Chapter 8
MARYAM
I can’t move. Don’t even want to. I’m wrecked. Fully. Completely.
My body is still trembling, still pulsing from the way he just took me apart—slow, deep, and all-consuming. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he was staking his claim. Like he was never going to stop.
My breathing is still shaky, my pulse still thrumming in my ears, my limbs heavy and useless as I lay on the sheets.
I feel stretched, sore, utterly ruined.
And then I feel him.
His hands roaming over me, slow and possessive, like he’s memorizing me all over again.
His lips press against my shoulder, my collarbone, the edge of my jaw. Soft and unhurried. In complete contrast with the way he just fucked me into the mattress.
I shudder, heat curling through me all over again. Because I already know. He’s not done. Not by a long fucking shot.
* * *
RIKU
Maryam is so fucking beautiful like this. Bare. Marked. And completely mine.
Her skin is hot, still sensitive under my hands.
I stroke my palm down her side, watch the way she shivers, the way her lashes flutter as she tries to gather herself.
She’s processing. So I give her a second. But only a second. Because she needs to understand. This wasn’t just sex. This isn’t just for one night.
I drag my lips over her temple, my fingers brushing down her stomach, teasing, circling, making her squirm. She whimpers, shifting under me, already burning again from my touch.
I smirk. “Still sensitive?”
She glares at me, but it’s weak. “Fuck you.”
I chuckle, dragging my fingers lower just to hear her breath catch.
“Baby,” I murmur, rolling my hips against hers, my cock already hard again. “You know you don’t need to ask.”
Maryam’s laughter turns into a gasp, her thighs twitching around me, her body betraying her.
I groan. Fuck. I was going to let her rest. I swear. But she feels too fucking good, looks too damn good, and now I want more. Need more.
I roll her onto her stomach, pinning her under me, pressing my lips to her ear. “You’re not leaving this bed today,” I whisper.
She shudders.
And when I slide inside her again, when she moans my name like she’s already given up fighting it — we both know. She’s never leaving at all.
* * *
MARYAM
I don’t know how many times Riku fucked me. I don’t know how many times we went at each other. All I know is that I can’t move. I’m sore, spent, completely ruined. And yet…
Riku’s hand is moving over my thigh, his lips pressed against my bare shoulder, his body still heavy against mine.
I groan, burying my face in the pillow. “You’re sick.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “You keep up just fine, baby.”
I try to glare at him and fail spectacularly. I don’t have the energy.
I push at his chest, trying to wiggle away, but he just grabs my wrist and pulls me right back under him. Completely unapologetic. My stomach flips at the heat in his eyes. At the way he’s looking at me like he’s nowhere near done. Like I belong to him. And, I like it.
I should be panicking. Should be thinking about what comes next.
Instead, I just lay there, letting this man touch me, letting his hands squeeze and caress, letting myself sink into us all over again.
Then… my phone buzzes. Loud and incessant.
I flinch, reality slamming in like a freight train.
Riku sighs, irritated, but he doesn’t let me go. Of course he doesn’t.
“You should check that,” he mutters, still licking a hot, wet path between my breasts.
I groan, reaching blindly toward the nightstand until my fingers close around my phone.
The screen is lit up with messages.
Nia: Where the hell are you??
Tessa: What did you do?
Nia: Or should I say… who did you do? ??
I groan.
Riku plucks the phone from my hand, scans the screen, and smirks.
Then he tosses it back on the nightstand like that’s perfectly normal. Like nothing outside of this bed matters.
* * *
RIKU
Maryam’s tense. She’s thinking. Worried. And I fucking hate it. Hate the way she’s suddenly aware of the outside world. Of the life she had before last night.
I push the sheets aside, pull her into my lap, straddling me. She gasps, hands bracing on my shoulders.
I grab her jaw, tilting her face up, forcing her to look at me.
“You’re not leaving,” I murmur.
Her lips part, and she shivers. But she doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even pretend to.
And when I pull her down, kissing her slow, deep, possessive. She melts.