Homecoming's Unfinished Business
# The Weight of Memory The airport terminal hummed with the sterile energy of fluorescent lights and rolling luggage. I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag, the familiar weight grounding me as I navigated through clusters of reuniting fami
Chapter 1
The airport terminal hummed with the sterile energy of fluorescent lights and rolling luggage. I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag, the familiar weight grounding me as I navigated through clusters of reuniting families and business travelers. Seven years away changes the way a place feels—the air smells the same, but the space it occupies in your chest shifts, becomes foreign territory you once called home.
Paul’s wedding was the excuse. The real reason was something I couldn’t name, a pull in my gut that had grown louder with each passing month on the force, each crime scene taped off, each witness statement filed away. I needed to remember what normal felt like before it became another case file I couldn’t close.
I’d booked the same apartment complex I’d lived in years ago, back when Maya and I—
I cut the thought short, muscle memory of old discipline. Some doors stay locked for a reason.
Chapter 2
The keys were under the mat, just as the rental agency promised. Third floor, same faded carpet in the hallway, same faint smell of someone’s cooking seeping through the walls. I dropped my bag inside the door and stood in the unfamiliar silence, the kind that settles into a place you don’t belong to anymore.
Wednesday. Paul’s rehearsal dinner wasn’t until Friday. I had two days to kill and a week stretching out ahead of me like an empty highway, no destination, no dispatch call, no obligation to be anywhere but here. The thought unsettled me more than I expected.
I unpacked methodically—shirts folded, toiletries arranged, badge tucked into the nightstand drawer where I wouldn’t have to look at it. The quiet pressed in, and I found myself at the window, watching the city lights flicker to life against the darkening sky.
That’s when I saw her.
She was walking across the courtyard below, and even from three stories up, even after seven years, I knew the shape of her. The slight sway in her hips that wasn’t quite a strut, the way she tilted her head when she was thinking, the medium-length hair falling across her shoulder as she paused to check her phone. Maya.
The name rose unbidden, and my chest tightened with something between recognition and ache. She was slightly fuller than I remembered—the kind of softness that time and living bring, curves settling into places they’d only hinted at before. I could just make out the glint of metal catching the courtyard lights: the navel piercing she’d gotten on a dare when we were twenty-two, when everything felt like an adventure we were having together.
She was tall. I’d forgotten just how tall, or maybe I’d made her smaller in my memory so she wouldn’t take up so much space. A mistake, clearly. She walked with the same unhurried confidence, the same quiet curiosity in the way her gaze swept her surroundings. I remembered that about her—how she never just looked at things, she absorbed them, turned them over in her mind like stones worn smooth by water.
I stood frozen at the window as she climbed into a car and pulled out of the parking lot. My pulse thrummed in my throat.
Chapter 3
I didn’t sleep well that night. The bed was too soft, the city too quiet after years of sirens and radio static. I lay awake thinking about her—about us—about the way we’d ended, not with a fight but with a slow, agonizing drift that neither of us had been brave enough to stop. I’d been serious even then, too serious maybe, the weight of the uniform already pressing down on me even before I’d earned it. She’d wanted to explore, to feel, to push against the boundaries of the life we were building. I’d wanted to protect what we had, and in the protecting, I’d suffocated it.
When morning finally came, I dressed and headed to the coffee shop on the corner, the one I used to haunt when this neighborhood was mine. Muscle memory carried me through the door, and that’s when I saw her again.
She was sitting at a table near the window, a book open in front of her, steam curling from a ceramic mug. Her head lifted as the bell above the door chimed, and her eyes—still that sharp, observant hazel—found mine.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The noise of the coffee shop faded to a dull hum. Her lips parted slightly, and then she smiled, a cautious curve that didn’t quite reach her eyes but held the promise of something complicated.
“Leo.”
Her voice was exactly the same. Lower than you’d expect, a little rough around the edges, the kind of voice that settled into the base of your spine and stayed there.
“Maya.” I stepped forward, every instinct telling me to hold back, every other instinct screaming something entirely different.
She gestured to the empty chair across from her. “You’re back.”
It wasn’t a question. She’d always been able to read me better than anyone.
I sat down, the distance between us now measured in inches instead of years. Her scent reached me—something floral, understated, familiar in a way that made my jaw clench.
“For Paul’s wedding,” I said. “I’m in town for a week.”
“A week.” She turned the word over, and I saw it in her eyes—that curiosity, quickening. The same look she used to get before she asked me something that would unravel me entirely. “That’s a long time.”
The air between us thickened. I could see the shaved smoothness of her skin where her neck met her shoulder, the tiny scars from piercings that had long since closed but left their marks. I wanted to ask her everything and nothing. I wanted to know if she still thought about me in the dark hours before dawn, the way I thought about her.
Instead, I said, “It’s good to see you.”
And she answered, her voice dipping into something lower still, “Is it?”
The question hung between us, heavy with everything unsaid. Seven years of silence, and suddenly a week felt like both an eternity and not nearly enough.
The bell above the door chimed again. Neither of us looked away.
Chapter 4
Her question hung in the air between us, and I watched her watching me, those hazel eyes doing what they'd always done—peeling back layers I didn't even know I'd put up.
"Is it?" I repeated, buying time.
"You know what I mean, Leo." She wrapped both hands around her mug, and I noticed she wasn't wearing rings. No wedding band. No evidence of anyone. "You're back after seven years. You're sitting across from me in our old coffee shop. That's not nothing."
"Paul's wedding," I said, but the words felt thin.
"Right." She tilted her head, and a strand of hair fell across her cheek. She didn't brush it away. "I'm going too. The rehearsal dinner Friday, ceremony Saturday."
I hadn't expected that. Maya and Paul had been friendly, sure, but not close enough that I'd pictured her on the guest list. The surprise must have shown on my face.
"He's marrying my cousin," she said, answering the question I hadn't asked. "Small world, I guess."
"Small world," I echoed.
A beat of silence. Someone's order was called at the counter. The espresso machine hissed.
"So you're going alone?" Maya asked, and there was something careful in her voice now, something testing the temperature of the water.
"Yeah." I saw no reason to lie. "No date. Just me."
She nodded slowly. "Me too."
That surprised me more than I wanted to admit. Maya had never had trouble drawing people in—she was the kind of woman who made you feel like you were the only interesting person in the room. I'd assumed, in the years between then and now, that someone would have claimed that space beside her.
"You're going alone," I said, not quite a question.
