Chapter 13
13
I shouldn’t have come. I knew it the moment I stood outside the studio door, staring at the keypad. The building was locked up for the night, but I knew Amir was inside. I could feel him, like a pulse thrumming through the walls, vibrating through my bones.
I took a breath, pressed the buzzer, and waited. My heart pounded in my chest, loud and fast, almost drowning out the beat of the music coming from inside.
A moment later, the door buzzed open. I stepped in, letting the heavy metal door close behind me. The music grew louder, the bass thumping through the hall. It was late, the building deserted, but the studio at the end of the corridor was lit up.
As I walked closer, the music swallowed me whole. It was like walking into a heartbeat—thick, pulsing, relentless. My own heart matched the rhythm, every step bringing me closer to him. I could smell him before I even saw him.
The door to the studio was slightly ajar. I nudged it open and stepped inside. The space was dimly lit, the glow from the control panel casting long shadows across the room.
Amir was seated in front of the board, head nodding to the beat, fingers tapping against the surface, lost in his world.
He didn’t turn around. Didn’t speak. Just reached over, turned the volume down, and leaned back, eyes sliding to me like he already knew it was me.
And when his gaze met mine… I felt bare. Open. Remembered.
His eyes didn’t rush. They took their time. From my face to the curve of my breasts beneath my too-short top. Down to my stomach, my skirt, my thighs. That quiet intensity in his stare made my skin tighten.
His jaw flexed. Tongue wet his lips.
Then his eyes locked on mine again, full of hunger and something deeper.
"Why did you come here, Amaya?"
His voice was low. Rough. Tethered to memory.
The music was still loud, the beat thumping through my chest. I stepped closer. “What?”
He turned the volume down again—just enough to hear the weight in his words.
“Why are you here?”
My fingers twisted the strap of my bag. “I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”
His expression said he didn’t believe me.
Didn’t press it either. Not yet.
He turned the volume back up, the rhythm filling the space between us. I moved closer.
"I like this beat," I murmured.
“Been working on it all day for Raj. Something’s off,” he said, not looking at me. “Trying to figure it out.”
I watched him, the way his jaw moved, the way his forearms tensed as he leaned forward.
“Is that why you didn’t come home?” I asked quietly.
His gaze lifted, meeting mine with precision.
“What difference does it make? You were the one avoiding me first.”
I opened my mouth to push back, but the truth got in the way.
“I just... I didn’t want us to mess up our friendship.”
He nodded slowly, like he already knew.
“I feel the same way. That’s why I never let it get too far—even if I wanted to go all the fucking way with you. But… My dad always said girls are a responsibility. Not to rush commitment. Have fun first. But you?”
His eyes locked on mine.
“You were never just fun.”
I swallowed hard.
“You’re the one a man commits to. And I wasn’t ready.”
“And now?” I whispered. “You’re ready to commit?”
His jaw clenched, something in his expression unspooling.
“Didn’t think I was. Not until I spent all this time with you. Smelling you. Hearing you. Knowing you’re touching yourself, thinking about me.”
My breath caught.
He leaned forward, voice lower now. “And knowing I’ve already tasted you…”
My thighs pressed together instinctively, warmth blooming low in my belly.
“Now…” he continued, dragging his gaze down my body. “Now I can’t deny it.”
Before I could respond, his hands were on me, pulling me between his legs. His touch was sure, familiar—like he remembered exactly how I felt under his fingers. He reached up, slid my glasses off gently, setting them aside without taking his eyes off me. Then his hands found my waist, tracing the line of my spine, pulling me closer like he needed to feel all of me.
And I melted. Because my body remembered too.
His kiss was deep. Slow. Possessive. Not like a first kiss.
Like a continuation.
He kissed me like he had unfinished business with my mouth. Like he never got enough the first time. Like my taste haunted him.
His hands slid up my sides, brushing beneath my top, fingers curling under the weight of my breasts.
“Damn, Amaya,” he groaned, pulling the top up and over my head. “I’ve been thinking about these since the first time I had my mouth on them.”
I gasped as his lips closed around one nipple, then the other. Tongue hot, lips greedy. I arched into him, my hands threading through his hair, guiding him the way I remembered.
His mouth moved like he already knew what made me moan.
What made my back arch. What made my thighs clench.
And God… he did.
His hand pushed my skirt up, and when he reached between my thighs, he groaned.
“No panties,” he growled against my chest. “You knew what the fuck you were doing.”
I could barely breathe. He slipped a finger through my wetness, groaning again at how soaked I was.
His lips returned to my breasts, his mouth hungry and relentless as he kissed, sucked, and bit with just enough pressure to make me tremble.
“Amir,” I whispered, dragging my nails down his back, needing more.
He lifted me, carried me to the table, and sat me on the edge like he couldn’t wait another second. Then he dropped to his knees.
His hands parted my thighs with reverence and hunger.
“You know how many nights I’ve thought about this?” he said, voice hot against my skin. “How many times I regretted not finishing what I started?”
I couldn’t speak. Could barely hold on.
His lips brushed the inside of my thigh. Then again, higher. Then—finally—he kissed me right where I ached.
He didn’t tease. Didn’t waste time. He opened me with his mouth like he remembered me.
Like he’d been starving.
