The room is quiet except for the sound of the bed creaking and your soft breaths beneath him. Kofi’s lips find your neck, his rhythm steady, his hands gripping your waist like he never wants to let go. Heat rolls off both of you, and for a moment it feels like nothing could break the intensity

Until his chest tightens.

It’s small at first, just a hitch in his breathing, but he knows the feeling too well. He pulls back, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Shit—wait,” he mutters, already reaching toward the nightstand.

You blink up at him, confused, until you see him snatch up his inhaler. And right there, mid-thrust, he takes two sharp puffs. The hiss of the inhaler breaks the silence.

For a second, there’s only stunned quiet.