Malik
I am not an indecisive man, yet I’ve vacillated on whether to go to Anna’s apartment tonight a good twenty times. I feel like I have solid reasoning as to why I should stay away, but fuck if it isn’t that kiss that has me standing outside her door right now.
But not just the physicality of the kiss. That’s not it.
I’ve kissed a lot of women in my life. From the playground when I was five to the last woman I was with just two nights before I had shipped out to Syria. I’ve kissed them in a lot of different places. Romantic kisses on a rain-drenched street to making a woman come with the power of my tongue between her legs. I’ve tasted it all with my mouth, yet what we shared in the gym today—just fucking mere hours ago—tipped my world sideways.
Scared the shit out of me, actually.
Anna almost brought me to my knees with that soft but insistent display, and I fear what else she might force me to do because I want to feel her mouth on mine again.
I remember my mother and I having a conversation many years ago when I was fourteen. Admittedly, I was a mama’s boy, and I had experienced my first broken heart. While I loved my father dearly, I could have never turned to him for solace and advice the way I could her.
My mother, Marilyn, is a speaking coach and has a way with words. I hadn’t cried over the breakup of my very first love, but it didn’t mean my heart wasn’t shredded.
I remember her saying, “Malik… take stock of how you feel right now. Remember the pain and the misery of it all. Never forget how badly you feel in this moment, for, one day, it will seem silly. There will come a day when you meet a woman who will make you feel such amazing things that you will wonder how you could ever be feeling this badly right now.”
She was talking about the proverbial soul mate people of romantic persuasions believe in. And back then, listening to her talk, she made me believe in them, too.
But then I grew up. And in all the women I had dated or been with, I’d never met one who made my first heartbreak seem silly. It doesn’t mean I obsessed about that heartbreak. Quite the contrary.
I think it goes more to the power of feeling, and I’ve never met someone who could evoke such a visceral response, pleasant or awful, good or bad.
Until Anna.
While I knew I genuinely liked her—as a coworker, friend, compatriot—I never could have guessed how deeply she’d possibly touch me.
To most, I bet it would seem a no-brainer that given the force of these feelings, I’d show up for dinner and be happy for the invitation.
But no one can understand the level of doubt I have within myself. Am I taking advantage of her? Is she truly ready for this, regardless of the self-confidence she portrays?
Most of all, can I let her walk this path with me—the man who is responsible for her husband lying cold in a grave?
I start to turn away from the door, but, to my shock, it swings open. Anna stands there, appearing beyond beautiful. She changed out of the dress she’d worn to work. Now, she has on a pair of flowing pants with a long-sleeved sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Thick, fuzzy socks adorn her feet. Her hair is piled messily on top of her head, and she’s holding a beer.
“I heard you out here pacing,” she says with a soft smile. “Watched you through the peephole for a bit—saw your indecision. Figured I’d try to lure you in with a beer.”
Christ, that’s fucking cute.
“Okay, yes,” I admit as I take the beer from her before entering the apartment. “I’m all up in my head.”
“Figured,” she replies pertly as she heads into the kitchen. I smell tomato sauce and garlic as I follow along behind.
“Where’s Avery?” I ask.
“Sleeping. Which, if you know anything about babies at all, you know… they sleep a lot. And eat. And poop.”
“But they’re damn cute,” I point out, taking a sip of my beer.
Laughing, she glances over her shoulder. “So very cute. She’s actually sleeping three-to-five-hour stretches at a time now, which definitely helps with my own beauty sleep.”
There’s a pot of boiling water on the stove, already boiling around spaghetti noodles, and she gives it a stir. Beside it, another pot bubbling with a tangy-smelling red sauce. The light on in the oven showcases a pan of garlic bread, and my stomach growls with anticipation.
“That had to have been hard.” The soft tone of my voice has her eyes coming to me in question. “A baby all on your own. Up every few hours to care for her with no help.”
Anna smiles, giving a slight shrug. “While I would love to be one of those martyr mothers who will one day hang it over Avery’s head how much I sacrificed for her, I have to tell you… she’s a pretty easy baby. Yes, she cries when she’s hungry, so yes, I have to wake up and feed her. But she goes right back to sleep, and she’s really a happy kid. Doesn’t cry a lot other than if she’s hungry or she has poop in her diaper.”