“Fuck—” I gasped, one hand against his head, the other gripping the table.
He groaned as he sucked my clit into his mouth, his tongue working me slow at first, then faster, deeper.
He slid two fingers inside me, curling just right, and I nearly came undone.
“Oh my God, Amir?—”
He hummed against me, the vibrations making my entire body jolt.
I was shaking, grinding against his face like I couldn’t get close enough. My orgasm built sharp and fast, cresting hard as I came with a cry, his name the only thing I could form around the pleasure ripping through me.
He didn’t stop. Not until he had every last tremor.
When he stood, I pulled him into a kiss, tasting myself on his lips. His dick was already rock hard, thick and leaking as I reached between us and freed him.
He grunted, teeth grazing my jaw as I stroked him once, twice.
He picked me up again, this time carrying me to the couch. Sat down. Pulled me on top.
I straddled him, hands on his shoulders, thighs still trembling.
“You sure about this, A?” he asked, breath ragged.
I didn’t even blink. “Yes. I need you.”
His hands gripped my hips as I sank down onto him, inch by thick, aching inch, until he filled me completely.
We groaned in unison—years of tension, heat, love, and lust crashing between us.
I stilled for a moment, breath caught, head falling back as I adjusted to the stretch. He was deep. Deeper than I remembered from dreams. From the way I imagined him pressing inside me during those lonely nights with just my fingers and memory to keep me company.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “You feel…”
“Say it,” he groaned, hands flexing on my hips.
“Big. So fucking deep, Amir.”
His eyes were locked on mine, dark with hunger. “That’s right. Take all of it.”
I began to move, slow and careful, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding down on him, savoring the thickness of his length sliding against every sensitive inch inside me.
“Goddamn,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “You ride so good. So fucking good, baby.”
His hands slid up my body, cupping my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples as I rode him with slow, wet precision. Every drag of him against my walls had my breath catching, every shift of his hips making my knees tremble.
“You remember?” I asked, voice breathless. “What you did to me that night on the couch?”
He nodded slowly, eyes locked on where our bodies met. “I’ve never forgotten the way you tasted. How you came for me.”
My nails dug into his shoulders as I bounced harder, faster. Our skin slapped together, the couch creaking beneath us, the music pulsing in the background like it was set to the rhythm of my moans.
“Amaya,” he groaned, his voice thick, hands now gripping my ass, guiding me. “You’re fuckin’ incredible.”
I leaned down, kissing him, messy and deep. My hips still moved, grinding, sliding, rocking into him. He matched me, thrusting up to meet each drop with a deep, punishing rhythm that made me see stars.
“I’m gonna cum,” I breathed. “Fuck, Amir—don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Just brought a hand between us, his thumb rubbing tight circles on my clit. “Let go, baby. Let me feel you.”
My entire body clenched. The orgasm ripped through me, sharp and hot, my cries muffled against his neck as I came around him—wet, tight, pulsing.
“Shit,” he groaned. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
I collapsed against his chest, still twitching from the aftershocks.
But he wasn’t done.
He shifted suddenly, lifting me off him and turning me around.
“Get on the couch,” he growled. “Knees. Now.”
I obeyed without thinking, breath shallow, body electric. I knelt on the cushions, hands braced against the back of the couch, legs spread wide as I felt him behind me, thick and hot against my slick folds.
“You ready for me?” he asked, voice rough, his hand gripping my ass, guiding his dick to my entrance.
“Yes,” I whimpered. “Please.”
He slammed into me in one deep, hard thrust.
I cried out, arching, nails digging into the couch as he filled me all over again—this time from behind, deeper, rougher, sharper.
“Fuuuuck, Amir.”
“That’s right,” he growled, thrusting into me with hard, unrelenting strokes. “You like that? You like me tearing this pussy up?”
“Yes. Yes,” I moaned, pushing back to meet every stroke. “Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”
He gripped my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my neck as he pounded into me, each stroke pushing me further, higher, closer to breaking again.
“You feel that?” he hissed into my ear. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”
“Yes, Amir. All yours,” I gasped, breathless. “Yours.”
He tugged my hair harder, his other hand gripping my waist as he drove into me, deep and rough and filthy, his breath hot against my ear, his body slamming into mine with purpose.
“Cum for me again,” he demanded. “Make a mess on this dick.”
I was already there.
My whole body locked up as the pleasure ripped through me again, harder this time, wetness flooding him as I screamed his name, shaking, crying, unraveling with each relentless thrust.
“Amir—!”
“Fuck, Amaya,” he growled, his pace stuttering. “I’m gonna—fuck?—”
He pulled out just in time, his hand stroking his length twice before he came hard, hot streams spilling across my back and ass as he grunted my name, his body shaking behind me.
We both stayed there—me kneeling, trembling, gasping. Him bent forward, one hand on my hip, the other on the couch beside me, his forehead pressed to the back of my neck.
Slowly, his fingers traced over my back, his touch suddenly gentle again.
“I’ve wanted that for so long,” he whispered. “But fuck, you just… you wrecked me.”
I smiled through my exhaustion, eyes closed, heart pounding.
“You good?” he asked softly, brushing my braid over my shoulder, kissing the back of my neck.
I nodded, voice barely there. “I’m more than good.”