Chapter 8: The Hunger
The afternoon light was a liar. It came through my cracked blinds in these long, yellow fingers that made the dust in the air look like gold, made the peeling paint and the water stain on the ceiling look almost pretty. Made it easy to pretend I wasn't losing my goddamn mind.
I'd sent the text an hour ago. Three words: Come back. Now.
I'd been pacing ever since. My apartment had never felt smaller, the walls pressing in from all sides, the floorboards groaning under my boots with every turn I took. I'd smoked three cigarettes down to the filter and stubbed them out in the sink because I couldn't sit still long enough to find an ashtray. My hands were shaking. Not from withdrawal. From her.
The morning should have been enough. I'd had her in my bed, gone down on her until she came apart on my tongue, then fucked her until she screamed my name so loud I had to cover her mouth so the neighbors wouldn't call the cops. She'd left with that look in her eyes, that dazed, wrecked, satisfied look that should have satisfied me too. Should have.
But the second the door clicked shut behind her, I was empty again. And that was the problem. I never got empty. I got bored, I got restless, I got hungry for the next thing, but I never got empty. Not like this. Not hollowed out and aching like she'd taken a piece of me with her when lol she went.
So I'd texted her. Called her back. Like a goddamn dog.
The knock came at 4:47. I didn't check the clock. I just crossed the room in three strides and yanked the door open, and there she was. Adaeze. Caramel skin glowing in that harsh afternoon sun, dark hair loose around her shoulders, wearing some cut-off shorts and a tank top that clung to her tits like it knew exactly what I was thinking. Her lips were parted, her dark eyes wide, and she was already breathing hard like she'd run the whole way here.
"You texted," she said. Like that explained anything.
"I did."
"You said tonight."
"I lied."
Her chin came up. That defiant little tilt she always got when she was about to call me out. "You don't lie."
"I just did." I reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulled her inside, slammed the door shut behind her. She stumbled into me, her hands coming up to brace against my chest, and I backed her against the door before she could get her bearings. "Couldn't wait. Couldn't stand it."
"Hugo, we said tonight. I was going to come back to—"
"Tonight wasn't fast enough." I ducked my head, pressed my mouth to the side of her neck, breathed her in. She smelled like soap and something floral, some lotion she'd put on after her shower, but underneath it was her. Just her. That scent I'd been chasing through my dreams all day. "I've been losing my mind all afternoon. Couldn't eat. Couldn't smoke. Just walked around in circles, thinking about you."
"I know the feeling."
I pulled back, looked at her. Those dark eyes were soft, almost scared. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She wet her lips. "I got your message in class. Nearly walked out in the middle of a lecture to come here."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I was trying to be sensible." A small, bitter laugh. "Trying to pretend this is still a game."
I shook my head. "It stopped being a game a long time ago."
She said nothing. Just looked at me with those big, frightened eyes, and I knew she felt it too. The gravity between us. The way we kept getting pulled together no matter how hard either of us tried to pretend it didn't matter.
I grabbed her hips, lifted her like she weighed nothing, and set her down on the kitchen counter. She let out a gasp, her hands gripping my shoulders, and the counter was cold against her thighs but I didn't give her time to adjust. I pushed her legs apart, stepped between them, and kissed her.
God, that kiss. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, hungry, my tongue sliding against hers, my hands tearing at her shorts until I got them down her thighs and off. She was already soaked. Her panties were soaked through, and I pulled those off too, let the fabric fall to the floor, and when I touched her, she bucked against my hand.
"Already this wet for me?"
"Shut up." Her voice was breathless, furious. "Just shut up and—"
I dropped to my knees.
I didn't give her a chance to finish. I buried my face between her thighs, dragged my tongue through that wet heat, and she cried out, her head falling back against the cabinet behind her. The sunlight hit her right there, lighting up every curve of her body, and I watched her like she was a goddamn miracle. Her, on my kitchen counter, in the middle of the afternoon, already falling apart because of me.
"No, I didn't mean—" She tried to push my head away, but her fingers curled into my hair instead. "Hugo, I came here for you to—fuck—"
I pulled back just long enough to say, "I'm taking care of you first. Then I'm taking what I need."
Her eyes were dark, glassy. She didn't argue after that.
I went back to work. Licked her open, dragged my tongue over her clit in slow, deliberate circles while she gasped and writhed on the counter, her fingers digging into my hair hard enough to hurt. I loved it. Loved the way she lost control, the way all that defiant fire turned into this raw, desperate need. I drew it out, made her beg, made her say please with her voice cracking on the word.
Then I stood up, unzipped my jeans.
She watched me. Her chest was heaving, her tank top soaked with sweat, her thighs still trembling. And those eyes, those gorgeous dark eyes, fixed on my cock like she was starving for it.
"Go on," I said, my voice rough. "Ask for it."
"Fuck you."
"I mean it, Adaeze. Ask me to fuck you."
Her jaw tightened. Then she reached out, wrapped her hand around my cock, and guided me to her entrance. "Put it in me."
I did. I slammed into her in one stroke, and she screamed, her back arching off the counter, her legs wrapping around my waist. The sunlight bleached everything white around us, washed out the grime and the shadows, and for a second it was just her and me and the way she felt, this tight, wet, perfect heat that I could never get enough of.
"You're so tight," I groaned against her mouth. "Every time. Like the first time. Like you're always new."
"Don't talk to me." She bit my lower lip, hard. "Just fucking move."
I moved.
I gave her everything I had, driven by a need so bone-deep I couldn't name it. I fucked her on my kitchen counter while the afternoon sun poured over us, bleaching away every secret we'd tried to keep. Her nails raked down my back hard enough to draw blood. I didn't care. I couldn't feel anything but her, her cunt gripping me, her breath hot against my neck, her moans filling my tiny apartment until they drowned out every thought I'd had since she left.
"Look at me," I said. "Look at me when you come."
Her eyes snapped open, dark and furious and drowning in desire. "I hate you."
"I know." I buried myself deep, ground against her, watched her face as she broke. "Come for me anyway."
She did. Sunlight made the moment impossible to hide. She came with my name on her lips, her body shuddering against mine, her eyes locked on my face the whole time. That was what broke me. That I couldn't escape her in the light, couldn't hide behind darkness and shadows and pretenses. Just her. Just me. Just this thing we'd become.
I pulled out, finished on her stomach, hot and messy and wrong in all the right ways. My release spilled across her skin before I caught my breath, and she just lay there, limp on the counter, her chest heaving, watching me through heavy eyelids.
Neither of us spoke for a long moment.
Then I reached forward, caught a strand of her hair, and tucked it behind her ear. "Don't leave tonight."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Don't leave at all."
Her eyes widened. The words hung in the air between us, heavy, too honest, torn out of me before I could stop them. I should have taken them back. Should have laughed it off, called it a joke, gone back to the familiar rhythm of teasing and taunting that had kept us apart all these years.
I didn't.
I just stood there, covered in her, heart pounding, waiting for her answer.