"Is that so hard to believe?" A small smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. "Not everyone's looking to lock me down, Leo."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." She leaned back in her chair, studying me with that quiet intensity I remembered so well. "You're going alone too. That doesn't surprise me."
"Why not?"
She lifted one shoulder. "You were always more comfortable on your own. Even when we were together, part of you was always standing a little apart. Watching. Protecting." Her voice softened on the last word.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
Maya set her mug down and folded her hands on the table. "So here we are. Two people, no dates, same wedding. Seems like an obvious solution."
"What kind of solution?"
"We could go together." She said it simply, without fanfare. "Be each other's date."
The offer landed in my chest and spread outward, warm and dangerous. I could already feel the weight of it—the doorway it opened, the years it asked us to bridge.
"You want to open that particular door again?" I asked, my voice lower than I intended.
Maya didn't flinch. Didn't look away. She just nodded, once, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine.
The coffee shop noise faded to static. Just her face, her stillness, the slight parting of her lips as she waited for my answer. Seven years collapsed into the space of a single breath.
Chapter 5
The decision hung between us, delicate and irreversible. Maya stood first, gathering her book and empty mug, and I followed her lead without a word. Some agreements don't need verbal confirmation.
Outside, the morning had warmed. Sunlight cut through the gaps between buildings, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. We walked side by side, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, far enough apart that we could still pretend this was casual.
"So," Maya said, her voice lighter now, testing the new terrain between us, "you're a cop now. That suits you."
"Does it?"
"The way you watch everything. The way you're watching me right now." She glanced sideways, a small smile playing at her lips. "You always did that. Made me feel like I was the only thing worth paying attention to."
"Maybe you were."
The words came out before I could stop them, more honest than I'd intended. Maya's step faltered, just slightly, before she recovered.
"That's the thing about you, Leo," she said quietly. "You never say anything you don't mean. It's terrifying and... something else."
"Something else?"
"I don't know yet." She looked ahead, her profile sharp against the morning light. "Ask me again at the end of the week."
Our hands brushed. Just the lightest contact, knuckle against knuckle, the kind of touch that could be accidental if either of us wanted it to be. Neither of us pulled away.
Instead, her fingers shifted, and then they were threading through mine—slow, deliberate, her palm pressing warm against my own. The sensation hit me like a current, electric and immediate, traveling up my arm and settling deep in my chest. I'd forgotten what this felt like. The simple weight of another person's hand, the quiet intimacy of intertwined fingers, the way a single point of contact could anchor you to a moment so completely.
I tightened my grip, just enough to let her know I felt it too.
"This is strange," Maya murmured, not looking at me. "Seven years, and your hand still feels exactly the way I remember it."
"Is that a good thing?"
She stopped walking. We'd reached the entrance to the apartment complex, the same building where I'd watched her from my window just last night. She turned to face me, her hand still in mine, her hazel eyes searching my face for something I couldn't name.
"I don't know yet," she repeated. But she didn't let go. "Leo, what are we doing?"
"I think we're giving ourselves a week to figure that out."
"A week." She exhaled, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You always did move slow. Methodical. Careful."
"And you always rushed in," I countered, but my voice was gentle. "Curious about everything. Wanting to feel it all at once."
"We were a disaster together."
"Were we?"
The question landed harder than I expected. Maya's expression shifted, something vulnerable flickering beneath her composure. She looked down at our joined hands, then back up at me.
"I don't know the answer to that either," she admitted. "But I think I want to find out."
Chapter 6
The elevator ride was too short and too long all at once—the kind of suspended time that comes when every accidental brush of arms feels like a confession. Maya didn't let go of my hand, and I didn't loosen my grip. Her thumb traced slow circles on the back of my knuckles, an absent-minded rhythm that pulled my attention entirely into the small space between our palms.
The doors slid open on the fourth floor. She stepped out first, pulling me gently along the corridor, and I couldn't help studying the lines of her—the relaxed slope of her shoulders, the faint sway of her hips, the way her medium-length hair fell just above her shoulders, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. There was no ring on her left hand. No pale band of untanned skin where one had been, either. The absence hit me with a kind of quiet clarity: she wasn't attached. She’d walked into that reunion with nothing tying her down, nothing that would make this week complicated by guilt.
I filed the observation away, letting it settle somewhere deep and hopeful.
Her apartment was the last one on the left. She slowed as we reached the door, her body angling toward mine without fully turning. The hallway light was dim, warm, pooling in the hollow of her throat where a pendant rested just above the neckline of her shirt.
She looked up at me. Her hazel eyes carried the question before her mouth did, a silent, tentative inquiry that made her lips part just slightly.
I held still. Her hand hadn't let go of mine, and I could feel the pulse in her wrist beating hard under my thumb. She was contemplating it—the invitation, the next threshold—and I could see the war behind her eyes, the old caution wrestling with the new, reckless pull that had brought us here.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then her gaze dropped to my mouth, and something in her expression softened, surrendered.
"Leo," she whispered, her voice a thread of sound, "do you want to come in?"
The air between us thickened, charged with everything we hadn't said yet. I tightened my hold on her hand, feeling the answer already forming in my chest, heavy and inevitable.
Chapter 7
I nod and she opens the door, I hold it for her as she walks in. I'm still amazed by her. She's not what most people consider thin, but she's not overly heavy either. She has the type of body that she knows I prefer. The way her jeans settle just above her hips and a shirt that isn't too tight but accentuates her curves.
Once inside she turns around to face me, and without thinking I put my hand on the side of her face and brush my thumb against her cheek. The touch draws a soft moan from her lips, a sound that vibrates through my palm and settles deep in my chest.
"Leo," she breathes, her eyes closing for just a moment as she leans into my hand.
I step closer, the door clicking shut behind me, sealing us into this small space that suddenly feels like the only room in the world. My other hand finds her waist, fingers pressing gently against the swell of her hip through the denim. She's warm beneath the fabric, solid and real in a way that seven years of memory could never capture.
Her hands come up to rest on my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. When she opens her eyes again, they're darker than before, the hazel swallowed by pupils wide with want.
"I've thought about this," she whispers. "About you. About what it would feel like to have you this close again."
I lean in, my forehead nearly touching hers, my thumb still tracing slow arcs across her cheekbone. Her breath is warm against my lips, unsteady, and the scent of her—something floral and familiar—wraps around me like a half-remembered dream.
"Tell me," I murmur, my voice rougher than I intended. "Tell me what you thought about."
