“Do you?”
His low laugh made me clench.
He carried me to the bedroom. Didn’t toss me—laid me down like I mattered. His eyes traveled down my body, pausing at every curve, every stretch of skin. His hands followed, slow. Reverent. He pushed my dress up and groaned when he saw how wet I already was.
“You always this ready?” he asked, thumb grazing through my slick folds before stroking my clit.
I gasped. “When I want it bad enough.”
His eyes locked on mine. “You want me?”
I nodded, voice gone. “Tariq...”
That was it. The sound of his name lit the fuse.
He stripped fast. Controlled, clean movements. His body—dark brown, solid, carved, fucking beautiful—moved over mine like it belonged there. When he finally slid inside me protected, I arched, mouth open, vision blurred.
He was thick. Deep. Perfect.
“Shit,” he groaned, staying still for a moment. “You feel like trouble.”
“Then fuck me like it.” Clenching around him.
He did. Slow, deep strokes that had my hips lifting to meet him. His hand slid to my throat and held it—not hard, just enough to anchor me, to own me. I moaned louder with every thrust. My legs wrapped tight around his waist. My nails left marks.
It was filthy. It was worship. It was everything I didn’t know I needed.
When I came all over his dick, I screamed. He followed with a curse, spilling deep into his rubber, burying his face in my neck like he’d come home.
After, we lay tangled—limbs, sweat, heartbeat against heartbeat. Neither of us spoke. Because there wasn’t anything left to say. Not yet.
But everything had just begun.
“My name is Sanaa,” I whispered into his chest.
1
Ismelled the smoke before I saw it.
What was left of the house looked like a ribcage cracked open. Blackened bones. Ash everywhere. This fire had a purpose. You could feel it in the ground.
I was about to step past the tape when I heard a sound so familiar, my dick was programmed to it—heels. Not the loud kind. The expensive kind.
I didn’t have to turn around. I knew it was her. I felt her before I saw her. That tight pull in my gut. Blood rushing down to my dick so fast, I had to shift my stance just to survive each click-clack.
Then I turned—and there she was. Sanaa Ellison. The only woman to own every part of me.
She had the same soft, pouty mouth that used to unravel me. The same stare that could bring me to my knees so that I could taste whatever she wanted to offer me.
She was finer than I remembered.
Wearing a black dress that hugged every place I used to touch. Fabric smooth. No logos. But it screamed money. Heels had to be four inches easy—probably custom. Diamonds on her wrist, understated and surgical. The kind of quiet flex only seen by people who knew what they were looking at.
She looked taller than she was. That was one of her tricks. Always knew how to take up space. But it didn’t matter how tall she walked. I’d had her folded into nothingness. Into me. Years ago, yeah—but my body still remembered.
And would never forget.
She met my eyes without flinching. Looked at me like I was a problem she’d already solved.
