What starts as a slow, languid exploration, turns fast. His hips roll against me, our bodies sliding in a familiar rhythm, and his hands find mine, anchoring me, keeping me in place.
And it would be good like this. I know it would be good. But I want something else right now, and I’m not afraid to show him.
I encircle his wrists and flip us around so I’m on top, my legs straddling his waist. Raw heat and want emanates from him, and when I move, when I take him inside me, all the air escapes my lungs.Mine,I think.Mine.
“God, Meena,” he breathes, his face transformed by pleasure so intense it resembles pain. And when he opens his eyes, when he whispers again, he begs me tomove.I set the pace, rocking against him in slow, even movements. His hips buck, and his hands fight my grip on him. He’s stronger than me. I know he could break this hold if he wanted to, but he’s letting me take the wheel right now and it’s intoxicating. Exhilarating.
“Please,” he says, after a few minutes, the word coming out strangled. “I need to touch you. Please.” And I release him, knowing that neither of us is truly in control. We’re both here, and present, and reduced to our barest selves. Each of us desperately needing the give-and-take of the other.
His hands come to my waist, his grip tight, the imprint of his fingers sinking into my skin. He moves my hips, moving me faster against him, and as good as it feels, as much as I need this friction and rhythm, for a moment I want to slow down. I want this to last. I want to remember everything. Because I’m not sure if this is our last time. I’m not sure if I’ll ever have him like this again.
He must feel the resistance in my body because he starts to loosen his grip, but I don’t let him. I meet him where he’s at, our bodies in sync, both of us climbing higher and higher, in tune with each other.
We’re both close, and maybe it’s been so long I’ve forgotten, but I’m not sure if it’s ever felt like this. I hold out for as long as I can, but one of his hands slides down, his thumb finding the very center of me, and lightning flashes behind my closed eyes. I come apart as Nikhil’s pace increases, his strokes quick and true, until he makes a ragged, wonderful sound I usually hear only in my dreams.
I hold him tight, my legs around his waist, my head tucked in his neck, as we both catch our breath.
Neither of us says anything. For a long while, neither of us moves, but then Nikhil’s hand comes to my hair. His fingers run through the mess of it before traveling down my back and repeating their path all over again. I close my eyes, settling deeper against him, content to stay just like this. We’ll have to break apart eventually. I know that. We can’t live in this moment forever, but right now, it almost feels possible.
It almost feels like all of this could actually be mine.
We find each other again in the middle of the night. And again before the sun rises. Our last time is hurried and rushed, as if we’re trying to beat the dawn. As if we both know everything will change once the daylight returns, but refuse to acknowledge it. We barely talk to each other, only saying words like “more,” and “please,” and“faster.” Communicating with only our hands, our mouths, our bodies.
After, Nikhil places his ear to the center of my chest, listening to my heartbeat, and I’m thankful he can’t see the tear that escapes from the corner of my eye. His lips brush my breast, and he murmurs something, the words vibrating against my skin. I’m tempted to ask him what he said, but his breaths grow even and slow and I’m sure he’s fallen asleep. I hold him to me, trying to commit every little part of this to memory, but sleep takes me too.
—
In the morning, I wake to Nikhil sitting up in bed, a large book openon his lap. There’s a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand beside him, and when he notices that my eyes are open, he passes it to me.
“Good morning,” he says warmly, and I take a sip. It has the exact amount of oat milk and sugar I’ve always preferred. He remembers, and I’m no longer surprised by that. I’ve discovered I’m not the only one who’s been holding on to memories of the past. I’m just not sure what that means for us going forward.
“Good morning,” I respond. The comfort and ease from last night has faded. It’s not awkward exactly, but there’s a note of caution, of uncertainty, in the air that wasn’t there before. “What are you reading?”
He answers wordlessly, flipping the cover in my direction.
Foundations of Business.
That’s not what I was expecting.
He places the book back on his lap and opens it to where he had it. “Did you sleep okay?” he asks, and my cheeks warm, memories of last night flooding back.
I scan his face, looking for traces of regret or hope or concern.Anythingthat would give me a hint of what he’s feeling, but his expression is careful, blank in a determined, purposeful sort of way.
I have no idea what he’s thinking. And I’m not sure what I’m thinking either.
I want to do this again. I want to never leave this bed. I want to stay.
Stay?An alarm sounds in my mind, faint and distant, and I ignore it, hitting snooze. It’ll come back eventually, but I can’t deal with it right now. I don’t want to.
“I slept fine,” I say. I put the coffee down and stretch, my skin heating even more as I register how delightfully sore I am.
Nikhil watches me for a long moment, his gaze conflicted, as if he’s deliberating something, then he lifts an arm toward me, pulling me closer.
My body nestles against his, and his face turns toward mine, his movements slow and measured. He’s giving me time to retreat, to say no, but I don’t pull back. I meet him halfway, and this kiss, it’s different. Soft and sweet and light.
When we separate, his lips spread into a smile, and I can’t help but give him one in return.
“Hi,” he says.
