The silence after was dangerous.
The kind that didn't feel peaceful—but volatile, like something was building in the quiet. Like the air between us was still charged, still smoldering from the fire we had just lit and poured gasoline over.
My breath hadn't steadied. His fingers were still curled possessively around my waist, thumbs brushing my bare skin like he couldn't stop, like he didn't want to.
But the guilt was creeping in.
Slow, familiar, cruel.
I slid back slightly on his lap, trying to catch my breath, trying to think. My thighs were still trembling, my dress clinging to sweat-slick skin, my hair a mess from where he'd had his hands tangled in it. His scent was all over me.
I licked my lips, voice barely a whisper. "I should go."
Nathan's arms tensed instantly. His grip hardened, locking me in place. His jaw clenched, and when he looked up at me, his eyes were dark—dangerous—possessive.
"No."
I blinked, breath catching. "Nathan—"
"No," he said again, voice rough and low and furious. "You're not going anywhere."
My mouth parted.
"You think you can fall apart like that for me," he growled, "let me touch you like that—fuck you like that—and just walk away?" His voice cracked. "No. I'm not letting you."
"Nathan, please—"
He sat up, eyes burning into mine, his hands gripping my hips so hard it nearly hurt. "You're mine tonight. I don't give a fuck about Liam, or about what this is supposed to mean, or what we pretend it means. You're not leaving."
"Nathan.."-i tried
"Maya" His voice dropped lower, into something dark and possessive, full of heat and rage and want. "I don't fucking care about anyone else. Not right now."
I stared at him.
"Tonight". "You are mine."
I should've said something sharp. I should've pulled away. Pushed him off.
But I didn't.
Because some part of me wanted to be his.
Just tonight.
Just in the dark, where no one else could see.
I slid my hands up his chest again, felt his heart still racing beneath my palm. I leaned in, forehead resting against his, my voice unsteady.
"Just tonight."
He nodded, hands hard on me.
"Fine"-I whispered.
He exhaled like he hadn't been breathing until then.
We dressed in silence, fumbling with buttons, limbs shaking. He pulled his shirt back over his head, ran a hand through his hair, then looked at me like he didn't know what the fuck we were doing—but he was already too deep in it to stop.
And so was I.
And when we got to my building and slipped inside through the back entrance—avoiding noise, people, Liam—I didn't say a word.
He didn't either.
I opened my door, heart in my throat, guilt chewing at my spine, but the second it clicked shut behind us, he pressed me against it like he couldn't wait another second.
Hot. Bruising. *Claiming.*
Nathan kissed like he wanted to erase every other kiss I'd ever known. Like he needed to leave me wrecked so no one else would dare try. His hands were everywhere—gripping my jaw, sliding into my hair, yanking my head back so his lips could drag down my throat, teeth grazing skin, biting.
A whimper left me.
It only made him rougher.
"You think you can tell me to stop," he muttered against my neck, "and I'll listen? Not tonight."
He kicked the door shut behind us and dragged me backward with him, lips never leaving skin, hands already working their way under my dress.
The fabric bunched around my waist in a fist before he shoved it up over my head and threw it somewhere—he didn't care where. His gaze dropped to my body, and the heat in his eyes *burned*.
He didn't say a word.
Just grabbed me by the thighs and *lifted*.
I gasped, arms flying around his shoulders as he walked us across the room like I weighed nothing, my bare back hitting the wall with a thud. His hips pressed into mine hard—unmistakably hard—and he ground against me like he needed me to feel just how desperate he was. Like he needed me to *ache* for him.
I already did.
"Take it off," I whispered, breath shaky, fingers already tugging at his hoodie, then his shirt—anything I could reach. My voice cracked with need. "Now."
Nathan didn't speak. He just looked at me—eyes dark, jaw tense—and then slowly pulled the hoodie over his head, dragging his shirt up and off with it. His chest came into view like a slow reveal, every inch of bare skin lit by the low light between us, all muscle and heat and barely restrained tension.
He knelt over me, eyes locked to mine, waiting—asking without asking.
