He breaks the kiss as he tilts his head back, his eyes closed, his lips parted as he lets out a shaky breath. I kiss his mouth, his cheek, his scruffy chin, my lips traveling all over his face, exploring his skin. He doesn't move, doesn't do anything but squeeze my hands tighter, pressing them against him harder. It's like he's pulling me inside of him, and I can feel his pulse, his strong heartbeat, pounding in his chest.
He's a tornado of emotion I can't begin to understand, but I love it. I love him. And I know it when I look at him, seeing such serenity in his expression. I want every cell of him in every cell of me, because when he's inside of me, I feel beautiful. I feel strong. I feel like I know what love means.
Love means seeing the beauty in the ugly, the light in the dark, and accepting that even if the lights are off, and I can't see what's in front of me, there will be something there to guide my way. Love means turning yourself inside out, handing yourself over to somebody else, and trusting them… trusting them to touch you, to handle you, to bend you, but never, ever break what you give them.
And I love him.
Fuck, I love him.
"I love you." The words tumble from my lips as a strained whisper, a shuddering breath forced from me as the butterflies take flight in my stomach, constricting my chest until I can't fucking breathe.
His eyes slowly open to meet my gaze. He doesn't move—doesn't react—stares at me so hard it feels like he's eye-fucking my soul, like maybe he thought he heard me, but it couldn't have possibly been so.
So I say it again. "I love you."
The second time gets a reaction, his expression strained like he's fighting off a flinch. Before I can do anything else, he speaks quietly. "Don't say it unless you mean it."
"I love you," I say for the third time. "I lo—"
I'm cut off mid-word. Naz is up out of the seat with me clinging to him in shock. He roughly drops me on his desk, things digging into my back. Stepping between my legs, one hand clutches my hip to keep me in place as his other hand settles on my neck. He thrusts inside of me hard, and I gasp, the noise cut off when the hand around my throat squeezes.
My chest viciously burns when I try to inhale, pressure mounting inside of me. He fiercely thrusts into me again and again, not letting go of my neck. My vision blurs, time standing still, as his calloused fingers press against my jugular.
I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until I feel like I'm going to burst. Both hands clutch his arm, grasping it as tightly as he's pressing against my neck, terror like I've never known overwhelming me. I claw at the skin of his arm, trying to pull him off, but he's strong.
So strong.
Too strong.
Seconds feel like hours. It's only a few, no more than ten. Ten seconds that last an eternity as he chokes me. The pressure builds until it has nowhere else to go, blackness speckling my vision as I explode.
It's terrifying, the way my body seems to have caught fire, the bomb going off inside of me, obliterating me at the core. I inhale sharply, my lungs hungrily swelling as the weight on my neck lessens when he loosens his hold.
My body convulses, a shrill sound escaping me, primal, inhuman. I'm a fucking animal.
Orgasm rocks me, tingling my scalp and curling my toes. I desperately try to catch my breath but every muscle spasm knocks it right back out of me as I gasp... and gasp... and gasp for more air. It feels like it goes on forever, the pleasure so intense, and the high so high, that before it even dissipates I feel like I've slammed into the ground.
"Yellow," I cry out, the word strangled. All at once Naz's hand leaves my neck entirely as he slows his movements. He doesn't stop, doesn't pull out, leaning further over the desk to look down at me. His eyes meet mine, worried. Tears obscure my vision, one slipping down my cheek that he wipes away.
He pulls me up, shifting me to the edge of the desk, his arms wrapping around me. His movements are measured, his hands gentle. A strange sort of elation settles through me as my body relaxes, a lingering tingle in my limbs as he holds me against his chest. Never in my life have I felt such force. Never before have I been so grateful just to breathe.
I've never felt so alive.
It's sick. Maybe I'm sick. But I'm almost tempted to ask him to do it again.
I don't, though. I do nothing.
I say nothing.
He finishes not long after. He doesn't pull out this time. I can feel him coming inside of me, convulsing, filling all of me with all of him for the first time.
He stops then, his breathing haggard, as he whispers into my hair, "I love you, too."
I'm alone.
I sense it as soon as I open my eyes.
The bedroom is pitch black. It's the middle of the night, though I'm not sure of the time or how long I've been asleep. I'm stark naked but wrapped up in Naz's sheets, the scent of him clinging to me.
I roll over onto my side, blinking away the sleep. Reaching over, I run my hand along the crisp white sheets. Naz's side of the bed is bitter cold. He's been gone for a while.
I contemplate closing my eyes again, figuring he'll be back eventually, but curiosity gets the best of me.
Where could he be?
Climbing out of bed, I grab Naz's button down shirt from the floor and pull it on, fastening a few of the buttons on my way out the door. I head downstairs, hearing a faint swishing sound when I reach the bottom of the stairs.
A light shines from the laundry room. Stepping that way, I grasp the knob and open the door, cringing from the brightness when I look inside. The room is empty, completely still, except for the swishing of the washing machine.
He's doing laundry? Now?
It has to be at least three in the morning, maybe four. We didn't go to bed until midnight, making love yet again before I fell asleep. The second time had been nothing but gentle, none of that aggression present, like it had been purged from him down in the den. The memory of it makes the hair on my nape prickle. He made no apologies for it.
I'm not sure I want him to be sorry, anyway.
Turning away from the laundry room, I stroll through the rest of the house, not finding him in any of the usual places. Everything is dark and cold, goose bumps coating my skin as I wrap my arms around my chest.
I go from the kitchen to the den to the living room, my footsteps tentative as I glance toward the front door. I stare at it in the darkness, noticing right away that it's ajar. The deadbolt is facing up, the chain lock dangling.
Walking over to it, I grasp the knob and pull it open, shivering at the blast of cool air. My eyes scan the pitch-black neighborhood as I peek out, making sure nobody is around, before stepping half-clothed into the doorway and tensing.