Her fingers tighten on my shirt, and she tilts her chin up, closing the distance between us until there's nothing left but the space of a single shared breath.
"Everything," she says. "I thought about everything."
Chapter 8
Her word hangs in the air—*everything*—and I close the distance, leaning in to kiss her cautiously at first. My lips brush hers with the hesitance of a man still uncertain he deserves this. But Maya doesn’t let me linger in doubt. She rises up on her toes, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me into a fierce kiss which I return.
Her taste is honey and salt, a sweetness I’d buried so deep I almost forgot. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails grazing my scalp, and I groan into her mouth, hands pressing her closer at the small of her back.
When we break to catch our breath, I notice tears glistening in her eyes, clinging to her lashes. The sight hits harder than any punch ever could. All I can do is say, “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head, a tear slipping free. “For what, Leo? Leaving? Coming back? Kissing me now?”
“For the years we lost.” My thumb catches the tear on her cheekbone. “For not being the man you deserved back then.”
Her palm flattens against my chest, over my hammering heart. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
This time I lean in with certainty, and she meets me halfway. Our mouths mold in a slower rhythm, tongues sliding with tenderness. Her hands move to my shirt buttons, working them open, fingertips brushing bare skin. I shiver.
I tug her shirt free from her jeans, sliding my palms up her stomach. The small metal barbell of her navel piercing rolls under my thumb. She arches into my touch, breath catching. I push the fabric higher, revealing the swell of her breasts, the lace of her bra, and a silver glint of another piercing beneath.
“God, Maya,” I rasp.
She guides me backward until my knees hit the couch. We sink into it, limbs tangling. My hand settles on her hip, fingers tracing the waistband of her jeans, teasing the edge of what lies beneath. Her teeth graze my pulse point, breath coming in short, damp gasps.
We stay suspended in that heat—no past, no future, just the silent promise that this time we won’t walk away.
Chapter 9
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. No words—we never needed them for this. She gives a small, slow nod, lower lip caught between her teeth. Permission granted.
My hand slides around her spine, fingers finding the clasp of her bra. A practiced flick and it loosens. She sits up, letting the straps slip down her shoulders, the lace falling away. Then she shifts higher on my lap, bringing her breasts level with my mouth, the silver bars through each nipple catching the dim light.
“I remember what this does to you,” I murmur, voice thick.
“Prove it,” she breathes, a dare wrapped in a plea.
I take her left nipple into my mouth, tongue rolling over the metal and the tight flesh beneath. She gasps, fingers spearing into my hair. My right hand lifts to her other breast, thumb circling the hard bud, teasing with just enough pressure.
“God, Leo.” Her head falls back, a shudder rippling through her. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I suck deeper, grazing my teeth just shy of the piercing, while my fingers pinch and roll the other peak. Her hips grind down against my thighs, a desperate, wordless rhythm. I can feel the heat of her through our jeans, the growing dampness that promises more.
“Seven years, and you still know exactly how to wreck me,” she whispers, voice cracking.
I release her nipple long enough to growl against her skin, “I’ve got a week to learn every new inch of you.”
Her answer is a moan, raw and unguarded. I return my mouth to her, swapping sides, while my free hand slides up her back, pressing her closer. The world narrows to the taste of her, the sounds she makes, the steady climb of a hunger that won’t be satisfied tonight—not yet, not here—but it’s already burning far brighter than memory ever could.
Chapter 10
Her grinding turns frantic, a rhythm built on pure need. I let her ride the friction until I feel her thighs start to shake. Then I release her breasts, my hands sliding down her sides as she climbs off my lap, standing before me with hooded eyes.
I undo the button of her jeans, tug the zipper down, and peel the denim over her hips. The black lace panties beneath stretch tight across a completely smooth mound—the bald pussy I remember, but now adorned with a silver barbell glinting above in her navel. I hook my fingers into the waistband and drag the lace down her legs, baring her completely.
A slow exhale across her wet skin makes her shudder. “Leo,” she whispers, voice frayed. Then I lean in and run the flat of my tongue up the center of her slit.
The taste is exactly what I’ve been missing—salt and something darker, uniquely her. Her gasp turns into a low groan as I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue, tracing the tight bud until it hardens under my attention. Her fingers twist into my hair, not guiding but anchoring.
I grip her thighs and pull her closer, mouth sealed over her as I lap and suck in a pattern I haven’t forgotten. Seven years melt away in the wet, hot glide of her against my lips. She keens, hips bucking just slightly, and I know she’s already climbing fast. I slow my pace just enough to keep her hovering, edging her without words, letting the pressure coil tighter and tighter inside her.
The taste of her arousal fills my tongue, each stroke pulling another broken moan from her chest. The room is nothing but the sound of her breathing, the pulse of her clit under my tongue, the steady, consuming hunger that tells me I’m not stopping anytime soon.
Chapter 11
I slide my tongue deeper, flattening it against her clit, and reach around to press two fingers against her from behind. She's so wet that they sink in without resistance, the tight heat of her gripping me as I curl them forward.
“Oh fuck—Leo—” Her voice cracks, and her hands fly to her chest. She pinches her nipples through the piercings, rolling the silver bars between her fingers as her hips start to buck against my mouth. “Right there, don't stop, please don't—”
I groan into her, the vibration making her curse again. My fingers work in a steady rhythm, matching the pace of my tongue, and I can feel her starting to come apart faster than I expected. Her thighs clamp around my head, and she's babbling now, half-words and broken moans.
“I'm gonna—I'm—fuck, Leo, I'm coming—”
Her orgasm hits hard and sudden. She trembles violently, knees buckling, and I pull my mouth back just enough to wrap my arms around her waist and hold her up. She sags against me, chest heaving, fingers still twisted in her own hair now, and I press my cheek to her stomach as the aftershocks roll through her.
“I've got you,” I murmur against her damp skin. “I've got you.”
She makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “That was... that was really fucking fast.”
I look up at her, still supporting her weight. “We've got time.”
Chapter 12
She pulls me up by the shoulders, her grip still trembling from the aftershocks. I rise to my feet, and she immediately sinks down, knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. Her hands go to my belt, working the buckle with practiced urgency. She unzips my jeans, tugs them down along with my boxers, and when I’m free, my cock springs out, already slick at the tip.
Maya wraps her fingers around me and gives a slow, deliberate stroke from base to head, her thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum across the ridge. “Fuck, you’re so hard,” she whispers, more to herself than to me.
