Page 12

"No, like I tried to say, I was born in the States. I don't really know any of… that," I mutter while trying not to kill the mood.

Kevin quickly hurries to recover as he discards the hat. "Sorry, I am really making a fool of myself today."

"No, it's fine," I say, the funny image of him speaking Arabic in the silly little hat fresh in my mind. "Are you Arab?"

"No, actually, I imagine if you told most people with my background that they'd throw a fit. I'm Iranian."

Suddenly, his striking dark features, deep brown eyes, and long lashes take on a new meaning. And in the same moment, one thing no longer makes any sense: "Kevin is Iranian?"

He smirks at that as he tries on a new, much better-fitting coffee-brown hat. "No, my name is Kayvon; no one gets it right, so it’s easier to go with Kevin."

I feel a twinge of heartache, a disappointment in the same way I always feel about the emoji hieroglyphs discussion. "That sucks. What do you prefer to be called?”

“I mean, Kayvon is my name. It’s the one my parents gave me.”

I smile at that, all too familiar with knowing how important it is to cling to a name. “Yeah, my name is Merytamun. My mom named me after the Egyptian Queen. My mom’s why I got into archaeology; it was her passion, her love for our history, and now it’s mine.”

Heat prickles behind my eyes, but I swallow it down. “Anyway, I go by Mary, less of a mouthful. What about you? Does Kayvon mean something?”

"Literally? In Farsi, it means Saturn."

I don't mean to snicker, but I can't help myself. "You made fun of me for wanting to be a mummy, but you're an astronomy nerd, and your name is literally Saturn?"

"It means other things, too!" he says, a little defensive. "In Persian cosmology, it’s associated with the highest heavens, deep wisdom—even the universe, or a kingly ruler."

"And instead of all that, the first thing you thought to tell me was 'Saturn.'" I scoff as I collect a red kerchief off a hanger.

He frowns, looking downcast in the hat, which unfortunately only makes him look even more like a kingly ruler from the highest heavens. I loop the kerchief around his neck and playfully tug him toward me.

"I like Kayvon," I say, tying a knot in the kerchief. "I think I'd prefer to spend my time with a Kayvon."

I finish tying the kerchief and look up at him, his eyes dark and magnetic. The moment they meet mine, it’s like a jolt of electricity arcs between us. There’s a wild hunger, a want I know I’ve only ever felt for him, as my hands cup his face and draw him down to my lips.

The strangest part is I don't fear, I don't panic, and I don't even feel surprised by the fact that the moment I am moving, so is he. The moment I cup his face, his hands are on my hips. The moment I pull him down, he pulls me in. The moment our lips touch, our tongues find each other as if it were a choreographed dance we had done a thousand times before. And scariest of all, when we pull away, the raw heat I feel in my gut, the want I have for him, I instinctively know it's mirrored back before I even look into his face.

He grabs my hand and hurries to the cash register, smacking down our finds and desperately asking the saleswoman, "How much for the hat and kerchief?"

The woman takes her time ringing them up, and before she can finish, he abandons them on the counter just as I pull him out the door.

There's nothing playful about what happens next; we are fighting each other around the corner and up to our apartments. Hands grabbing every inch of each other. I only know I didn't forget my bag by the crumpling of plastic against my thigh.

The moment we make it to the top step, whatever fever that's driving me has already decided I need him in my apartment and on me before either of us can change our minds. He follows my lead, slowing only to kiss my neck as I fumble with keys before the heat returns in earnest.

I turn into him, clutching his face, as he pushes me backward into my apartment. Somehow this domicile I've been occupying for years suddenly feels foreign as I forget the distance from my front door to the couch, stumbling backward over the edge, pulling him with me so we both land in a writhing heap on the plush cushions.

I'm dazed a moment, orienting myself, but he's already back up, sliding to kneel beside the couch, hungrily scraping his teeth against my thigh as he undoes my jeans. The moment I look down and see his admirable effort, I'm powerless to do anything but help, eagerly pulling off my pants and underwear before using one hand to guide him to my waiting heat.

His tongue is on me in an instant, a thick twisting slab that feels as aggressive between my legs as it did in my mouth. My lips fall open, hot gusts escaping me as his own warm breath gently teases the places his tongue is about to caress. I keep my hand on his head, threaded through his thick black hair, but I know I'm not controlling him, not even guiding him. He's moving all on his own, and yet he seems to know exactly where I want him.

I dare another glance down, and our eyes meet, something like fire igniting in the air between us. I can't stand not feeling him inside me a moment longer as I climb up on my elbows and push him over onto the floor.

I pull his pants free while he stares at me, a mix of desire and helplessness dancing on his face. The moment his length springs free, I take it into my mouth, my lips creating a perfect seal as I begin to lash my tongue back and forth in time with my own bobbing. But I don't want his release; I just want him hard for what comes next.

My own fingers slide down between my legs, going straight to my throbbing nub and working it in circles in time to my own aggressive sucking. I can feel him hardening with every bob, just like I'm getting wetter and wetter with each passing second, his needy moans and the way his hands desperately look for purchase only driving me to work harder.

Then, just as I feel him dancing on the edge of release, saltiness filling my mouth, I stop and reach for the crumpled plastic bag that's been lying abandoned beside us. I reach in and go straight for the XL condoms. Just as I see him struggling for his own pants, it looks like I wasn’t the only one hoping for this. Then, as I pull the box free from the bag and collect a condom, I smirk as he stutters a surprised, "Has that been in there the whole time?"

I ignore him as I free the rubber from the wrapper and use my mouth to apply it, the act feeling like the first unnatural moment in an otherwise perfect mingling of bodies. Then I climb to my feet, desperate to pull him up with me. "I need you, now!"