20. Malik #2
“You were a firefighter. Now you’re pregnant with my child.” I dropped to my knees in front of her, needing her to see how serious this was. “Is my money funny? You hurting for cash? Because I’m trying to understand why you thought this was necessary.”
“No, I’m not broke. I volunteered.” She sucked her teeth, like I offended her. Shit, I needed to know something.
“That’s even worse. You weren’t even getting paid to risk my baby’s life.
” The disbelief in my voice was raw, unfiltered.
“Baby, I almost lost you once already. In that accident that brought us together. You really think I can handle hearing you running into burning buildings while you’re carrying our child? ”
“I was careful Mal...”
“Careful?” My voice cracked. “Ain’t no such thing as careful when you dealing with fire, and you know that better than anyone. What if something had happened? What if you’d gotten hurt? What if I’d lost both of you?”
I watched her expression shift slightly, saw the moment my words really hit her, and for a second, I glimpsed the woman I’d fallen in love with instead of this stubborn firefighter who thought she was invincible.
“I needed to feel like myself again,” she said quietly, and there it was, the truth underneath all the bravado. “Everything’s been so crazy, and I just... I needed the rush. I needed to remember who I am.”
“You’re still you. You’re about to be mama to two kids. You’re my woman. A college student. Future psychologist. Future wife. That’s who the fuck you are.” I reached for her hands, covering them with mine. “And I need you breathing and healthy to be those things.”
“I’m fine, Malik. You didn’t need to come here,” she said trying to put her walls back up.
“I saw you on the gah’damn news, Sametra. You knew I was coming to see about you. Why you playing games with me?”
Silence stretched between us.
“You sitting her like I’m not supposed to lose my mind watching the mother of my child walk out of a burning building?”
“You’re overreacting. Plenty of women work while pregnant. And I’m not your woman right now anyway, and I’m certainly not your wife. I’m just another baby mama.”
That’s when something in me snapped. Those words, baby mama , felt like a right hook to the jaw.
This time it wasn’t a joke. She was trying to reduce what we had to something temporary, disposable, like I was just some random nigga who’d gotten her pregnant instead of the man who wanted to marry her. That shit had me seeing red.
I rose to my feet slowly, no longer crouching in front of her, my movements fluid. My hand slid up to grip the side of her neck, not rough, but firm enough to remind her exactly who she was dealing with. I applied gentle pressure, guiding her to stand with me, bringing us face to face.
“Don’t you ever compare yourself to ‘plenty of women, ’ Sametra. Ain’t none of them you. Ain’t none of them carrying my seed . And ain’t none of them out here playing with fire like they ain’t got nothing to lose. I’m here about you. ”
She flinched slightly, like she hadn’t expected me to get this close.
“I saw you grinning on that camera like this was just another day at the office. You think I’m gonna sit back and watch the woman I’m building a life with risk everything for some adrenaline rush? You think that’s the type of nigga I am?”
I tilted her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “You forgot who I am to you, baby. Or maybe you forgot who you are to me.”
Her breath caught. Good. Let that attitude simmer down for a minute, because she had me mixed up with somebody else.
I turned her around gently and guided her back until her spine hit the cold metal of the locker. My voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but every word was sharp.
“MiMi, I gave you space. Let you heal, process, do whatever you needed to do. I didn’t chase you because I thought we were grown enough to find our way back to each other without all that.
” I leaned in, my mouth close to her ear, my breath warm against her neck.
“But I see now...you don’t need space. You need reminding. ”
She shivered, and I felt her body respond despite all that attitude.
“You need reminding that you’re mine. That you don’t have to survive everything on your own anymore. You can be soft. Safe. You can let me in.”
I loosened my grip, let my hand slide down her arm, watching goosebumps rise in the aftermath of my touch.
“Now you standing here holding a towel, trembling, because you know you fucked up. You scared of me now?”
I stepped back just enough to let her breathe, but not enough to let her escape.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and finally, there it was.
“I didn’t come here to argue,” I said, pulling my sweatshirt over my head, revealing the tank underneath. “I came to look you in the eyes and remind you that if you needed a rush, you could’ve called me.”
I stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off my body.
“Turn around, Sametra.”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.
Didn’t resist. Just stood there, body humming like a live wire, skin still damp from the shower and glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights.
I watched the way her shoulders rose and fell in rapid succession, like she was trying to keep her balance in a storm she knew damn well she’d started.
“I said turn around.”
Slowly, she did.
She kept her eyes forward, focused on the locker, her spine straight and defiant even as she followed my command. But that towel dropped to the tile floor like she knew exactly what time it was, like her body was already three steps ahead of her stubborn mind.
I stepped behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from my body but not touching yet. Not giving her what I knew she wanted, what I could see in the way her breathing changed, got shallower. My voice dropped to that gravelly whisper that always made her shiver.
“You want adrenaline?” I let the words whisper across the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, watching goosebumps rise. “You want a rush that’ll remind you what it means to be alive?”
I let my hands trail up the sides of her waist, fingertips barely grazing her skin, not rushing, just reacquainting myself with the curves that had been haunting my dreams every single night we’d been apart.
Her waist dipped in perfectly under my palms, skin soft as silk and warm to the touch.
She leaned back into me instinctively, like her body remembered everything her pride was trying so hard to forget.
