Page 172 of Invisible Bars
Imanio leaned down and pressed his lips to my cheek first, then my temple. Next, my shoulder. Each kiss felt like a silent promise. And each pause gave me time to breathe… time to feel.
My fingers curled against his shirt as his palm flattened against my stomach, anchoring me. I could feel the tension humming under his skin, the restraint.
“You’re so beautiful, Naji,” he murmured, lips against the slope of my neck. “Not just how you look, but all of it… the shit you hide.”
My eyes stung. “E-Even the tics.”
Imanio looked me in my eyes with so much sincerity. “Especiallythe tics.”
Then he dropped to his knees between my legs and hooked one over his shoulder, eyes dark, mouth already parted like he was starving.
Imanio didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, and when his tongue met my clit, my head fell back with a helpless moan. Imanio licked me like he was fluent in every hidden language of my body.
Long strokes, deep pressure and gentle sucks that turned savage when I tried to hold back.
My tics kicked in—a stuttered groan, a breathless laugh, a muttered, “Ooooh—fold the jellybeans, fold ‘em!”—and I felt him smile into me.
Imanio didn’t stop; he just grinned like he was devouring every sound I gave him.
“Mmm. Keep saying whatever the hell that was. I like the way you sound when you lose control.”
His tongue flicked faster. Then he locked both my thighs in place like I was something sacred and wild at once. My whole body shook.
“I-Imanioooooo!” I bucked, shuddered, his name tumbling from my lips like a prayer and a curse.
He moaned when I came—a deep, vibrating sound that made it worse in the best way.
Imanio briefly glanced up at me.
His mouth was glistening with the proof of what he’d done—of what he took. His eyes were locked on mine… dark and hungry, but steady.
And then, one word slipped from his lips like a vow, deep and raw:
“Mine.”
He smiled against my skin, groaned low, and kept going.
I felt Imanio everywhere—his hands spreading warmth, his mouth dragging heat, and his voice, low and reverent, whispering things I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear.
He kissed up my body, slow and steady, until he was hovering above me again.
Our foreheads touched and our breaths mingled.
“You still with me?” he asked.
Barely.
But I nodded, trembling, blinking back something that wasn’t just from pleasure.
“I’ve never felt… anything like this,” I sheepishly admitted.
“I know. Me neither.”
Then he kissed me again—slow, deep, and unhurried. And in that moment, nothing else existed.
We didn’t have sex that night.
Not because I didn’t want to.
