Chapter 5
Ishould’ve listened to the voice that told me to send the file digitally and keep this clean.
Keep it distant, professional, and safe.
That voice had carried me through harder decisions than this one. It was the same voice that helped me pack boxes in silence years ago. The one that reminded me survival sometimes looks like walking away before love can finish breaking you.
But his email disrupted that hard-earned logic.
On the surface, it was exactly what it needed to be. Formal. Direct. A request for documentation tied to the fire investigation. No extra words. No questions that didn’t belong. Anyone else would’ve read it and seen procedure. I saw restraint. I saw every word he didn’t allow himself to write.
And that was worse.
Because Tariq Hunt had never been a man who hid behind language. Not with me. Not when we were us. The control in that message told me how much it had cost him to send it at all.
I told myself I would respond the same way. Attach the files. Keep moving. Let this be one more clean exchange between two people who used to share a life.
Instead, I got in my car.
The drive felt longer than it should have. Like the city itself was asking me if I was sure. Every red light a chance to turn around. Every turn another opportunity to choose distance again.
I didn’t take any of them. Because no matter how much time had passed, some part of me had been waiting for him to reach.
And now I was standing in the doorway of his office. Watching another woman lean too close. Laugh too easily. Existing inside a space I knew the shape of without stepping into it. My chest tightened—not with jealousy. Not exactly.
With recognition.
Of how easily the world keeps moving when you’re the one who stops.
My hand tightened on the portfolio I’d brought with me, the weight of it grounding. This was why I was here. Evidence. Documentation. Facts. Not memory. Not history. Not him.
Still… when he looked up, every careful reason I’d built for coming here started to feel dangerously thin.
She was pretty. Young. Glossy lips. Braids styled sleek with gold cuffs at the ends. Her blouse hugged her a little tighter than dress code probably allowed, but Tariq didn’t seem to be looking at her like that.
He didn’t have to. She looked at him enough for both of them.
And Tariq—he was still dangerous.
Still tall, broad, all that calm restraint wrapped around a body that used to wreck me. Still wearing that tactical silence like a badge. Still standing like he could take your breath or your life depending on how you moved.
I felt stripped, exposed—like he could still see me down to the skin, the sweat, the tremble.
Seeing him like this, in control, desired, unmoved… it cracked something in me I hadn’t let surface in years.
Out of all the men I’d dated since Tariq, not one had undone me like he did. Not from my body. Not from my mind. Not from my heart.
There’d been men with more power. More access. More poise. But none of them had ever touched me in that dark, burning place Tariq claimed the first night he slid between my thighs and made me cum with nothing but his mouth and his voice.
She walked past me slow, clocking me, then smirking like she’d won something. I didn’t even blink.
I earned my place in this man’s life long before she ever learned how to linger in a doorway.
The door shut, and the air shifted…
“That’s not what it looked like.” His eyes were sincere but I wouldn’t let him know I’d seen the truth just yet.
I crossed my arms. Not out of attitude—just to hold myself still. “What did it look like?”
He studied me. “Like someone mistaking proximity for possibility.”
It almost made me smile. Almost. But I didn’t trust myself to soften.
“I don’t have the right to question how you spend your time and with whom.” Even if I really wanted to know.
“Possibly. But I won’t lie and say I wonder who’s been taking care of my pussy since you left.”
His pussy clenched.
“That’s not fair, and you know it, Tariq.”
“I know I’ve missed you. But you’re not here to talk about that. Right?”
I swallowed and nodded. “Right?”
Just like that, he owned me.
I walked toward his desk, my heels quiet on the floor, my portfolio tucked in one arm like a shield. I stopped closer than I needed to. Closer than I should’ve.
He smelled the same. Clean. Masculine. Expensive restraint.
His forearms rested on the desk—veins like thick cords beneath that smooth, brown skin. My stomach dipped.
My mouth remembered the feel of those arms around my waist, holding me steady while he pinned my knees to my shoulders and fucked me deep enough to make me see stars. My pussy pulsed just from the memory.
I remembered how he slapped my ass when I rode him too slow. How he gripped my hips and whispered faster, baby—his voice low, breath hot, dick thick and buried deep. How he kissed the center of my chest afterward like worship.
Tariq licked his lips. My thighs clenched.
