Page 18 of Free to Fall

“I am on a date, Nasseem.”

“This shit over. Get up.”

“Um, excuse me—” Suit-n-Tie finally piped up.

“You ever had a broken jaw?” I asked calmly, looking at him dead in the eye for the first time.

“Nasseem, what the fuck?!”

“Why you playin’ with me?” I leaned down, palms on the table, inches from her face. “I’m only gon’ say this shit one more time before I beat his ass and embarrass you. Get up and let’s go.”

She just stared at me like I was speaking another language. I clenched my fists at my side, jaw flexing. Her eyes flickered to my hands and that panic hit her.

“Okay,” she finally said, raising her hands like I was a damn hostage negotiator. She turned to the nigga beside her—nigga hadn’t said a word since I mildly suggested he could have a broken jaw, “I’m so sorry. I’ll call you later.”

“Lie again,” I muttered, eyes narrowing. I threw some cash on the table, turned, and walked toward the door her hand gripped tightly in mine to make sure she followed.

The second we got to the passenger side of my truck, I turned toward her, trying to get my words out before the heat behind my actions made me forget what the hell, I was even thinking. But she slapped fire out of me with her right palm. Quick as hell. It stung like betrayal. My head turned slightly, but I ain’t move. I just looked back at her slow.

“Keep yo fuckin’ hands to yaself,” I growled, stepping into her space, hand immediately curling around her neck—not tight, but firm enough for her to feel every beat of my heart pumpin’ through my fingertips. “You think this a game? You think you can fuck with somebody else, and it just be no consequences?” Her chest was heaving as her lips parted; her eyes were wild. “You wanna go on a date?” I murmured, voice low, teeth clenched. “Cool, I’ll take yo black ass on a fuckin’ date. But don’t you ever think you can be out here fuckin’ around with somebody else like I don’t exist. If I catch you doin’ this shit again, Egypt, we gon’ have a problem.”

She trembled under my grip—not from fear. From heat. I could feel it, literally felt heat rising from between her legs. Her hands found my chest and she pushed me, once, softly. Then I let her go and opened the door for her.

“Get in the fuckin’ car,” I said. She stared at me a second longer, brows low, lips tight. But she got her ass in that car.

The ride back was quiet except for her huffing and mumbling shit under her breath that I ignored on purpose. She refused to get out the car when we pulled into the garage. So, I walked around, opened her door, unbuckled her seatbelt, and threw her ass over my shoulder like I was taking home a trophy. She kicked, cussed my ass out calling me everything but a child of God and hit me on my back. I ain’t budge.

“You actin’ like a damn caveman!” she shouted.

“Cool. Long as you remember who runnin’ this cave.”

She kept fighting me, even as I stepped into my place and kicked the door shut behind me. I dropped her on her feet, but she didn’t get far. I grabbed her by the hips and pinned her against the wall, chest to chest, breath to breath.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” I asked, my voice low, hurt laced under every word.

“I do get it!” she screamed back, tears spilling before she could stop them. “I get that this was never supposed to be what it is now. I get that you left me when I let my guard down. I get that you got your hooks so deep in me I can’t even breathe! I get it, Nasseem! That’s why I wanted to stop.”

I froze.

She was crying. Breaking right in front of me. I reached up, brushed a tear from her cheek with my thumb, then leaned down and kissed the rest away; gentle and soft.

“I don’t wanna stop,” I whispered. “I can’t. I want you. I need you. And you know you want me too. So why the hell we still actin’ like this ain’t real?”

Her eyes stayed locked on mine, breathing ragged, pain and desire warring behind that stare. I saw everything in her face. The betrayal she wouldn’t voice. The hunger she tried to hide. The love she wouldn’t dare name.

I didn’t move at first. Neither did she. We just stood there, chests heaving in sync, that tension pulling tighter with every passing second like an invisible cord between us was seconds from snapping. Then she broke. Not with tears this time—but with her body.

She reached for my shirt, clutched it in both hands like it was the only thing keeping her upright, and pulled me into her. Our mouths didn’t even touch yet, but everything else collided.Fingers tangled in curls, palms pressed to bare skin, legs sliding between legs.

Her lips hovered close enough to mine to feel the heat of her breath. “I hate you so much for doing this to me, for making me feel like this,” she whispered.

“I know,” I murmured, brushing my nose against hers. “But you still want me.”

“I do,” she said, voice cracking. “And that’s what makes me stupid.”

I kissed her before she could say anything else. Soft, at first like I was asking a question or maybe making a plea. Then harder. And she kissed me back like she’d been starving. There was no finesse to it. No slow striptease or seductive walk to the bedroom. We stumbled against walls, knocked into furniture, tugged at clothes like we needed to get to skin just to survive the next second.

Every kiss was a curse. Every moan was a confession. When I finally laid her down in my bed, she looked up at me like I was both the problem and the answer. Her fingers gripped the back of my neck, holding me close, keeping me there like she couldn’t risk me vanishing again.

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