Then she leans in and takes me into her mouth. The wet heat of her tongue seals around my shaft as she sinks down, taking half of me in one smooth motion before pulling back to swirl her tongue around the head. I groan and thread my fingers through her hair, gripping the back of her skull gently but firmly.
She moans against my skin, the vibration humming up my length, and her hand keeps stroking whatever she can’t fit in her mouth. She hollows her cheeks, drawing tight suction, and I feel her spit slicking down my shaft, easing the hungry rhythm she’s setting.
I look down at her—her bald pussy still glistening from my mouth, her pierced nipples peaked and tight, and her eyes half-closed in bliss. She’s lost in it, bobbing her head in a steady, wet glide, and every time she pulls back, her tongue drags along the underside of my cock, tracing the vein.
She pauses to breathe, letting my cock rest against her cheek while she strokes me with both hands now, twisting around the shaft. “I’ve thought about this so many times,” she murmurs, her voice thick. “How you taste. How you feel.” Then she licks from my balls to the tip and takes me deep again, burying her nose in my pubic hair.
I hold her hair tighter, guiding her pace, but I let her lead. She’s not rushing; she’s savoring, and every moan she lets out tells me she’s getting off on this too. The pressure builds in my balls, a heavy, coiling heat, but I’m not there yet—just riding the edge of something bigger, watching her worship my cock like she’s been starving for it.
Chapter 13
I look down at her, my cock still slick with her spit, and the question tears out of me: “Do you want me to cum in your mouth, or do you want me to fuck you and fill that pussy?”
Maya’s eyes flash up, lips swollen and parted. She doesn’t answer with words at first—just rises, her body unfolding with the confident curve I’ve missed for seven years. She moves to the couch, kneels on the cushions facing the back, arching her spine until her bald pussy is presented to me, glistening and open. Over her shoulder, she says, “Fuck me like you own me. Fill me up, Leo.”
My breath hitches. I step behind her, grip my cock at the base, and run the head through her slick folds. “Like I own you?” I press just the tip inside. “You sure you can take that?”
“I’ve been waiting for it,” she moans, pushing back against me. “Don’t hold back.”
I sink into her, burying myself to the hilt in tight, wet heat. She cries out, fingers clawing the couch back. I pull back almost completely, then drive forward again, setting a hard, punishing rhythm. The sound of our bodies slapping fills the room, her pierced tits bouncing with each impact.
“You feel that?” I say against her neck, one hand gripping her hip, the other twisting in her hair. “This pussy’s mine tonight.”
“Yes,” she gasps, “all yours. Fuck me harder.”
I pound into her faster, deeper, her cunt squeezing me like a fist. I reach around and rub her clit with rough, wet circles. “Cum on my cock, Maya. Now.”
Her body convulses first, a sharp scream tearing from her throat as her pussy milks me. The sensation shoves me over the edge—I groan and pump my cum deep inside her, spurting hot and thick, filling her exactly the way she asked. I stay buried through the last pulses, then collapse forward, my forehead pressed to her shoulder blade, both of us panting.
After a long moment, I murmur into her skin, “That week just got a hell of a lot better.”
She laughs, a breathless, shattered sound. “Don’t you dare leave this couch.”
We stay there, still joined, the weight of seven years finally beginning to lift.
Chapter 14
I tighten my grip just under her ribs and lift, easing myself out of her with a wet sound that makes her gasp. She’s pliant in my hands, boneless, and I turn us both as I sink back onto the couch cushions. Maya ends up sideways across my lap, her legs draped over the armrest, her head tucked into the curve of my neck. A throaty giggle vibrates against my skin, and she buries her face deeper, lips brushing my pulse point.
“That was quite the move, Officer,” she murmurs, her breath warm and teasing. “Did they teach you that at the academy?”
I huff a laugh, one hand splaying across her bare thigh. “Off-duty skill. Only deployable when a gorgeous woman goes limp on me.”
She tilts her head to look up, her eyes still hazy, a lazy smile tugging at her swollen lips. “Limp is an understatement. You just rearranged my soul and then scooped me up like I weigh nothing.”
“You’re not heavy,” I say, thumb tracing her hip. “And your soul seemed like it enjoyed it.”
“Mm.” She shifts, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “It did. It’s still catching up. Seven years of catching up.”
A beat of quiet settles between us, the hum of the apartment complex filling the silence. I feel her fingers drawing idle patterns on my chest, and I drop my head back, letting the weight of this moment sink in. No case files. No distance. Just her.
“So,” she says finally, her voice lighter now, “what’s the plan for this week? You gonna carry me everywhere, or do I get to walk at some point?”
“You’ll walk,” I reply, “but only after I’ve made you come at least twice more before breakfast. Fair warning.”
She laughs, the sound bright and unguarded, and tucks her face against my neck again. “Deal. But you owe me at least one conversation that doesn’t involve orgasms. We have a wedding to survive.”
“Conversation,” I repeat, mock-serious. “I think I remember how to do that. As long as you don’t mind talking while naked in my lap.”
“Perfect,” she whispers, and her lips trace a slow path up to my ear. “Because I want to know everything you’ve been doing for seven years. Every boring detail. Then I want you to take me to bed and not let me leave until I forget we ever spent a day apart.”
I tighten my arm around her, and the promise settles deep in my chest. The week stretches out ahead of us, no longer a countdown to goodbye but a beginning.
Chapter 15
Her breathing evens out against my neck, and for a while we just lie there, the couch cushions molded around us. My fingers trace absent patterns along her spine, and she hums, a soft sound of contentment.
"So," she says, her voice muffled against my skin, "seven years. You first."
I shift, settling her more comfortably across my lap. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Start with why you stayed away so long."
The question hangs between us, heavier than I expected. I exhale slowly. "The job. It... consumed everything. Homicide division. You don't clock out. You carry cases home, dream about them, wake up thinking about them. And after a while, reaching out felt like dragging someone else into it."
Maya lifts her head, her eyes searching my face. "That sounds lonely as hell, Leo."
"It was. Is." I meet her gaze. "I told myself I was doing you a favor. Giving you space to find something better than a guy who'd come home smelling like crime scenes."
Her fingers find my jaw, turn my face toward hers. "I never wanted something better. I wanted you. I just... didn't know how to say it after the silence stretched so long."
"What about you?" I ask, needing to shift the weight. "Seven years. Tell me."
