Instead, I focus my attention on the man in front of me. Let my fingers run over his smooth skin. I trail my hands over his abs, bringing them low enough to undo the belt around his waist.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” It’s the only glimpse of hesitation he’s given me.
“I’m sure,” I tell him. I don’t know if it’s a truth or a lie. But I want this, and I’m tired of sacrificing these moments of happiness. I’m exhausted from morphing myself into a different person. The acting skills have taken their toll, and I no longer like that version of myself.
I don’t want to be the version of Lana that lets people push her around.
I like this version. This girl who sees what she wants and takes it.
Around Naz, I feel like myself.
He helps me free himself from his jeans and my hand finds his cock, wrapping around the thick surface. He groans as soon as my fingers touch him. I tug my bottom lip between my teeth as he takes his dick from me, pumping it quickly before he lines himself up with my entrance.
I suck in a sharp breath as he thrusts forward. He stretches me out in the best way, soothing the ache inside me.
“More,” I moan. He complies by thrusting back into me. One arm wraps around the curve of my waist and the other reaches forward, taking my face in his palm. He traces his thumb over the surface of my lip, and I suck the digit into my mouth, savoring the salty taste of his skin on my tongue.
“Fuck,” he moans.
My eyes roll into the back of my head as I meet him thrust for thrust. My back hits the side of the door and my head touches the glass of the window. He has one hand pressed to the doorframe and the other finds my tit. He squeezes it before bringing my nipple between his fingers.
My hands find his shoulder, my fingernails digging into his flesh.
I’m simultaneously overwhelmed and can’t get enough.
My body buzzes, every nerve ending on fire and when I finally fall over the edge of my orgasm I’m screaming his name. We’re both flushed and breathless when he finally pulls out, painting my skin with his cum.
We’re playing with fire.
And eventually, everything is going to burn.
Naz makes me a grilled cheese sandwich. The sight of him standing at the stove in nothing but a pair of shorts has heat burning between my thighs again.
It’s not an exceptional sandwich by any means. Two slices of Kraft singles between white bread. He sets the golden sandwich on the counter with a triumphant flourish.
He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The whole thing is so mundane. So average.
I can imagine myself coming home from school, tossing my bag by the door, and meeting him at this counter. He would press a kiss to my temple and ask me how my day was. Butterflies swarm in my stomach at the thought.
What would it be like to be his?
Naz brings the crispy sandwich to his lips, biting through the crust and moaning slightly. We were both starving when he drove us back to his apartment, another mistake added to our long list.
I’ve never had a man cook for me. I don’t think my father has ever even set foot in the kitchen. And my mother isn’t much of a housewife either, we’ve always had staff to cook for us. I cringe at the thought, at how naive and spoiled that sounds.
Here, in this apartment with Naz, I’ve finally realized how incredibly sheltered I’ve been. How hidden from the rest of the world I must have been to think that I was normal.
Now that I’ve burst through the bubble my family created, I can’t go back. I can’t unlearn what I now know.
I feel like I’m running. Like my feet are pounding against the pavement, taking me somewhere else. Somewhere better.
And I can’t go back to how things were, because I’m not that girl anymore and I won’t shove myself back into a box that doesn’t fit me.
Naz watches me as he eats, almost as if he can see the thoughts that spiral through my head.
“Whatever you’re thinking, babe,” he says, “it’s not good.”
“Probably not,” I tell him, lifting the grilled cheese and taking my first bite. I can’t help the moan that leaves my lips at the simple sandwich. The buttery crust, the melted cheese, there’s no reason for this sandwich to taste so damn good. I can’t tell if it’s because he made it or if I’ve been so busy living this extravagant life that I’ve never been able to step back and besimple.