I want You to Hurt me

The apartment was quiet again.

But not like before. Not like the silence that came from retreat or shame. This one felt warmer, softer. Like the quiet that came after a storm had passed and everything had been picked up and put back in place.

Almost everything.

Maya stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, watching herself. She wore only a loose cotton tank and black underwear. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes still carried the weight of everything she hadn’t said. But she didn’t look fragile anymore.

She looked real.

She heard Elias shift on the couch in the living room. He hadn’t left since the conversation about the photo. He’d offered. Twice. She said no. Not because she needed him, but because for the first time, she wanted to know what it felt like to choose someone on her own terms.

She walked out and stood in the doorway.

He was lying back, eyes closed, head tipped toward the ceiling like he was thinking too much.

She didn’t say anything.

He felt her before he saw her. His eyes opened slowly.

Then he sat up.

Her skin prickled under his gaze. But it wasn’t fear this time. It was memory. Desire. Heat that built in the space between them but waited for permission.

He stood. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Better.”

“I can sleep on the floor again if you want space.”

“I don’t.”

She crossed the room slowly and stopped in front of him. Her body was trembling slightly, but her voice was calm.

“I want you.”

Elias didn’t move. “Maya, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“This isn’t about you.”

That made him look at her harder.

She took his hand and placed it on her waist. “I want to remember what it feels like to be touched and not be afraid. To want it. To need it.”

His fingers didn’t grip. They just rested there.

“You lead,” he said. “I’ll follow.”

She stepped closer and tilted her head back. “I want it slow at first.”

He kissed her cheek.

Then her jaw.

Then her lips.

And she sighed into it.

It wasn’t urgent. Not like before. There was no hunger to consume, no panic to fill the silence. It was patient. Every kiss asked a question. Every touch waited for an answer.

Her hands slipped under his shirt and pushed it up. He let her take it off without a word.

Her fingers brushed the scar on his ribs. He didn’t flinch.

She guided him to the bedroom, and he followed.

When he sat on the edge of the bed, she climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Her thighs pressed against his hips. She kissed him again, deeper this time, more sure of herself.

His hands stayed at her waist.

She took them and moved them higher, over her ribs, to the sides of her breasts.

“Touch me,” she said. “All of me.”

His mouth found her neck, slow and warm.

He undressed her like she was a story he didn’t want to rush. Tank top. Then the soft tug of her underwear. Every part of her bared to the air and his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “You always were.”

She kissed him harder.

When he laid her down, she didn’t tense.

When he spread her legs, she didn’t hesitate.

He moved over her like he belonged there, but still waited.

She nodded.

Then he slid inside her.

And her whole body melted.

Not because it was perfect. Not because it was slow or passionate or any of the things romance novels promised. But because it was hers.

Her choice.

Her timing.

Her control.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him deeper, her breath hot against his ear.

“I want it harder.”

He paused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He gripped her hips and started to move. Not rough. Not yet. Just with weight. With intent. Her fingers dug into his back.

“Harder,” she whispered again.

This time, he listened.

She arched into him, the ache blooming in her belly, her thighs shaking from the rhythm. She wanted the pain. Not the kind that left bruises, but the kind that reminded her she was alive. The kind that made her forget everything else.

“More,” she gasped.

He gave it to her.

Her body bucked beneath him, sweat slick on her skin, her heartbeat racing in time with his.

When she came, it was like a sob torn from her chest. Raw. Shattering. She clung to him like she was drowning, and he held her like he had no intention of letting her go.

She didn’t cry.

Not this time.

When he collapsed beside her, breathless, their fingers found each other’s without effort.

They didn’t speak for a long time.

Then she turned to him, hair sticking to her cheek.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

He touched her face gently. “Then let me keep reminding you.”

She didn’t say yes.

But she didn’t say no either.