Part 15 – Not Who I Thought
Amina breathed in deeply as she leaned back, letting her body press into Deon's chest while her head fell over his shoulder.
He was sturdier than he looked—something she hadn't known she liked in a man until now. She was struggling, trying to find a reason to pull away from him, something to quiet her heart, but she was coming up blank.
Was she really okay with this? Being the other woman?
It sure felt like it.
The way he touched her was so intimate. Sexy, but not sexual. His hands moved smoothly across her skin, nails dragging just enough to send shivers up her spine—the good kind. She'd grown addicted to that feeling over the last hour... or was it two?
The man knew how to deliver. He'd put on something mindless on the TV, but he'd somehow stolen her attention entirely. Her eyes might've been on the screen, but her mind was consumed with the feel of him—his touch, his warmth, the way he studied her when he thought she wasn't looking.
How could he be this way after that?
After telling his oldest friend he loved her. After pushing her away in the same breath.
His hands slipped up, fingers finding her breast, and her breath caught—half surprise, half pleasure.
Yeah. He was truly unique.
Screw it. She could think of a thousand reasons to say no, but none of them outweighed the one reason to say yes.
It felt right.
The way he moved. The way she moved next to him. The ease between them. The lack of inhibition. She didn't recognize herself around him—this girl who'd sleep with a guy on the first date, send a nude video the next morning, or change a flight just to stay a few more hours. But leaving without him felt stranger than staying.
She'd be lying if she said it didn't sting knowing he loved someone else. But it would be a bigger lie to pretend that was enough to make her walk away. This bond felt like once in a lifetime—hell, once in a soul cycle.
As if reading her thoughts, he murmured,
"I feel like I could live a thousand lifetimes and never find a moment more perfect than this."
"You're exaggerating," she said softly.
"Nah, for real. Even with all that went down today. Saying goodbye to you. Walking around in a world that felt gray. Seeing you in front of that door—my heart stopped, and everything had color again. Then Sierra showed up, and I had to say those words, in front of you no less. It's been... a lot."
"It has," she admitted, sinking deeper into his lap, letting him feel her presence.
"But now, despite all that, my soul just feels... at peace."
Her chest tightened. How could he always say exactly what she needed to hear?
She buried her face in her hands.
"You good?" he asked.
"Yeah. It's just—" she peeked out from behind her fingers, cheeks flushed— "I think I might be that stupid too."
The look in his eyes told her everything. That same tenderness he'd had earlier... only this time, it was all for her.
She didn't think—she just kissed him.
The TV chatter faded to nothing. All she could taste was him. It was intoxicating.
More.
The word pulsed in her mind, and she obliged.
When they finally broke apart, her hoodie was gone. Her skirt had ridden high. His shirt was missing too—her fault. She craved skin-to-skin contact.
"Come back," she whispered, voice sing-song and breathless.
He didn't hesitate. Their mouths met again.
She sighed into him, melting into the heat. He lifted her effortlessly, and her arms wrapped around his neck. The kiss somehow stayed intact as he carried her to the bed.
The sheets were cold against her back; his body was fire against her chest. The contrast felt divine.
She pushed at his chest, just enough to make him pause—then began stripping away what was left of her clothes. She made a show of it, slow and deliberate.
"I want skin-to-skin contact," she cooed, beckoning him forward.
He stripped too, grabbing a condom from his wallet. But when she saw the hesitation in his eyes, she took it from him, locked eyes, and whispered,
"Skin to skin?"
It came out like a question, but they both knew it was a demand.
He froze for a beat—that was all she needed. She tossed it aside and pulled him down.
"Make a mistake with me."
He smiled against her lips. "Impossible."
She bit her lip, breath shaky. "Too corny?"
"Never," she said, before his mouth reclaimed hers.
Their rhythm built in sync, breath for breath, heartbeat for heartbeat.
Am I really okay with this?
Her body answered for her—a resounding yes.
Falling in love was dangerous. But in that danger, she felt alive.
She laughed suddenly—loud, free, unfiltered, snort and all.
He laughed with her, and neither stopped moving. The laughter melted into breath, the breath into warmth, until the room itself seemed to exhale with them.
For a moment, everything just... fit.
When the rhythm finally slowed, he brushed her hair back, eyes searching hers.
"You're not who I thought you'd be," he said softly.
"Disappointed?"
His answer wasn't verbal. He really was an I can show you better than I can tell you type.
Her thoughts were swallowed by the sound of her own voice—calling his name.