Close the Door

The door clicked shut behind him. Not a slam, not even firm. Just enough to let the outside world disappear.

Maya lay still, half-covered by the sheet. Her skin felt too hot, her pulse loud in her ears. Her eyes didn’t adjust right away, but she didn’t need them to. She felt him in the room like gravity. Like a shadow that thickened the air.

He stood there for a few seconds that felt like hours.

Then he spoke, his voice low and unfamiliar. “You left the door open.”

“I know,” she said, not recognizing her own voice.

“You were awake.”

“Yes.”

Silence again. She hated that it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like a question without words, a dare hanging between them.

“You knew I’d come in.”

Maya swallowed hard. “I hoped you would.”

She felt the way he moved, slow, careful steps toward the bed. She didn’t know what she expected. Maybe a touch, maybe another question. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was closer. He was at the edge of the bed.

“I could hurt you.”

“I know,” she said. “Do you want to?”

“No,” he said.

She looked up then, finally. His face was only half-lit by the soft light bleeding in from the street. He was watching her with that same unreadable expression from the hallway. Not lust, not kindness. Something else. Something heavier.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said again, slower this time. “But I’m not here to save you either.”

“I’m not looking to be saved.”

His jaw moved, clenched once, then eased.

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Maya whispered. “But I’m tired of feeling nothing.”

That did something to him. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Then to the sheet covering her chest. Then back to her eyes.

“I need to hear you say it,” he said.

“Say what?”

“That you want me here.”

Maya sat up a little, the sheet falling to her waist. She was only wearing the new lace panties. The rest of her was bare. His eyes darkened but he didn’t reach for her.

“I want you here,” she said.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it since he stepped in.

Then he reached out and ran his fingers along her collarbone. Slow. Deliberate. She flinched, not from pain, but because the sensation burned more than she expected.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“Yes. I want this. I want you.”

His fingers continued, tracing her skin like he was memorizing it. He didn’t grope. Didn’t rush. He touched her like she was made of something dangerous and delicate. Like he didn’t trust his own hands.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of me.”

He looked at her then, really looked, and Maya wondered if he could see it all. The things she didn’t say. The nights she woke up sweating from dreams of hands she never invited. The way her body betrayed her every time fear and arousal tangled together.

He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t have to.

He leaned in and kissed her shoulder. One soft press of lips. Then another. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her breathing hitched. His mouth moved lower, down the curve of her arm, up to the side of her neck.

When he kissed the hollow beneath her jaw, she gasped.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough now.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

His hand slid to the side of her face, holding her still as his mouth met hers. The kiss was slow but deep, the kind that made her forget what her name was. His lips were firm, his tongue patient. He kissed like a man who didn’t have to prove anything. Like he was trying to undo something inside her.

Maya kissed him back, harder, needier. She fisted his hoodie and pulled him toward her until his body was above hers. The weight of him made her feel real again.

When his hand slid down to her hip, he paused.

“You want this?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I want all of it.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, while his hand moved between her thighs. When his fingers slipped under the lace, she moaned into his mouth. He didn’t tease. Didn’t waste time.

He touched her like he already knew how she liked it.

“Jesus,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to.”

His voice was low and filthy and full of restraint, and it made her arch into him, desperate for more. Her body moved without her. Her legs opened. Her back arched. She didn’t care how loud she was or how fast she came.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was release. It was everything she’d been holding in, poured out in a moan that filled the room.

When she came down, her whole body was trembling. He was still above her, watching her, his lips swollen from the kiss.

She blinked up at him.

“You’re still dressed.”

He didn’t smile. But he reached for his zipper.

“I wasn’t going to stay,” he said.

“Stay,” she whispered, not bothering to sound strong. “Please.”

He stripped quickly, and when he pressed his body to hers again, she felt everything. The heat. The hunger. The way he was holding himself back even now.

He slid inside her in one smooth thrust. No warning. No condom. No question.

She gasped and grabbed the back of his neck.

“God,” she whimpered.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not. I need this.”

He moved with slow power, dragging it out, making her feel every inch. She cried out again, this time louder, and he didn’t stop. He gripped her wrists, held them above her head, and fucked her like he needed it just as badly.

When she came the second time, she broke apart beneath him.

And when he finally followed, groaning low in her ear, she didn’t feel afraid.

She just felt full. Satisfied. Alive.

He collapsed beside her, breathless. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, almost too quietly to hear, “I shouldn't have come in.”

“But you did,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

And he didn’t leave.