Chapter 19
19
T he city was glowing.
Not loud. Not frantic. But soft—tucked beneath a navy sky, each light flickering like it had something to whisper.
That’s how this place felt. The rooftop restaurant Amir had chosen sat above it all, with strings of warm bulbs woven through wooden beams, low music humming beneath the sound of silverware and laughter. Wind brushed against my shoulders like fingertips.
“This is… stunning,” I said, my voice small as the host led us to our table near the edge of the terrace. The skyline unfolded in front of us like a secret. “It’s almost too perfect.”
Amir smirked as he pulled out my chair. “Almost?”
I gave him a look. “Don’t get cocky.”
He grinned and nodded to the view. “I thought you’d like it. It reminded me of your art.”
I tilted my head. “How so?”
He didn’t look away from me. “Quiet, but powerful. Messy in the right places. Beautiful even when it’s raw.”
The words knocked the wind out of me.
And then something hit me—right between the ribs—as I looked around again. The rooftop. The glow. The soft music swirling through the air like a current.
“This would be the perfect backdrop,” I murmured, almost to myself.
Amir raised a brow. “For what?”
I smiled. “For your music. And my art. Side by side. Something intimate. Something that matters.”
His eyes held mine, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just reached across the table, lacing his fingers with mine.
We talked. Ate slowly. Laughed. There were no awkward pauses, no tension—just this stretch of easy, sensual calm between us, like something inside had already settled.
But even as I soaked it in, part of me still needed to ask.
I leaned in slightly. “Why now?”
Amir’s eyes flicked to mine.
“You’ve known me forever,” I continued, voice soft but steady. “Why now, Amir? What made you finally see me like… this?”
His thumb brushed over mine. “I always saw you, A.”
“But—”
“I didn’t think I was ready. Didn’t think I deserved you. Not with the shit I was chasing. Not with the shit I was trying to heal from.” His jaw flexed. “But something shifted when I started spending nights with you. Hearing you breathe in the next room. Watching you move around your space like you weren’t trying to impress anyone. I stopped pretending.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it slipped out in a shaky exhale.
“I’ve always wanted you,” he said simply. “But now, I know I can love you right.”
Something inside me cracked wide open.
We lingered after dinner, letting the rooftop lights flicker around us, suspended in something sweet and too real.
Eventually, he reached for my hand again. “Come with me. Just for a minute.”
He drove us across the city, his hand resting on my thigh the whole ride. His touch was steady, but I could feel the tension humming under his skin.
We pulled up to his condo—still under renovation. From the outside, it looked mostly finished. But inside, sawdust lingered in the corners and faint traces of paint clung to the air. The floors gleamed beneath the soft lights, windows wide open to the city skyline.
“Just wanted to check in,” he said casually, unlocking the door and stepping aside for me. “They’re ahead of schedule.”
I stepped in slowly, taking it all in—the open floor plan, the clean lines, the possibility.
“You’ll be moving out soon,” I murmured, before I could stop myself.
He looked at me. “Yeah.”
And in that one word, everything between us shifted. Stretched. Tightened.
We stood in the middle of the space, the silence thick with everything we hadn’t said.
“Show me your bedroom,” I whispered.
He walked me down the hall, but I barely saw the space. There was no bed. No sheets. Just plastic draped over the frame. Clean, unfinished. But I didn’t need the room.
I needed him.
He turned to say something, but I was already reaching for him—hands pressed to his chest, my mouth on his before the words could form.
There was no rush, but there was need. Deep, aching, whole-body need. We kissed like we were starving for breath and only each other could give it.
His hands slid to my hips, pulling me closer, pressing me back until I felt the cool wall against my spine. He caged me in, body against mine, his mouth moving from my lips to my jaw, then to my neck.
“I’ve been wanting you like this all night,” he murmured, voice rough. “Couldn’t stop thinking about bending you against a wall and taking my time.”
“Do it,” I breathed.
He growled low in his throat, both hands sliding up under my dress, bunching it at my waist. His fingers hooked my panties and dragged them down my legs, slow and deliberate.
“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes dragging down my body. “You’re already wet for me.”
I was. Dripping.
He dropped to his knees, kissed my inner thighs, then licked up my slit with a hunger that made me whimper.
The wall behind me shook slightly with each moan he pulled from me, my palms flat against it, trying to hold myself up as his mouth sucked and licked and fucked me open until my legs trembled.
“Amir—” I gasped, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t…”
“Yes you can,” he growled, tongue swirling over my clit before he stood again.
He turned me around, pressed me to the wall, chest to my back, one hand braced beside my head.
“You remember what you said at dinner?” he whispered against my ear, rubbing the thick length of him along my folds. “That you wanted something real?”
I nodded, breath catching.
“Then let me give it to you.”
He pushed into me slow, deep, groaning as my pussy stretched to take him.
My cheek pressed to the wall, my hands splayed beside my head, his dick dragging through me with that perfect, devastating pressure. Each stroke was controlled. Firm. Filthy. Beautiful.
He fucked me against that wall like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth. His hand slipped around my throat, not tight—just there, holding me in place. Reminding me he had me where he wanted me.
“Amaya,” he breathed. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
I moaned, pushing back against him, meeting each thrust with my own need, my body hot and shaking, slick sounds filling the room as he drove into my pussy.
“Faster,” I begged. “Harder.”
He yanked my braids gently, angled my neck back, kissed the shell of my ear. “Say it again.”
“Harder. Please.”
He fucked me rough then. Deep and possessive, one hand gripping my hip, the other wrapped in my braids as he slammed into me over and over until my voice broke.
And when I came, I screamed into the empty room, the orgasm ripping through me as he held me upright, still stroking through my aftershocks.
He turned me around and kissed me hard—wet, deep, like he wasn’t done.
And he wasn’t.
He lifted me in one fluid motion and carried me down the hall, straight to the unfinished bedroom, removing the tarp covering his bedding.
He laid me gently on the bdd , kissed down my chest, over my stomach, then filled me again—slow this time, deep, his body pressed tight to mine as we rocked together, the city lights bleeding through the window.
“Let me love you for real this time,” he whispered.
“You already do,” I breathed.
And this time, when we came, it was quiet. Still. His release shuddering through me as he groaned into my mouth, and I held him there—body to body, soul to soul.
We stayed tangled like that, his heart thudding against mine, our sweat cooling between kisses.
“I got you.”
And I believed him. Again.
This time… without fear.