Focus, Sanaa.
“I brought the documentation of the art and any materials related to installation,” I said, setting the folder down between us. My voice didn’t shake, but I felt the tremble behind it. “The collection wasn’t fully insured. Some items were acquired through unorthodox means.”
His jaw flexed. He nodded.
“I see…Thank you.”
I nodded on a deep breath. Our eyes connected and held.
The air between us thickened with everything unspoken. I felt the heat rising in my chest. My nipples tightened beneath my blouse. My body tilted toward his like it remembered the rhythm we used to move in—the kind that ended with me screaming into his neck and shaking under his hands.
I stepped back and smoothed my skirt.
“If you need anything else,” I said, cool as I could manage, “you can reach me through my firm.”
I turned before he could answer because I knew we both needed something else. His eyes told me exactly what he needed, and he knew I wanted the same thing.
Walking out of his office felt harder than walking away all those years ago.
And as the door clicked shut behind me, the only thing I could think was, how the hell was I supposed to stay away from the man who still lived in my body like a ghost…
when every part of me wanted to go back in there and let him haunt me again?
My phone buzzed before I even made it to the elevator.
Rob:
You free tonight?
I exhaled through my nose.
Rob was easy. Predictable. Good-looking. Successful. And yes—he had good dick. Reliable, attentive, knew how to listen when a woman told him what she liked.
But not good enough to make me forget my name. Not good enough to rearrange my breathing and my guts. Not good enough to make me feel claimed.
Me:
Busy.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Rob:
You said that last time. I’m starting to think you don’t like me anymore.
I didn’t bother answering, because the truth was, I didn’t want him touching me. Not tonight. Not after seeing Tariq standing there in that office looking like six years hadn’t dulled a single edge between us.
I slipped my phone into my purse and drove home in silence.
My condo greeted me the way it always did—quiet, curated, controlled. A space I’d built piece by piece after everything fell apart. Every object intentional. Every surface chosen. Nothing accidental.
I walked straight to the bathroom.
If I didn’t get this feeling out of me, it was going to sit there all night.
The tub filled while I undressed slowly, peeling off fabric like it annoyed me. My blouse. My skirt. My bra. My panties. I left them in a trail across the marble floor.
Steam began to curl into the air as the bath salts dissolved, releasing that expensive, grounding scent I told myself helped me relax.
But my body wasn’t tense. It was restless.
I slid into the water, heat wrapping around me, and leaned back against the smooth stone. My skin tingled as the salts softened it. My thighs parted without me thinking about it, because now there was no pretending.
The moment I closed my eyes, he was there.
Standing too close. Looking at me like he remembered exactly how I felt underneath him. Like he knew how easily I used to come apart.
My hand drifted down between my legs, fingertips just grazing first. Testing. Teasing.
I inhaled sharply.
Even that light touch felt different tonight because I wasn’t imagining some faceless man. I was imagining him.
His voice low in my ear.
His hand pushing my thighs wider.
The weight of him settling between them.
My fingers pressed deeper, sliding through slick heat already waiting. I gasped, head falling back against the edge of the tub.
“Damn you…” I whispered, though there was no one there. Except memory.
I moved slower, circling my engorged flesh, building, letting myself feel every sensation instead of rushing it. I imagined his dark eyes watching me. The way he used to look between my legs like it was something sacred. Dangerous.
I let one finger slip inside. Then two.
My hips lifted off the bottom of the tub. Water sloshed onto the floor. My breath broke.
Rob had never done this to me. Never made my body react before he even touched me. Never made me wet just from remembering.
Rob’s dick was good. Tariq’s was unforgettable.
I worked myself faster now, chasing the image of him above me, the sound of his breathing changing, the way he used to say my name when he lost control.
“Sanaa…” I imagined him saying, rough, reverent.
My thighs trembled. My stomach tightened. I rubbed harder, deeper, needing that same edge he used to push me over.
And when I came apart, it hit fast and hard—my body clenching around my own fingers, a broken sound leaving my mouth as the water rippled violently around me.
I stayed there, breathing, eyes still shut, pulse racing as if I’d just been touched for real. But when I opened my eyes, I was alone. Just me. Just my bathroom. My silence. My choices.
I sank lower into the bath, staring at the ceiling. Damn that man for still having my body and my soul.