It makes me glad to hear it, so I can’t help but say, “I’ve heard when you have a really easy baby, it means they’ll be hellions in their teens.”
“God, I hope not.” When Anna laughs, I join her. A reminder of how incredibly easy it is to fall into comfortable conversation with her, despite the fact we have some heavy things hanging over us. That says something.
Or maybe it doesn’t since Anna sets down the wooden spoon she’d been stirring the pasta with, then turns the stove off. She shifts to face me, hands on hips, and I’m immediately on guard by her uneasy expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She glances away, face turning red as she shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”
“I promise it’s not,” I assure her, making a firm mental note not to laugh, no matter what she says.
Anna’s head tips up, and she looks miserable. “It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about the kiss, okay? It almost knocked me over—”
“Which one?” I interrupt. “There were two instances.”
“The one in the gym today, but the first one was awesome, too.”
“Got it,” I reply with a nod, up to speed on things.
“I know we need to talk about it… about us. About whatever the heck this is—about what it means and how to be comfortable with it. Which is why I thought making you dinner and having a rational discussion would be the way to go. So, I made spaghetti, which seemed like a good idea because it’s easy and not over-involved, if you know what I mean. Plus, I didn’t really have time to go shopping after work, and I had these ingredients—”
“Anna,” I interrupt again, since she’s rambling from nerves and refusing to get to the point.
She takes a deep breath, blushing so deeply I bet her cheeks are warm to the touch. “It’s just… I want you to kiss me again. I want that more than I want to talk to you right now, and I’m afraid if we talk first while eating, the kiss won’t be that great because it will be too planned. Plus, I cook with a lot of garlic, so now I’m afraid it’s going to be a horrible kiss after the spaghetti, but I want it to be perfect, you know?”
Despite all my misgivings about this—no matter the guilt I carry and regardless of the fact I don’t believe I deserve her—it’s in this moment, listening to her insecurities about a garlicky kiss, that I fall just a little bit in love with Anna Tate.
It’s also when I decide we can talk later, because another kiss really can’t wait… for her own peace of mind.
Setting my beer bottle down, I reach out and circle an arm around her waist. It lets me easily reel her into me. Her eyes flash with surprise, joy, then heat. Each emotion hits me square in the gut, especially knowing I can evoke that many in such a short time.
My other hand goes to her cheek, holding it there before sliding my fingers to the back of her head. I dip my head, locking my eyes to hers. She stares back with such trust I know I have to do right by her.
“We’ll eat and talk later, okay?”
She nods, licks her lower lip, and exhales as her hands come to my chest. “Okay.”
My mouth descends on hers. No one can call this kiss sweet or tender. There’s no hesitation, no wondering if I’m doing the right thing.
I claim Anna’s mouth as my very own, not willing to share it with another soul. As good as she tastes, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to give her up. Her moan is deep and guttural, rumbling across my tongue, and my body instantly reacts.
Skin tightening, blood hammering through my veins, and cock thickening. I haven’t had a woman in almost six goddamn months, yet not sure any I’ve ever had before this kiss with Anna amounted to much.
Anna’s arms go around my neck as she presses her body tightly into mine. I should be embarrassed she can feel my need for her pressed into her belly, but I’m not. Just as I hope she’s not embarrassed by the way she growls from the sensation, biting down hard on my lower lip.
I spin her away from the stove, back her into the wall, and kiss her more deeply. She lifts a leg, wrapping it around mine in an effort to get our pelvises in better alignment.
Our kiss goes from tentative to lightening in about five seconds flat. Already, I think I might die if I can’t feel more of her. Sink deep inside of her.
Too soon, Malik.
It is with a massive amount of self-control and effort I pull away from the kiss before it can go any farther. Anna and I are just about a few heartbeats from shedding clothes. As much as I want to be with her in that way, I can’t when there are still so many things between us.
I kiss her one more time, full and deep, but then gently withdraw so I can examine her. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks about as dazed as I feel.
“Too fast?” she murmurs.
“Too fast,” I agree. “We have to talk.”
Anna exhales as I take a step away from her. She brushes a lock of hair from her face, giving me a tremulous smile. “We have to be the only people in the world attracted to each other who need to have a serious talk before we do anything about it.”