I could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way she was fighting herself, fighting the pull she felt toward me.
But I could also feel the way she melted just slightly when my chest pressed against her back, the way her head tilted just enough to give me better access to that spot on her neck that always made her moan.
“I’m not fuckin’ you, Sametra,” I murmured against the shell of her ear. “Not while we’re still pretending we’re not in this together. Not while you’re still acting like what we have doesn’t matter, baby mama.”
I scoffed, “I can’t believe you said that shit.”
“I said sorry,” she whined tempting me to go back on what I’d just said.
“I heard you. I forgive you.” I pressed a soft kiss to that sensitive spot just below her earlobe, feeling her pulse jump under my lips. “Baby. My patience is running out. Fast.”
I turned her gently, my hands steady on her waist as I guided her around to face me.
Her back hit the cold metal of the locker with a soft thud, and she gasped at the contrast of the steel against her heated skin.
Her eyes searched mine, wide and questioning, trying to read what came next in my expression.
“You risked this body for a thrill,” I said, my voice low and reverent as I sat on the bench in front of her. Nothing mattered except her, except reminding her what she meant to me. “Tsk, Tsk, Tsk.”
A sharp intake of breath echoed off the tile walls as I pressed a tender kiss to the slope of her belly.
Right where our baby was growing. Right where life was happening because of what we’d created together.
I dragged my palms along her thighs, rough hands against smooth skin, spreading them just enough to make room for my shoulders.
I took my time, because this wasn’t just about pleasure, it wasn’t just about making her cum, she’d do that too.
This was about reminding her who saw her, who protected her, who adored every inch of her reckless, brilliant, stubborn ass.
“You still mine?” I asked, tilting my head back to lock eyes with hers from below. I needed to hear it. Needed the words.
She nodded, trembling, her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Nah, baby. Say it. I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Always. I’m always yours.”
“That’s right. Don’t forget it again.”
I pulled her leg over my shoulder, feeling the weight of her thigh against my back, and lowered my mouth to the place where she was already wet, already aching for me even if she’d never admit it out loud.
I kissed her like I was trying to apologize with my tongue for every hard word, every moment of separation, every second she’d doubted what she meant to me.
I kissed her like I was trying to soothe every jagged edge she’d been carrying around for the past week.
My tongue moved slowly at first, lazy,strokes that made her knees buckle and her hands scramble for something to hold onto.
Then faster, more insistent, reading the language of her body like I’d written it myself.
I held her steady with one arm wrapped around her waist, fingers splayed across the small of her back, the other hand gripping her thigh, not letting her run from the intensity of what I was giving her.
She tried to stay quiet. But when her hand finally tangled in my beard, tugging just hard enough to make me groan against her, and that first moan ripped from her throat like it had been building for days, I smiled against her sweetness.
“Yeah,” I murmured between strokes, my voice muffled but clear in its intent. “Let go, MiMi. Stop fighting.”
Her taste flooded my senses, familiar and addictive, like coming home after being lost. I could feel her getting closer, could read the signs in the way her breathing changed, became more erratic, the way her fingers tightened in my beard, the way her hips started moving against my mouth let me know she couldn’t help herself, the tidal wave she’d been fighting was about to win.
And when she came, legs trembling around my shoulders, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a scream that she tried to muffle with her free hand, I held her through every aftershock, pressing gentle kisses along the inside of her thighs as her breathing slowly returned to normal.
I could feel her heartbeat gradually slowing under my lips, could taste the evidence of how much she’d missed this, missed me.
I rose to my feet slowly, my heart full with everything I still felt but hadn’t said.
I was grateful that even with everything still broken between us, we got toshare this moment of connection.
She reached for me immediately, her hands seeking my face, my chest, trying to pull me closer, but I backed up just enough to stay out of reach.
“Malik...” she whispered, my name falling from her lips.
I slowly pulled my sweatshirt back on, watching her watch me, confusion in her expression.
This was the hardest thing I’d ever done, walking away from her when every fiber of my being wanted to press her back against that locker and bury myself so deep inside her that she never thought about coming back to this place again.
“I meant what I said,” I told her, reaching out to brush her temple, my touch gentle despite the steel in my voice. “I’m not fucking you again until we fix this. Until you stop running from what we have. Until you come home.”
She looked up at me, eyes glassy and unfocused, lips swollen and parted like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Not after what had just happened. Not when she was still trembling from the aftershocks.
“I still need a little time.”
I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then lingered just inches from her mouth, close enough that she could feel my breath, close enough that all she had to do was lean forward and our lips would meet.
“You want a rush again?” I repeated. “Call your fucking man and stay yo ass outta here. I hope we’re clear that as long as you carrying my seed, this place is off limits. I love you.”
And just like that, I walked out.
Leaving her there breathless, dripping, and thoroughly reminded of exactly what she’d been missing. Reminded of who I was to her and who she was to me, regardless of whatever games her pride wanted to play.
The sound of my footsteps echoed down the hallway as I made my way back through the station, past the curious stares of her crew, past Halo’s knowing look, and out into the evening air that felt cool against my heated skin.
She’d be thinking about this for days. Thinking about me. Thinking about what she’d given up and what she stood to lose if she kept playing these games. When she was ready to stop running, to stop pretending that what we had wasn’t everything, I’d be waiting.