17. Amara
AMARA
Ikiss him like I'm a woman possessed. Throw my arms around his neck and pull him close with a desperation I don't recognize.
Because despite every wall I've built, every justification I've constructed, I missed him.
Missed the solid weight of his body against mine, the way his hands know exactly where to settle on my hips, the taste of him that floods back like muscle memory.
Six years of convincing myself I was better off alone, that June and I were enough, that I didn't need this man who left without fighting for me. Except he didn't leave. I did.
My fingers thread through his hair. He makes a sound low in his throat, pulls me tighter until there's no space left between us. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, trailing heat down my neck.
"Amara," he breathes against my skin.
"Bedroom," I manage. "Now."
I grab his hand, lead him down the hallway past June's room where her door sits cracked, soft breathing audible through the gap. Past the bathroom with its dim nightlight, past the closet overflowing with winter coats we haven't needed yet and into my room at the end of the hall.
The door closes. I push him against it, hands already working at the buttons of his shirt. He watches me with something between surprise and hunger, lets me strip the fabric away and toss it somewhere behind me.
"Are you sure?—"
"Shut up."
"Amara—"
I kiss him again, swallow whatever objection he's about to voice. My hands map his chest, relearning the planes and angles, the scar near his ribs he got from a stupid accident sophomore year, the way his breath hitches when I scrape my nails down his stomach.
He catches my wrists, holds them still. "Is this too soon? You've been pushing me away for weeks and now?—"
"I said shut up, Cassian," I rasp out. "Unless you want me to change my mind."
His grip loosens. "No. God, no. I just want to make sure you actually want this."
"Do I look uncertain to you?"
I pull my shirt over my head, drop it on the floor. His eyes track the movement, darken as they take in the black bra, the exposed skin. Whatever hesitation he had evaporates.
He moves fast, backing me toward the bed with his hands on my hips, mouth finding mine again. We collide with the mattress in a tangle of limbs. My fingers fumble with his belt, yank it free, work the button of his pants while he unclasps my bra with ease.
"Fuck," he mutters against my collarbone. "I've thought about this every day since you left."
"Then stop thinking and do something about it."
He pulls back slightly, looks at me with those hazel eyes June inherited, and strips off the rest of his clothes. I do the same, kicking my jeans away, sliding my underwear down my legs.
Then I push him onto his back and straddle him.
His hands find my waist immediately, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above my hips. I can feel him hard beneath me, the heat of him against my core. I shift slightly, grinding down, watching his face as his eyes roll back.
"Jesus, Amara."
"Missed this?" I lean forward, brace my hands on his chest. "Missed me?"
"Every goddamn second."
I rock against him again, slower this time, dragging out the friction. His fingers dig deeper, hard enough to leave marks I'll find tomorrow. The thought sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
"Say my name again," I whisper near his ear.
"Amara."
"Louder."
"We can't, June's down the hall?—"
I bite his shoulder, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make him gasp. "Then you better keep quiet."
I reach between us, wrap my hand around his cock. He's thick and hard and already leaking, and the weight of him in my palm makes my heart start racing even faster. I stroke once, twice, watch his jaw clench as he fights to stay silent.
"Inside," he grits out. "I need to be inside you."
I position him at my entrance, sink down slowly. The stretch is immediate, overwhelming, perfect. We both freeze for a second, adjusting, remembering what this feels like after years of absence.
Then I start to move.
Slowly at first, rolling my hips, finding the rhythm that used to drive him crazy. His hands guide me, help me rise and fall, thumbs stroking circles against my skin. I bite my lip to keep from making noise, conscious of June sleeping twenty feet away, of the thin walls and the need for discretion.
Cassian pulls me down, kisses me deep enough to drown out the moan building in my throat. I kiss him back harder, swallow his groan when I grind down hard, taking him deeper.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers against my mouth. "So perfect. I forgot how perfect this is."
"Don't talk. Just—" I increase the pace, chasing the heat building in my core. "Just don't stop."
His hips thrust up to meet mine. The new angle hits something that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I bury my face in his neck, muffle my gasp against his skin.
"There?" he asks quietly.
"There. Right there."
He adjusts, hits that spot again and again with each thrust. My nails dig into his shoulders. The coil in my stomach winds tighter, pleasure building in waves that threaten to break me apart.
"Cassian—"
"I know. I've got you."
His hand slides between us, finds my clit, rubs tight circles that match the rhythm of his hips. It's too much, too fast, too perfect after years of nothing. I'm going to fall apart and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
"Come for me," he breathes. "Please."
The orgasm hits me intensely. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the cry trying to escape, body clenching around him as pleasure floods through every nerve. He holds me through it, keeps moving, prolongs it until I'm shaking.
Then his rhythm falters. "Where—I'm close—where do you want me?"
"Inside." The word comes out before I can think better of it. "Come inside me."
He groans, low and guttural, and thrusts deep. I feel him pulse, feel the warmth spreading, feel his whole body go rigid beneath me before collapsing back against the mattress.
We stay like that for a long moment. Breathing hard, hearts racing, bodies still connected. His hands trace lazy patterns on my back. I rest my forehead against his chest, listen to his heartbeat gradually slow.
Reality creeps back in. What we just did, the implications, the fact that June's down the hall and we just had sex in my apartment where she could've woken up and heard everything.
"Amara—"
"Don't." I lift my head, meet his eyes. "Don't ruin this by talking about what it means."
"I'm just going to say that was incredible."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "It was."
"Can I stay? Just for a little while?"
I should say no and kick him out before this gets more complicated than it already is. But he's warm and solid beneath me, and some traitorous part of me wants him here just a little longer.
"A little while," I murmur. "Then you leave before June wakes up."
"Deal."
I roll off him, grab tissues from the nightstand, clean up quickly before pulling the sheet over us. He wraps an arm around me, pulls me close. I let him, just this once, and close my eyes.
Tomorrow I'll regret this. I'll rebuild my walls and remember why letting him in is dangerous. But tonight, for just a few hours, I let myself have this.
Even if I know better.