She’s probably right about that. Most people who decide to have sex with each other operate on instinct, let their feelings alone drive them forward to a conclusion. Anna and I have too much at stake, though. While I hate to describe myself as such, we’re both vulnerable and perhaps susceptible to the influence we hold over each other.
We have to go into this with open eyes and clear consciences.
“But that kiss was really good, right?” she asks impishly.
“Really fucking good,” I reply. I know whatever comes next will be even better.
If we can agree on how to get there, or if we should even go there at all.
“Let’s eat dinner,” Anna suggests. “And after, we can talk. After that, who knows?”
It’s a solid plan, and I nod my assent. What I have to decide is how far do I want to go with this woman? She’s not anything I was searching for, yet I can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else.
In order to even consider it as a possibility, I’ll have to do the one thing I’m not sure I have the guts to do.
Tell her the truth about Jimmy’s death.
It makes me want to vomit.
“Think we can talk now?” I ask. If I’m going to do this, I have to get it off my chest to let the chips fall where they may.
Anna takes my hand, then leads me to the couch in the living room. She releases her hold just as we reach it, pointing at one end. After I sink down on it, Anna takes a position on the opposite end, a single cushion forming the distance between us. She curls her legs up, her back to the armrest and her hands folded in her lap. Her expression is open and trusting.
Having such faith in me that I don’t deserve makes my stomach twist into a hard knot.
I start off carefully, acknowledging what has developed between us. “You and I… we have a connection that is hard to explain.”
Anna nods, presenting me with a reassuring smile.
“And I’m grateful for it,” I say truthfully. “It wasn’t something I was expecting or looking for. Serendipity, I guess, but it makes me happy. You make me happy.”
“I feel the same,” she murmurs.
I don’t even bother with a steadying breath. If I take the time to do it, I might chicken out on what really needs to be said, so I just go ahead and lay it out there in all its blunt cruelty. “It’s my fault Jimmy and Sal died.”
It’s as if I physically struck Anna when she reels backward, her hands coming to cover her heart. “That’s not true,” she whispers.
“It is.” My gaze stays locked on her, refusing to look away even though it fucking hurts to see the horror on her face.
“I don’t believe it,” she mutters, her gaze sliding off to the side as she becomes lost in thought. “Someone would have told me.”
“It’s probably—”
She cuts me off, head whipping back my way as she angrily demands. “Explain.”
So I do.
I tell her how the events unfolded with the Brits being fired upon and my mistaken conclusion that Jimmy and Sal were in a somewhat safe position behind me since the enemy fire seemed to only be coming from our front. Without any gory details, I explain what happened to Jimmy and Sal while I was raining down protective fire for the British Special Forces. That the fault for Jimmy and Sal getting ambushed laid squarely on my shoulders since I was in an equally good position to protect them instead.
“I shouldn’t have assumed the only danger was in front of us,” I clarify, the disgust in myself evident by my tone. “I should have kept a better eye on them. I should have chosen to protect them.”
The only sense I get from her that any of this is penetrating is a subtle narrowing of her eyes on me. As if she’s having an epiphany. I’d known having this talk now was the right thing to do. There’s no way we could have gone down the path we were destined for without giving her the privilege of being fully informed of my perfidy.
Anna lets out a shaky breath. Dipping her head, she stares at her hands where they are folded in her lap. Her voice quavers a bit. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You don’t know how sorry I am. How I’d give anything to change the circumstances.”
She refuses to look at me, but her tone is gentle… so Anna-like. “I can imagine, and I think I’ve told you before that I’d never wish anything to change for you so they could change for me. You’ve given me a lot to think about, though.”
It’s the long silence that lets me know the conversation is over. She has nothing more to say to me, and I’m not sure if I should continue to apologize. I’d do it as penance if I thought it would help, but the distinct impression I’m getting from Anna is she would like to not have to suffer in my presence right now. I’ve given her far too much to think about, and in no way can she do so with me sitting next to her.
The man who killed her husband.
Quietly, I get up from the couch and head to the door. I don’t expect her to stop me or even call out a farewell. I get what I deserve as I leave… nothing from her at all.