Every Time I Try to Leave…

The Morning After

The next morning

Talia stared at the ceiling, the early light creeping through the blinds, casting stripes across the wreckage of her bedroom — and her life.

Sheets tangled. Clothes everywhere. The air still thick with him. With them.

Her body ached in ways that weren’t just from the night before — though Lord knew Malik had claimed every inch of her, over and over, until morning started to break.

And now?

Now he was dead asleep beside her.

One arm draped heavy over her waist, his face buried in her hair like he couldn’t stand to let her go, even in his dreams. His breathing was slow, deep — that kind of peaceful sleep that felt unfair, given the chaos inside her head.

Talia, what did you do?

She closed her eyes for a second, trying to hold on to the good — the way he touched her like she mattered, the way he whispered her name like it was sacred.

But it didn’t drown out the bad.

The guilt.

The knowing this didn’t fix anything.

The knowing it would just make it harder.

She shifted slow, careful, sliding his arm off her bit by bit. His fingers twitched, like his body knew she was leaving, but he didn’t wake.

Tired your ass out, huh, she thought bitterly, pulling on his t-shirt from the floor, needing to cover herself even though he wasn’t awake to see.

She tiptoed to the bathroom, shutting the door with a soft click. Leaned over the sink, bracing herself, staring at her reflection.

Her hair was a mess. Her lips swollen. Skin marked by him in places she’d have to hide at work.

She hated how good it still felt.

Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to shake it off.

Talia, you said you were done. You meant it.

But here she was.

She made her way downstairs in the kitchen

Grab a glass from the cabinet and poured herself a glass of water and placed it on the counter.

Talia grabbed the edge of the counter, the glass of water untouched beside her.

She tried to focus on the clean-up — the ice cream on the floor, the clothes scattered from the door to the bed — but all she could feel was him.

Her thighs still trembled if she stood too long.

Her core still throbbed like he was still there.

And her mind?

Her mind kept replaying it — every damn second.

⸻

FLASHBACK — Last Night

Malik had shut that door and locked them in like it was just them against the world.

He spun her against it, his mouth crashing onto hers, stealing every breath she tried to take. His hands had been everywhere — sliding under the moomoo, gripping her bare hips, palming her ass like he couldn’t believe he was finally touching her again.

Then he slowed.

The way he kissed down her neck, his tongue tracing the edge of her collarbone, the way his hands cupped her breasts — thumbs brushing her n*****s through the thin fabric until she was gasping, arching, begging without saying a word.

He carried her like nothing — like he’d dreamed of this — laid her out across the coffee table.

And when he slid inside her, deep, slow, stretching her inch by inch with all nine thick inches of him — she felt every damn part of it.

He stayed there for a second, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to hers.

“You feel that?” he whispered, breath shaky like he was holding on by a thread. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna know you like this, Tee. Nobody.”

And then he moved.

Slow at first. Deep.

Rolling his hips, grinding against her just right so that thick length of him rubbed her in ways she’d almost forgotten.

His fingers found her c**t, rubbing soft circles while he kept thrusting, while she clenched around him, her whole body tightening as the first orgasm hit — hard and fast.

But he didn’t stop.

“Uh-uh. I ain’t done,” he growled against her throat, kissing, biting, pushing deeper, harder.

He took her on the couch after that — legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands gripping her thighs so tight she swore he left bruises.

Every time she thought she was done, he’d find that spot inside her again, his fingers on her c**t, his mouth on her breast, sucking until her back arched off the cushions.

She lost count of how many times she came.

But she didn’t miss when he said it.

Right when he flipped her on her stomach on the stairs, sliding into her from behind so deep she thought she’d lose her mind, he groaned it against her ear — raw, rough, broken.

“I love you, Talia.”

And after that?

It was like he snapped.

His pace got harder. Deeper. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her back to meet every thrust like he was trying to brand her from the inside out. Like he wanted to give her a baby right there, no questions, no second thoughts.

She came again, screaming into her arm, her body shaking so bad he had to carry her the rest of the way to the bedroom.

And even then, he didn’t stop until she was out of breath, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes from how good — how intense — it was.

When he finally collapsed, he was still inside her.

Still hard.

Still holding her like letting go wasn’t an option.

⸻

Back to the Morning

Talia blinked hard, shaking the memory off like water.

Her heart was racing, her thighs pressed together like that could somehow ease the ache.

She took a long drink of water, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Upstairs, she could still hear him breathing steady, knocked out cold.

And down here?

She was drowning in everything they’d done.