Every Time I Try to Leave…

Giving in

Talia gripped the steering wheel the whole ride home, knuckles white, her mind spinning with everything she should’ve said — everything she should’ve done.

Why does he still have this hold on me?

The second she hit her driveway, she was out of the car, slamming the door harder than she meant to. She marched into the house, kicked off her heels at the door, and stripped off that silk blouse before she even made it to the stairs.

By the time she reached her bedroom, the slacks were gone too, left in a heap on the floor. She yanked her favorite moomoo over her head — soft, oversized, worn-in comfort — and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

Freezer open. Ice cream out. Spoon straight in the pint.

She didn’t even care.

Back on the couch, she curled up under a throw, Black Panther in playing low on the TV.

And there he was. Michael B. Jordan. All that strength, all that pain, that wild edge she couldn’t help but admire. She watched him move on screen, his intensity, the fire in his eyes — and it made her ache in places she didn’t want to think about right now.

Why can’t I just want somebody safe? Somebody easy?

She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over her best friend’s contact. She needed to vent. To get this out before it ate her alive.

But before she could hit call —

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She froze.

The screen lit up.

Malik: Open the door.

Her heart dropped. Fury rose to take its place.

She stomped to the door, moomoo swishing around her legs, pint of ice cream still in hand.

“What the f**k do you want, Malik?” she snapped through the door, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

No answer. Just the weight of him on the other side.

Her pulse pounded. She hated him for this — for knowing she’d open it. For knowing he still had this power.

But her hand moved anyway.

She unlatched the lock, swung the door open, ready to cuss him out —

And stopped breathing.

Because the second she saw him standing there, eyes dark, lips parted like he’d been running, every ounce of fight drained out of her.

The door hadn’t even clicked shut before Malik’s hands were on her, pulling her close, his mouth finding hers like he’d been starving for it.

He spun her, firm but careful, pressing her against the door, one hand sliding up to slam the lock into place without breaking the kiss.

Talia gasped, but the sound melted into him, her hands caught between wanting to push him away and needing him closer.

“Malik—”

But he wasn’t hearing that. Not tonight.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he breathed against her lips, his voice rough, eyes burning into hers.

Her silence told him everything.

His mouth crashed into hers again, hungrier this time, his tongue sweeping in, claiming her like he’d lost his mind.

She dropped the ice cream, didn’t even hear the pint hit the floor over the pounding of her heart.

His hands slid down, gripping her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing, her legs wrapping around his waist out of pure instinct, pure need.

He carried her, mouth never leaving hers, to the living room.

The couch? Nah.

He laid her back across the glass coffee table, his body covering hers, his hands everywhere at once — sliding under the moomoo, palms hot against her bare skin.

“God, Tee,” he muttered, kissing down her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her breath hitch. “Been losing my mind without you.”

She arched into him, the heat of him, the weight of him — all the things she swore she didn’t want.

But now? She needed it. Needed him.

Her moomoo was bunched at her waist in seconds. His shirt unbuttoned. His tattoos, his muscles, that gold chain she used to tug on when he was deep inside her — all of it made her dizzy.

He kissed down her chest, over her stomach, leaving a trail of fire, groaning against her skin like he couldn’t believe he had her again.

“Bedroom,” she gasped, trying to think, to breathe.

But he shook his head, eyes dark, wild. “No. Right here. Right now.”

He slid her panties down slow, watching her, making sure she saw what she did to him.

And when he finally buried himself inside her?

The world disappeared.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom.

The coffee table. The couch. The stairs. He had her everywhere — her legs trembling, her moans filling the house, his name on her lips like a prayer and a curse at once.

By the time they hit the bed, they were nothing but sweat, tangled sheets, and everything they’d tried to deny.

And when it was over?

Malik pulled her close, breathing hard, his lips against her temple.

“I ain’t letting you go this time, Tee,” he whispered.

But Talia?

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know if she could let him go either.

⸻