That ass. Those thighs. Breasts that bounced when she stepped out of her dress, light brown skin gleaming in the low light. Her body had always done something to me—made me hungry in a way I never fully recovered from.
I backed her to the bed and pushed her down slow, watching her head hit my pillow, the rise of her chest, the wet between her thighs already catching the light.
When I entered her again, it wasn’t like earlier. No rush. No frenzy.
I eased into her. Deep. Controlled. My palm cradled the side of her face as I kissed her—long, slow strokes of tongue and breath and heat.
She clung to me. Arms tight around my neck. Legs locked around my waist. She met every thrust with a roll of her hips, every kiss with a moan that slipped out soft and broken.
“Tariq,” she whispered, voice high, body trembling.
I bit her shoulder, licked the salt from her skin, whispered how good she felt wrapped around me. She arched, eyes wide, mouth open, helpless to the rhythm I gave her.
When she came, she clenched tight—around me, against me. Nails dragging down my back. I didn’t stop. Kept going until the tension eased, until she went soft and loose beneath me, boneless and quiet.
Then I followed her. Gutted myself with one final thrust, buried deep, her name caught in my throat like a blessing I had to hold onto.
We collapsed together, a tangle of sweat and heat. Her hand rested flat on my chest, fingers splayed like she was reminding herself I was real. That I hadn’t disappeared again.
“I’m not gonna ask what this is,” she said, voice still breathless.
I stared at the ceiling, lungs trying to slow down. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t have the words.”
Silence wrapped around us again. Heavy. Familiar.
“I still love you.” I didn’t even mean to say it out loud. It just… fell out.
She didn’t speak right away. I felt her swallow, felt the tension tighten her limbs.
“I get why you won’t say it back,” I murmured. “But I need you to know it’s still in me. Has been.”
She shifted, resting her chin on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. “You missed a lot.”
I dragged my fingers along the line of her spine, memorizing her all over again. “So did you.”
Her eyes softened in that way that always made me forget how to lie. “What’d I miss?”
I turned toward her and brushed my thumb over her bottom lip—still swollen from kissing, from whispering my name like it was a truth she’d buried too long.
“Tyson’s still married,” I said. “He brings your name up every time I see him—like he’s trying to nudge me back into the light. Ty’s still out there sowing his royal oats. Ma’s still cooking too much. And my old man…” I paused. “He started using a cane last year. Still too proud to say anything about it.”
Her fingers paused against my chest, then started moving again—slow circles, like she was writing her name in my skin.
“Started my own practice as you know. My mom is still meddling in my business every chance she can get. My dad’s still yelling at the TV like he’s coaching the damn Steelers from the couch, and Jada had another baby—a boy.”
I smiled into her hair. “I know you love being an auntie.”
“I love it. I can send them home.” She laughed softly, and for a second, the weight between us lifted.
She didn’t say anything. Just kept tracing lazy lines across my chest, then down my arm, until her hand found the scar curling from my elbow up to my shoulder.
Her thumb moved over it carefully, reverently. I stilled out of instinct. That scar held a memory written in the fire.
She rubbed the ridged skin gently. Not scared of it. Not pitying either.
“You never told me the whole story,” she said.
I swallowed, the image already back in my head—smoke, heat, the weight of a collapsing ceiling, the sound of a woman screaming for her babies.
