Chapter 14
14
I woke up hard as hell.
My body was still buzzing, still wrapped in the aftershocks of last night. My muscles were heavy with exhaustion, but my mind was back in that fucking studio. Back to the way she looked at me before everything exploded—like she had been waiting for me to take her, like she had been waiting her whole damn life.
The memory hit me like a punch to the chest—the way she bounced on my dick, her tits swaying, those filthy little sounds spilling from her mouth like she didn’t care who heard.
My hand slid over my stomach, down to where I was hard and aching, and for a split second, I considered stroking myself to the thought of her. But that wasn’t gonna cut it. Not after feeling her, tasting her, being so deep inside her that I forgot my own damn name.
I stretched out my arm, reaching for her, my fingers expecting to find the warm softness of her skin, but—nothing. The sheets were cool and empty. A heavy knot settled in my chest.
I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as reality crashed in. She was gone.
I let out a long, slow breath, dragging a hand over my face. I needed a minute before I went looking for her. Because the second I got up I knew I was gonna want more. And that was a dangerous fucking thing. I knew it last night when we rushed out of the studio to get in my car and head home.
She was in my passenger seat, legs crossed, fingers dancing along my thigh like she wasn’t playing with fire. Her nails dragged over the denim of my jeans, teasing, her touch light enough to make my dick throb against the zipper.
I shot her a look, a warning, but her lips curled into something smug. Like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
“I should make you ride with your hands in your lap.
“I don’t think you want that.”
My jaw clenched when her fingers slipped lower, grazing over my hard length. I almost slammed on the brakes.
“Amaya.” My voice was rough, torn between frustration and hunger.
She grinned. “Yeah?”
“Keep fucking with me and I’ll pull over. Right here. Right now.”
She sucked in a breath, her eyes flashing with something dangerous. She wanted that.
I cursed under my breath and forced myself to focus on the road but I barely remember parking.
Because the second we stepped into her apartment, I had her against the door—kneeling, looking up at me through those damn glasses, her full lips already parting as she opened her mouth for me.
And I lost it.
Her tongue dragged up the length of me, slow and teasing, leaving a wet trail that made my knees threaten to give out. She kissed the tip, flicked her tongue across it, then opened wide and took me in like she was made for it.
“Fuck.”
My head tipped back, breath hitching, hands burying themselves in her braids. I gripped them tight, needing something to hold onto as the heat of her mouth wrapped around me.
She moaned as she sucked me deeper—wet, warm, so damn tight. The sound shot straight through me, a filthy vibration that had my hips jerking forward before I could stop myself.
Then I looked down.
She was a vision—glasses fogged, spit slicking her lips, her chin already shiny from how messy she was getting. And when she pushed those glasses up her nose with the back of her hand— mid-stroke —without breaking eye contact?
I twitched hard in her mouth.
Those wide brown eyes held me there, owned me. Her hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady, and then she sank down deep . Gagged a little. Pulled back. Did it again.
Her spit coated me, dripping down my shaft, wetting her chin, soaking the top of her shirt. She tugged the hem up herself, baring her breasts for me, nipples tight, tits bouncing each time she bobbed her head.
God. Damn.
The sound of it—wet and nasty—echoed off the walls. Her lips smacked, her throat swallowed, her breath huffed through her nose every time I hit the back of her throat.
I was supposed to let her set the pace.
Supposed to let her enjoy it.
But I couldn’t.
I gripped her braids harder and thrust into her mouth—slow at first, then deeper, watching the stretch of her lips, the way drool spilled from the corners, slicking her skin.
“Take it,” I rasped.
She did. Like a damn pro.
Her hand worked what her mouth couldn’t reach, spit foaming at the corners, streaming down in thick strings that glistened on her throat, her tits, her belly.
I felt myself getting close. Too close.
She sucked harder, mouth working me like she was starving, like she needed me. And when I came, I groaned so loud it echoed—my hips jerking, hands tightening in her hair as I emptied into her mouth.
She swallowed it all. Every drop.
And when I looked down, still pulsing, she licked the tip— slow , like she was savoring it—eyes never leaving mine.