She lets out a breath that's almost a laugh. "I moved to Portland for a job. Marketing. Climbed the ladder, got the corner office, hated every second of it." Her thumb traces my lower lip. "Got married two years in. Lasted three. He was kind, stable, everything I thought I should want. But I kept comparing every quiet moment to the ones I had with you."
"And now?"
"Now I'm back. Quit the job six months ago. The divorce finalized last year. I've been... rebuilding. Figuring out what I actually want instead of what looks good on paper." She pauses, her eyes glinting. "And then you show up in the hallway, looking exactly like the man I never stopped thinking about."
I kiss her forehead, let my lips linger there. "I'm not the same man, Maya. The job changes you. Hardens things."
"I know." Her voice is soft but certain. "I see it in the way you hold yourself. The way you scanned the hallway before you even looked at me. But underneath all that..." She presses her palm flat against my chest. "You're still the guy who made me laugh until I couldn't breathe. Who stayed up all night talking about nothing and everything."
"That guy's still in here somewhere," I admit. "Buried, but not gone."
"Then let's find him this week." She shifts, straddling my lap properly now, her hands framing my face. "No cases. No past mistakes. Just us, figuring out if this thing between us still fits."
I pull her closer, forehead against forehead. "And if it does?"
"Then we figure out the rest. Together." She smiles, small and genuine. "I've spent seven years wondering 'what if.' I'm done wondering."
The word settles into my chest, warm and unfamiliar. Together. Not a case to solve or a scene to process—just a possibility, fragile and terrifying and exactly what I came home to find.
Chapter 16
Maya pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still resting on my shoulders. The question forms before I can stop it, rising from somewhere deeper than the careful distance I've maintained for years.
"What happens after this week?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intend. "If this works—if we work—what then?"
She tilts her head, waiting.
"I have to go back. The job isn't something I can do from anywhere. It's there, in the city, in the department." I pause, watching her expression. "Would you come with me? Or are you dedicated to staying here now that you're back?"
She exhales slowly, her fingers tracing the line of my collarbone through my shirt. "I came back because I was running away from something, not toward anything. Portland was me trying to be someone else. Here..." She gestures vaguely at the apartment around us. "Here was just the place I landed because it felt familiar."
"And now?"
"Now I'm not sure where home is." Her eyes meet mine, steady and clear. "I spent three years in a marriage that looked perfect on paper and felt hollow in every room we shared. I came back to this city expecting to rebuild alone, and then you appeared in the hallway like some answer I didn't know I was asking for."
I cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "I'm not asking for a decision right now. I just need to know if it's even on the table."
"It's on the table." She turns her head, pressing a kiss into my palm. "I'm not going to promise I'll pack up and follow you after one week together. That's not fair to either of us. But I'm not anchored here either. The job is remote now. The apartment is month-to-month. The only thing keeping me in this city was the hope that maybe I'd find something worth staying for."
"And if that something turns out to be somewhere else?"
"Then I go somewhere else." She smiles, small and private. "I've done it before. At least this time I'd be running toward something instead of away."
I pull her closer, letting the answer settle into my bones. It's not a guarantee, but it's not a closed door either. For now, that's enough.
"For the record," she murmurs against my chest, "you're worth the uncertainty."
Chapter 17
Our mouths meet again, but this time there's no urgency—just the slow, deliberate press of lips that have memorized each other long ago and are relearning the map. Her fingers thread through my hair as she tilts her head, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that settles somewhere behind my sternum.
I choose you.
The thought crystallizes as my hands slide down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin. She sighs into my mouth, a sound of recognition and relief intertwined. My body responds with a familiar ache, blood flowing south as I pull her closer against me.
Maya hums approval when she feels me hardening against her hip. Her tongue traces my lower lip, patient and thorough, while one hand drops to my chest, palm flat over my heart. She can probably feel it hammering—seven years of silence compressed into each beat.
"I've missed this," she whispers against the corner of my mouth. "Missed *you*."
I answer by turning us and laying myself on my back. Her legs bracket my hips, and even through our layers of clothing I can feel the heat of her center aligned with the ridge of my erection. Neither of us moves to escalate yet. We just breathe together in the quiet apartment, foreheads touching, suspended in a moment that feels both fragile and unbreakable.
My arousal presses insistently against her entrance, but I ignore it in favor of kissing her again—deeper this time, though still unhurried. Maya arches subtly beneath me and I swallow her soft moan like a promise.
Chapter 18
Maya's breath hitches against my neck as she rocks her hips, coating me in her slick heat but not taking me inside yet. The tease is exquisite torture—every nerve ending firing as she drags herself along my length.
"God, Leo," she whispers, voice strained. "I can't—I need you inside me. Now."
She can't take it anymore. Her body makes the decision before words can catch up, sliding back as her hand reaches between us. Her fingers wrap around my cock, guiding me to her entrance. The heat of her is overwhelming even before she sinks down.
Then she does, and we both moan—loud, unrestrained, the sound of seven years dissolving.
"Fuck, Maya." The words tear out of me as she takes me to the hilt.
She braces her arms on my chest, palms flat against the muscle, and begins to ride me slow. Deliberate. Every downward roll of her hips sends sparks up my spine. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and I watch her piercings catch the lamplight—silver barbells through each nipple that I haven't touched yet.
"I've thought about this," she breathes, circling her hips in a way that makes us both groan. "Every time I was alone in my apartment after the divorce... it was always you."
I reach up and cup both breasts, thumbs brushing over those metal bars. She shudders hard when I roll them gently between thumb and forefinger.
"You like that?"
"Yes—don't stop talking to me." She bears down harder, finding a rhythm that has her panting open-mouthed. "Tell me what you thought about."
"You," I say roughly, tugging the piercings just enough to make her gasp. "Riding me just like this. God, you feel incredible."
She leans forward, changing the angle so I slide deeper with every stroke. "Better than you remembered?"
Chapter 19
I grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and hold her steady. The shift is immediate—she knows what's coming, and her eyes go wide with anticipation.
"My turn," I growl.
Then I drive up into her, hard. No more slow, no more teasing. Every thrust is deep and deliberate, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the apartment.
"Fuck—Leo—" Maya's voice cracks as she braces against my chest, nails raking my skin.
"I'm not ever letting you go again," I tell her, pounding up into her wet heat. "You hear me? Seven years I've thought about this. About you. Exactly like this."
She moans, head thrown back, pierced nipples straining toward the ceiling. "I thought about you too—every night—"
"Every time I closed my eyes, Maya. Every fucking time." I drive deeper, faster, the couch creaking beneath us. "How much I wanted you. Your body. Your sounds. The way you come apart for me."
