.
Because the real game hadn't even started.
And I wasn't done with her yet.