My knees almost buckled.But I wasn’t done.
Not even close.
We barely made it to her room before I had her on the bed, kneeling for me—back arched, ass high in the air, waiting.
Her body knew what she wanted, even if her mouth hadn’t said a word.
I stood behind her, breathing heavy, watching the curve of her spine, the sheen of spit still on her chin, the way her thighs trembled like she was already halfway to coming again.
I dragged my fingers through her folds—wet, swollen, soft as silk.
“So fucking wet for me,” I murmured, pressing two fingers inside, groaning at how tight she was.
“Shit, Amaya.”
She whimpered, pushing back against my hand, her ass grinding into me like she couldn’t wait a second longer.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the edges.
I grabbed her hips, holding her still, and slid inside her in one deep, slow, aching thrust.
She let out a sound I’d never forget—half cry, half curse, all hunger.
Her back bowed. Her fists balled in the sheets. Her walls clenched around me like they knew me.
“Tight as fuck,” I groaned, my fingers bruising her hips as I pulled back and drove in again—harder.
She cried out, a sharp, ragged gasp, and then again when I did it again. And again.
Her body bounced against mine, her ass rippling from the impact, her back arching like she needed all of me, deeper .
“Fuck,” I gritted out, jaw tight, sweat sliding down my chest. “You’re taking this dick so damn good.”
She threw it back on me like she owned it—like this was hers to ride and mine to ruin. The sounds coming from her mouth were pure filth, and I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
The slap of skin. Her moans. Our breaths tangled with the beat of the headboard tapping the wall.
I leaned over her, one hand fisting in her hair, my mouth brushing her ear.
“Feel good?” I growled.
She whimpered, nodding, her hips jerking back into mine.
I spanked her. Once. Then again.
My palm stung from it, and she clenched around me, her moans turning desperate. She was soaked. Dripping. The slide of my dick inside her was pure wet heat.
“You like that shit?” I murmured. “You like when I fuck you like this?”
“Yes,” she gasped, panting. “Don’t stop, Amir. Please.”
Her voice cracked, high and wild, her face buried in the sheets as she pushed back, chasing the friction, chasing the high.
I gritted my teeth and changed the angle, deeper now, pounding into her with steady, punishing strokes that had her thighs shaking, her cries growing louder, more unhinged.
“Amaya,” I growled, pulling her up by her braids. Her back pressed to my chest now, her mouth open, drool slipping down her chin. “You gonna cum on this dick?”
She couldn’t speak. Just nodded, eyes rolling back as I fucked her harder, my hand now wrapped around her throat, my thumb under her jaw.
And when she came she screamed, her whole body locking up, pussy fluttering around me, squeezing me so tight I saw stars.
“Fuuuuck—” I groaned, driving into her until I couldn’t hold back any longer.
I slammed deep once. Twice. My body trembling as I emptied into her, my hands gripping her hips like I could keep her there forever.
I didn’t pull out right away.
Just stayed buried inside her, our bodies shaking, soaked in sweat and spit and everything we’d been holding back.
When I finally eased out, she collapsed forward, breathing hard, her body twitching with aftershocks. I watched her for a second—head turned to the side, cheeks flushed, mouth parted like she was still moaning my name in her head.
She was wrecked and so was I.
I pressed a kiss to her spine, right between her damp shoulder blades. “You okay?” My voice sounded reverent.
She nodded. “Mmm. More than.”
I stayed with her until her breathing slowed, until she drifted off, boneless and satisfied, wrapped in my arms.
But now, in the quiet morning light, I was alone.
The space beside me was empty.
I sat up, pulled on my sweats, and padded through the apartment, my chest still pounding with the memory of what we’d done. Of what it meant.
The scent of coffee still lingered—but the silence was heavy.
In the kitchen, I spotted the note beside her empty mug:
I have a meeting and didn’t want to wake you.
I stared at it, my jaw tight, heart caught between wanting to believe her… and knowing she was running again.
I took a slow sip from her mug, still warm.
No way she left without thinking about what that night meant.
No way I was going to let her disappear like that again.
This time?
I was going to make damn sure she knew—we weren’t going back.