"Show me," she begs, grinding down to meet my thrusts. "Show me what you wanted—"
I surge upward, burying myself to the hilt, and she screams. Her pussy clenches around me, a pulsing, desperate grip that tells me she's right there.
"Come for me," I command, relentless now, fucking her through it. "Come on my cock, Maya. Now."
She shatters—a broken cry tearing from her throat as her orgasm rips through her. I feel every spasm, every wave, and it's too much. With a guttural groan, I follow her over the edge, emptying into her in hot, pulsing bursts.
We collapse together, tangled and breathless, her forehead pressed to mine.
"Don't let go," she whispers.
"Never again," I promise.
Chapter 20
Our breathing slowly steadies, my chest rising and falling beneath her warmth. I brush the hair from her face, my voice a low rumble. “Shower? Then we can grab something to eat.”
She lifts her head, eyes soft with the afterglow. “That sounds perfect.”
I slide my arms under her, lifting her easily. She giggles, a sound I haven't heard in seven years. “You really don't have to carry me everywhere.”
“I want to,” I say, nudging the bathroom door open with my shoulder. “Making up for lost time.”
Inside, the water warms up fast, steam fogging the mirror. We step in together, and she reaches for the soap first. “My turn to take care of you,” she murmurs, working up a lather between her hands.
I turn, letting her hands travel my back, her touch both gentle and deliberate. “I could get used to this.”
“Good,” she says, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Because I'm not letting you slip away again.”
We trade places, my hands sliding soap over her shoulders, down her arms. “You have no idea how many nights I thought about this. Just the simple stuff.”
She looks up at me, water tracing the lines of her face. “Tell me.”
“Waking up next to you. Making coffee. Watching you steal the blankets.” I rinse the suds from her skin. “I missed all of it.”
Her eyes glisten, but she smiles. “I threw myself into work. Night shifts kept me from thinking too much.”
“And now?” I ask, shutting off the water.
“Now I'm thinking we have a lot of dinners to catch up on.” She steps out, grabbing a towel. “But first, food. I'm starving.”
We dry off in comfortable silence, finding our clothes from earlier. I watch her dress, the simple act feeling intimate. “Where to? Your choice.”
She bites her lip, thinking. “There's this little Italian place downtown. They have the best tiramisu. You'll love it.”
“Sounds perfect.” I take her hand as we head out the door, her fingers interlacing with mine like they belong there.
The night air is cool as we walk to my car. “So, Detective,” she teases, “what's your stance on sharing dessert?”
I open the car door for her. “With you? I'd share everything.”
She laughs, the sound bright and full of promise. “Good answer.”
Chapter 21
The restaurant is small and warm, tucked between a bookshop and a bakery that's long since closed for the evening. A candle flickers between us, casting shadows across Maya's face as she reads the menu like it holds secrets.
"You're staring," she says without looking up.
"Am I?"
She peeks over the top of the menu, eyes crinkling. "You are."
Our server appears, and we order—her choice, since she's been here before. When the wine comes, something red and rich, she reaches across the table and threads her fingers through mine.
"I keep thinking I'll wake up," she admits. "That this week is some elaborate daydream my brain cooked up."
I squeeze her hand. "It's real. I'm here."
The food arrives, and we eat slowly, deliberately, like we're both trying to stretch time. She spears a tortellini from my plate, and I steal a bite of her risotto, and somewhere between the second glass of wine and her laugh—that bright, unguarded laugh—I realize I haven't felt this light in years.
"The food's good," I say, setting down my fork. "The wine's good. But the company?" I shake my head. "The company is perfect."
Her cheeks flush, and she looks down at her plate, but she doesn't let go of my hand. "You're going to make me cry in public, Leo."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
She laughs, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. "No. It wouldn't."
Dessert comes—tiramisu, two spoons—and it's almost as good as the company. Almost. Nothing quite competes with the way she closes her eyes at the first bite or the small sound of contentment she makes.
After dinner, we walk. No destination, no plan. The town unfurls around us in quiet streets and lit windows, and Maya stays close—her hand in mine, her shoulder brushing my arm, sometimes both arms wrapped around my bicep when the evening breeze picks up. She is never more than an arm's reach away.
We find a bench overlooking the river just as the sun begins its slow descent. She settles against my side, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder like it was designed for that purpose.
"Look at that," she murmurs.
The sky bleeds orange and pink and violet, reflecting off the water in fractured light. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer.
"Beautiful," I say. But I'm not watching the sunset.
Chapter 22
The walk back to her apartment is quiet, but it's the comfortable kind of silence—the kind that doesn't need filling. Our footsteps echo against the brick buildings, her hand still wrapped around my arm, her thumb tracing absent patterns against my sleeve. The streetlamps buzz overhead, casting pools of amber light we drift through like boats on a calm river.
At her door, she fumbles with the keys, and I catch her hand before she can turn the lock. She looks up, questioning.
"Stay with me tonight," she says. "Don't go back to your rental."
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Maya. I've still got six days to make up for the last seven years. I'm not wasting a single one."
She smiles, but there's something tentative in it, something holding back. Inside, she kicks off her shoes and pulls me toward the couch. We settle in—her back against my chest, my arms wrapped around her waist, her head tucked under my chin. The lamp in the corner throws soft light across the room, and everything smells like her.
"I've been thinking," I say, my voice low against her hair. "About Medford. About what happens after the wedding."
She stiffens, just barely. "Leo—"
"I already hope you want to come back with me." The words are out before I can stop them, raw and unpolished. "I know it's fast. I know we're still figuring this out. But I can't pretend the thought hasn't been there since the moment you opened that door."
She twists in my arms, turning to face me. Her eyes search mine, and I can see the war in them—hope and fear doing battle in equal measure. "We agreed to take it one day at a time," she says softly. "Remember? One day. That's what we promised ourselves."
"I know." I cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "I know. And I'm not trying to rush you. I just..." I exhale. "I need you to know where I stand. No games. No ambiguity. Not this time."
She leans into my touch, eyes closing for a moment. When they open again, they're glassy. "Okay," she whispers. "Okay."
I pull her back against me, and we sit like that for a long time, wrapped in each other and the quiet hum of the apartment. Finally, I break the silence.
"Tell me something."
"Mm?"
"What do you want? For the future, I mean. Not for us—just for you. If you could map out the next five years, no constraints, no obligations. What would it look like?"