I nodded once.
And he moved.
His mouth met mine with something deeper than urgency—hunger. The kind you feel in your bones. The kind that tastes like sin. He kissed me like he wanted to own me, like he was afraid I might disappear before he could finish. His tongue slid into my mouth with a groan, his hands bracketing my face, holding me still like he needed to memorize the way I tasted.
And I let him.
I wanted him to.
His hands moved next—slow, reverent—down my neck, over my collarbones, grazing the curve of my breasts. His touch wasn't rushed this time. He traced the lace of my bra, fingertips dragging along the edge, thumbs brushing over my nipples through the fabric until I gasped.
"Off," I whispered again, voice wrecked.
He reached behind me with practiced ease and unhooked it, letting it fall away like a secret, baring me to the cold air and his heated gaze.
Nathan's breath caught.
Then he leaned down.
And kissed me there.
One breast, then the other—his mouth warm, tongue teasing, lips pulling gently. He took his time. Tasting. Exploring. My back arched off the bed before I could stop it, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.
He looked up at me from my chest—eyes blown, mouth wet. "You're driving me insane."
"Good," I breathed, already undone.
His hands slid lower—down my sides, over my hips, gripping them like he wasn't sure he'd ever get to touch me again. Then he dragged my panties down, achingly slow, eyes watching the reveal like he was starving.
He knelt between my thighs and just looked.
And when he lowered his head—I nearly came undone right there.
Nathan didn't rush. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, lips soft and deliberate. I whimpered—hips twitching—and he smiled, the bastard. Then his mouth met me—hot, wet, perfect.
I shattered.
He licked me like he wanted to ruin me. Slow at first. Then deeper, firmer, groaning like he could taste how close I was. One hand gripped my thigh to hold me still, the other slipped between us, fingers sliding inside as his mouth kept working me. I cried out, arching off the bed, shaking around him.
"Nathan—God—please—"
He didn't stop until I came against his mouth, thighs clenched around his head, nails digging into his shoulders as I fell apart.
And when I was nothing but gasping breath and trembling limbs, he crawled up my body—slow and heavy—dragging kisses along my stomach, my ribs, my throat.
He kissed me softly this time, tasting me on my lips.
"You're unbelievable," he murmured. "Every part of you."
I reached between us, curling my hand around him—hard and pulsing, still trapped in his jeans.
His breath caught. His eyes burned.
I stroked him once, then again, and he shuddered—mouth parting like he might lose it just from that.
"Off," I whispered again.
He stood just long enough to shove his jeans and boxers down. Then he was back—naked, flushed, breathing hard—and I saw all of him. Every line, every shadow, every inch of what I had already felt inside me, and still ached for.
He looked down at me like he didn't deserve this. Like he couldn't believe I was letting him touch me like this again.
Then he climbed back between my legs and lowered his mouth to my neck, his chest flush to mine, his hand slipping between us to guide himself to my entrance.
Slow. Careful. Savoring.
The stretch was everything. Every inch of him sinking into me made me gasp—eyes fluttering, nails pressing into his back.
He groaned, forehead against mine. "Fuck, Maya..."
He didn't move right away.
Just held himself there, buried inside me, breathing like he was breaking apart from the inside.
Then, finally, he began to thrust.
Slow at first. Controlled. But every movement deeper, more deliberate, more intense than the last. He moved like he needed to feel every inch. Like he was imprinting me onto his skin.
And I matched him.
My hips met his, my hands in his hair, my mouth finding every part of him I could reach—his jaw, his throat, the scar above his lip. I wanted to remember everything. His taste. His smell. The way his breath hitched when I clenched around him. The way he looked at me—like I was both salvation and destruction.
We built together, this time.
Slower.
Hotter.
And when I came again—crying his name into his mouth—he followed, thrusting deep and gasping my name like it was the only thing he knew.
After, he stayed inside me. Breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine, his entire body trembling.
Neither of us spoke.
Because we both knew—
This wasn't just sex.
This was something we'd never come back from.