“And you text me when you get there. When you park. When you walk inside. I want to know every move you make.”
“That defeats the purpose of going al?—”
“That’s my compromise.” His grip tightened on my wrist. “You want to do this alone? Fine. But I need to know you’re okay. I need SOMETHING, Zainab. Give me that.”
I looked at him—this man who was fighting every instinct in his body to let me have this. Who was terrified of losing me but trying to love me enough to let me go anyway.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I can give you that.”
Something shifted in his eyes. The fear was still there, but it was making room for something else now. Something hotter. More urgent.
“I hate this,” he said.
“I know.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
“I know that too.”
“And I hate that even when I’m pissed at you, I still want you so bad I can’t see straight.”
My breath caught. “Prime?—”
He kissed me before I could finish.
Not gentle.Not sweet. This was hungry. Desperate. All that fear and frustration and helplessness pouring out of him and into me. His free hand grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me closer, deeper, until I couldn’t tell where his anger ended and mine began.
I kissed him back just as hard. Biting at his bottom lip. Fisting my hands in his shirt. Letting him feel every ounce of the fire that had been building in my chest since this argument started.
“Inside,” he growled against my mouth. “Now.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just grabbed my thighs and lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically, the electric blankets falling forgotten to the ground. He carried me through the balcony doors, across the living room, toward the stairs.
He kicked the bedroom door shut behind us and dropped me on the bed. I bounced once, looking up at him in the darkness, his silhouette massive against the city lights coming through the windows.
“You want to be strong?” He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. “You want to prove you don’t need saving?”
I rose up on my elbows, my heart pounding. “Yes.”
“Then show me.” He crawled over me, caging me in with his arms. “Show me how strong you are, Goddess.”
It was a challenge. A dare. A way of taking all that fear and frustration and turning it into something else entirely.
I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down to me.
We didn’t make love that night. We fought. With our mouths and our hands and our bodies. Every kiss was a battle. Every touch was a claiming. He pinned me down and I flipped us over. I rode him and he grabbed my hips hard enough to bruise. We pushed and pulled and took and gave until we were bothsweating and shaking and crying out into the soundproofed darkness.
When it was over, we lay tangled together in the ruined sheets, breathing hard, my head on his chest, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my back.
“I’m still don’t want you going,” he murmured into my hair.
“I know.” I pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.
His arms tightened around me. “Just… come back to me. Whatever happens in that hospital room, whatever you need to say to him, just make sure you come back.”
“I will.” I tilted my face up to look at him. “I promise.”
He kissed my forehead. Soft this time. Tender.