She doesn't answer right away. Her fingers find mine, threading together, and I feel her chest rise and fall with a slow breath.
"I want to wake up and feel like I'm living my own life," she says finally. "Not one I inherited, not one I settled for. Mine." She pauses. "I want to paint again. I used to, before everything got complicated. A studio with good light. A cat, maybe. Something that purrs and doesn't ask too many questions."
I smile against her hair. "That's a start."
"And I want..." She hesitates. "I want someone who stays. Not because it's convenient, not because it's expected. Because they can't imagine being anywhere else."
I don't say anything. I just hold her tighter, letting the words settle between us like stones dropped into still water.
Chapter 23
I shift on the couch, pulling her closer, the weight of our earlier conversation still settling around us. "Hey," I say, my lips brushing her temple. "Let's lighten things up for a minute."
She tilts her head back, eyebrow raised. "Oh?"
"What are your top three fantasies?" I keep my voice casual, but my hand finds her hip, thumb tracing the curve there. "And how would you feel about trying to make them real?"
A flush creeps up her neck, but she doesn't look away. "You're really asking."
"I'm really asking."
She bites her lip, thinking. "Okay. First one—someone I truly trust, just sitting there, watching me. While I touch myself. No helping, no interrupting. Just... witnessing."
The image hits me low in the gut. "That's hot."
"I know." She laughs, breathless. "Second one is making love somewhere a little more public. Not, like, a football stadium. But somewhere we *could* get caught. Risk and reward."
I nod slowly, filing that away. "And the third?"
Her voice drops. "Anal. Slowly. Learning together. No rushing, no pressure." She pauses. "And as a bonus—someone using toys on me. Really using them, not just holding a vibrator and calling it a day."
I let the silence stretch, watching her squirm under my gaze. "Maya, I want to do all of that with you. Starting with the first one—whenever you're ready, I'll sit right there and watch you come apart on your own fingers."
Her breath catches. "You'd do that?"
"I'd be honored." I lean in, mouth hovering over hers. "You trust me, right?"
"More than anyone," she whispers. "More than anyone."
Chapter 24
She shifts, tucking her legs beneath her and turning to face me fully. The lamplight catches the curiosity in her eyes—genuine, unhurried.
"Your turn," she says.
"My turn?"
"Top three fantasies." She pokes my chest with her finger. "Fair's fair, officer."
I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck. "You really want to know? Some of these might be... a little impossible."
"Leo." She holds my gaze, steady as ever. "No judgment. I mean it."
I let out a slow breath, the kind that carries weight. "Alright. One—" I pause, already feeling exposed. "I want my own private showgirl. Someone who genuinely enjoys it. Taking her time. No rush, no destination. Just... slowly stripping for me while I watch. Every piece of clothing deliberate."
Her lips part slightly. "That's specific."
"I've thought about it." I shrug. "Two—public sex. Not a stadium full of people, not a damn performance. But somewhere with *potential*. A balcony, a dressing room, the back corner of a library. The risk is the point. The chance we might get caught."
"And three?"
"This one's the impossible one." I meet her eyes. "Sharing you. With another woman. Watching you with her. Watching her with you. Both of you focused on each other—and then pulling me in."
The silence stretches.
Maya tilts her head, something flickering across her face. Not shock. Calculation? Curiosity?
"Practical impossibility, huh?" she murmurs.
"I told you—"
"You said sharing *her* with another woman." Her voice drops, teasing but not mocking. "You didn't say me."
My mouth opens. Closes.
"Interesting slip," she adds, a slow smile curving her lips. "We'll circle back to that."
She leans in, her breath warm against my ear. "But the showgirl thing? The public thing?" Her fingers trace down my chest. "Those don't sound impossible at all."
My pulse kicks hard.
"We've got a week," she whispers. "And I'm feeling very... curious."
Chapter 25
Maya holds my gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she exhales, something shifting behind her eyes.
"The threesome thing," she says carefully. "I've never thought about it. Not once." She pauses, choosing her words with precision. "I'm not saying no, Leo. But I'm not saying yes either."
"Fair enough."
"That's something we'd have to figure out later. If we make this real." She gestures between us. "A real relationship. Not just a week of playing catch-up."
The weight of her words settles between us. Real. Relationship. Future.
"I understand," I say. "No expectations."
"Good." She stands, smoothing her shirt. "But the showgirl thing? The public thing?" A slow, deliberate smile spreads across her face. "I think we can combine one of my fantasies with one of yours. Right now."
I lean forward. "Which ones?"
"Mine: dressing up for you. Yours: your own private showgirl. Taking her time." She backs toward the hallway, her eyes locked on mine. "Wait here. Don't move. Don't follow. Just... wait."
"How long?"
"Until I'm ready." She pauses at the doorway. "And Leo? No peeking. I'll know."
She disappears down the hall. I hear a door close. Then silence.
I sit motionless on the couch, my pulse thrumming against my ribs. Minutes stretch. Five. Ten. A cabinet opens. Water runs briefly. The soft rustle of fabric, then quiet again.
"Almost ready," she calls, her voice carrying a note I haven't heard before—something between nervousness and anticipation. "Keep waiting."
I shift, hyperaware of every sound. The click of a drawer. The faint hiss of—perfume? Lotion? My imagination fills the gaps, each possibility more distracting than the last.
"Close your eyes." Her voice comes from the hallway now, closer. "No peeking, remember?"
I comply, darkness settling over my vision. Her footsteps approach slowly, deliberately—the rhythm of someone who knows exactly what she's doing. The floor creaks just a few feet away.
"Okay," she whispers. "You can look now."
Chapter 26
I open my eyes.
Maya stands in the hallway entrance, one hand resting on the doorframe, the other tracing a slow line down her throat. She's wearing a black lace bra that barely contains her, and matching panties that sit low on her hips. The piercings in her nipples press visibly against the sheer fabric—two small silver bars that catch the lamplight as she breathes.
"You wanted a show," she says, her voice a low murmur. "So watch."
She steps forward, each movement deliberate, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. Her hand drifts from her throat to the strap of her bra. She hooks one finger beneath it, pausing.
"Seven years, Leo." She lets the strap slide down her shoulder. "That's a lot of nights I thought about you watching me like this."
"I never stopped thinking about you either," I manage.
"I know." The other strap falls. "You told me. Now I want to show you what you missed."
She reaches behind her back, unhooking the clasp with practiced ease. The bra loosens but she holds it in place, meeting my eyes.
"You're not touching yourself yet," she says, a command wrapped in silk.
"Not yet."
"Good." She lets the bra drop.
Her breasts are fuller than I remember, the silver barbells through each nipple glinting as she straightens her shoulders. She cups herself, thumbs brushing the piercings, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"I got these three years ago," she says, rolling one nipple between her fingers. "Every time I touch them, I think about what you'd say. What you'd want to do."
"Maya..."
"Shh." Her hands trail down her stomach, fingers catching the waistband of her panties. "You're just watching."
She turns around, giving me a view of her back, the curve of her ass as she hooks her thumbs into the lace. She peels the fabric down inch by inch, bending forward slightly, revealing the twin dimples above her tailbone. The panties fall to her ankles. She steps out of them and turns back to face me.
Completely bare. The soft swell of her belly, the piercings in her nipples, and the small silver stud glittering in her navel. Below, she's smooth—shaved clean, the way she knows I like.
She settles into the chair opposite me, legs draped over the armrests, opening herself to my gaze.
"Now," she whispers, one hand sliding between her thighs, "I want you to watch me slowly play with myself. Don't move. Don't speak. Just watch."
Her fingers part her folds, slick and glistening, and she begins a slow, circular motion that makes her breath catch.
"Like this," she says. "Exactly like this."
Chapter 27
Her fingers work in lazy circles, the wet sound filling the quiet room.
"Tell me what you're feeling," I say, my voice rough.
Maya's eyes flutter but stay fixed on mine. "Hot. Tight. Like I've been waiting seven years for this exact moment."
She dips one finger inside herself, then two, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
"I'm thinking about your mouth," she continues, her pace steady and deliberate. "I want to sit on your face until my legs shake. I want to grind against your tongue while you grab my ass."
Her breathing quickens. The silver barbells in her nipples rise and fall.
"I want you to bend me over this chair and fuck me from behind until I can't remember my own name." She curls her fingers inside herself, finding the spot that makes her thighs tremble. "I want to taste myself on your lips after you've made me come."
The slick sounds grow louder as she picks up speed, her hips rocking against her hand.
"Are you wet for me right now?" she asks.
"Hard," I correct her. "Painfully hard."
"Good." She bites her bottom lip, pupils blown wide. "Because when I finish watching myself come on my own fingers, I'm going to crawl over there and see just how hard."
Chapter 28
"Tell me more," I rasp, my hand pressing against my cock through my jeans. "What else do you fantasize about?"
Maya's fingers plunge deeper, her breath catching. "I think about you taking me from behind while I'm bent over your desk. Your hand wrapped in my hair, pulling just hard enough."
Her rhythm increases, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.
"I imagine you coming inside me while I'm on top, feeling you pulse while I grind down." Her voice trembles. "I want to watch your face when you lose control. I've pictured it so many times."
Her free hand drifts upward, fingers finding one silver-pierced nipple. She rolls it between thumb and forefinger, and I see the exact moment the sensation hits—her back arches, eyes widening.
That's when I know.
"Maya," I say, my voice thick with want.
"I'm—" She pinches harder, her other hand working furiously between her legs. "Oh god, Leo, I'm going to—"
Her body seizes. She cries out, hips bucking against her hand as the orgasm rips through her. I watch every tremor, every spasm, the way her pierced nipples peak and her bald pussy clenches around her fingers.
She rides it out, gasping, then collapses back against the chair, chest heaving, skin flushed and gleaming.
I'm already unzipping my jeans.
Chapter 29
I shuck off my jeans and boxers while Maya's still trembling through the aftershocks. My cock springs free, already slick at the tip. I settle back into the chair, legs spread, and watch her eyes fix on me with predatory focus.
"Come here," I say, my voice rough. "Crawl to me."
She slides off her chair onto hands and knees. The movement is deliberate, her pierced nipples swaying with each slow advance across the floor. She keeps her eyes locked on mine the whole time.
"You've been thinking about this for seven years," she murmurs, her breath hot against my inner thigh. "Haven't you?"
"Every goddamn night."
She takes me into her mouth without preamble—no teasing licks, no slow buildup. Just wet heat and suction that makes my hips jerk forward involuntarily. Her tongue works the underside while her hand grips the base, twisting slightly on each upstroke.
"Fuck, Maya."
She hums around my cock in response, the vibration rippling through me. Her head bobs faster, cheeks hollowing with each pull. I can feel myself climbing toward the edge too fast—she's too good at this, too hungry after making herself come while I watched.
"Wait," I gasp, threading my fingers into her hair. "Stop."
She pulls off with a wet pop, lips swollen and glistening. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I'm breathing hard. "I want you to sit on my face first. You've been fantasizing about it—I want to taste you while you're still sensitive from coming."
Her pupils dilate. "You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you said tonight."
Chapter 30
"Get on the bed," I tell her, my voice thick with want. "I need to taste every part of you."
Maya scrambles onto the mattress, positioning herself over my face. The sight of her—wet, swollen, still flushed from her earlier orgasm—makes my cock twitch against my stomach. She lowers herself slowly, and I grip her thighs, guiding her the last few inches until her heat hovers just above my mouth.
"That's it," I murmur against her skin. "Sit."
She does, and I don't wait. My tongue traces from the bottom of her entrance all the way up in one long, deliberate stroke. She gasps, fingers curling into the headboard.
"Oh fuck—Leo—"
"Don't hold back. Tell me what you want."
"Deeper first," she pants. "Please."
I obey, spearing my tongue inside her before dragging it slowly upward again. When I reach her clit, I seal my lips around it and suck hard.
She cries out, her hips grinding down against my face. I release with a wet pop, then start over—entrance to clit, slow and deliberate, making her wait for it.
"You're tormenting me," she whimpers.
"Good."
Her hands leave the headboard and find her breasts. She starts rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, tugging at the piercings. But as I continue my rhythm—licking upward, sucking hard on her clit before starting again—her touch grows rougher.
"I used to touch myself thinking about your mouth," she says, voice strained. "Every night after..." She twists both nipples sharply, pulling until she groans. "I'd pinch myself raw imagining it was you."
"Show me."
She does—twisting harder now, nails digging crescent moons into pale flesh as she pulls at the silver barbells. Her breathing turns ragged.
"You're going to make me come again." Her thighs tremble against my ears.
"Then come." I suck her clit between my teeth—gentle but firm—and hold there.
She breaks apart with a desperate cry, grinding down as the orgasm crashes through her while she grips her own breasts like anchors in a storm.