The Afterglow Isn't Always Gentle

Act I -- The Afterglow Isn't Always Gentle

Introduction

Zariah didn't plan to stay. Malik didn't plan to forgive. But one blackout, two bare bodies, and a decade's worth of tension later--plans don't mean a damn thing. Between the sheets, they find fire. In the daylight, they find everything else: secrets, old scars, and a dangerous ex who still thinks "no" means "try harder."

The storm had passed, but the heat still clung to everything. The air outside was thick like syrup, and inside the shotgun house, it felt like the walls were sweating.

Zariah stood in her grandmother's bedroom, the same room she used to sleep in during summers, when her knees were ashy and her dreams too small for the sky she now chased. The scent of magnolia clung to the curtains, the floor creaked with every step, and the walls whispered things she wasn't ready to hear.

The funeral was over. The condolences were dry. The house was hers now.

She hadn't planned to stay. Just pack a few boxes, maybe cry a little, then run back to Atlanta where she had a life that looked good on the outside and felt hollow underneath. But something made her linger. Maybe it was grief. Or maybe it was him.

Malik.

Still lived next door.

He'd been her childhood friend, teenage secret, and her first almost-everything. Ten years ago, she ran. Left without a goodbye. Left behind his slow smile, the smell of motor oil and clove cigarettes, and the way he looked at her like she held all the answers.

That morning, she'd seen him through the kitchen window. Shirtless, sweat-slicked, body dipped in tattoos and memory. He was working on a car, eyes shaded under a snapback, arms flexing as he turned a wrench. He hadn't looked up.

But she felt him. Like gravity.

Malik - The Night Before

Malik sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his thighs, heart thumping like thunder before the storm. The house was too quiet. Outside, rain lashed the windows like it had a bone to pick.

He hadn't seen Zariah in ten years, but the second he spotted her standing in that kitchen earlier, barefoot, in her grandmother's house... it was like time folded in on itself. She looked the same and completely different. Softer in some places, sharper in others. Her mouth was tighter. Her eyes--tired, but still lit from within.

He should've knocked earlier.

He thought about it for hours. Paced the living room. Took a shot of dark liquor. Got in the shower and jacked off to the memory of her laughing that summer night on his hood in nothing but a tank top and box braids.

He didn't finish.

Didn't want to waste it.

There was too much still unsaid between them, too much still undone. Malik stood and pulled on a hoodie. Grabbed his keys. Then paused.

He didn't need to drive.

She was next door. Just like always.

Only this time, he was going to see if she'd open the door. And if she did?

He wasn't walking away again.

Flashback - That Summer Night

It had been one of those Southern nights so hot the air felt like it clung to your skin just to breathe. The A/C was busted, and her grandma had gone to bed early. Zariah and Malik were sprawled out on the hardwood floor, popsicles in hand, fans whirring in the windows.

She wore cutoff shorts and a ribbed tank that clung to her chest with sweat. Her locs were pulled into a messy bun, and her thighs stuck to the floor when she shifted. Malik lay next to her, his skin glistening, laughing at some inside joke that had faded in the air.

"I can't feel my face," she whispered.

"You ain't gotta," he said, voice lazy. "You look too good to need sense right now."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. That smile only he got.

Silence settled in. Comfortable. Charged.

Their hands touched. She didn't pull away.

She looked over and found him already watching her.

"I ever tell you," he said, "you the reason I started writing those dumb poems in my notebook?"

She blinked. "You write poems?"

He shrugged. "Not anymore. Used to. When I didn't know what to do with all this... energy."

She turned on her side, facing him. Her thigh brushed his. Neither of them moved.

"Read one to me."

He scoffed. "Hell no."

She grinned, biting the end of her popsicle. "Then show me."

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

Something shifted.

He leaned in.

She didn't stop him.

Their mouths were inches apart. Her breath hitched. His hand touched her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. It was so soft, it wasn't even a kiss yet--just promise.

Then her grandmother's voice echoed from down the hall: "Zariah! Come help me with this damn window!"

They froze. The moment shattered.

Zariah pulled back, heart racing.

Malik sat up, the spell broken.

She never talked about that night again.

And when she left for college a month later--she didn't say goodbye.

Part 2: The Storm + First Sex Scene

By nightfall, the storm came. Thunder cracked the sky wide open, and the power blinked out across the block.

Zariah lit candles. Poured herself a drink. Bourbon, neat. Let it burn a path down her throat while the rain tapped against the windows like it had something to say.

Then came the knock.

She opened the door and there he was. Malik. Drenched. Steam rising off his skin. Locs dripping. Eyes dark and unreadable.

"Power's out," he said.

She stood barefoot in an oversized shirt, no panties, no bra, body humming from memory and the liquor.

"I got candles," she said.

"I got reasons to stay."

They didn't talk much.

The door clicked shut and something inside her snapped. The kind of snap that echoed in the gut, that begged for ruin.

Malik grabbed her, hands rough, lips hungry. Their mouths crashed. She tasted rain and years of silence. His hands gripped her ass, lifted her, slammed her back against the hallway wall. Her legs wrapped around him on instinct.

He kissed her like punishment. Like prayer. Like she'd been a ghost and he was dragging her back to life.

He yanked her shirt over her head. She was bare beneath it. Her nipples pebbled, her body flushed.

"No bra. No panties. You planned this?"

"I hoped."

"You about to get what you asked for."

He carried her into the kitchen and set her on the counter. The candlelight flickered across his skin, and she drank him in. Chest carved, abs tight, his dick already straining against his jeans.

He dropped to his knees.

She spread her thighs and he buried his face between them. His tongue moved like he knew the song by heart. Slow licks up her slit, teasing her clit before sucking it with just enough pressure to make her moan.

He spit on her, slapped her pussy lightly, then went back to work. "I missed this taste," he murmured.

Her fingers tangled in his locs, riding his face, thighs trembling.

When she came, it was a full-body quake. And he didn't stop.

She dropped to her knees after, greedy, hands already on his belt. Freed his dick, thick and dark, and sucked him in deep.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You still suck dick like you trying to ruin a man."

She gagged, spit dripping down her chin, eyes glassy. He fisted her hair, guiding her, hips rolling.

Then he pulled her off.

"On the couch."

She crawled to the living room and bent over the armrest, ass high.

"Face down. Ass up."

"Then take it," she said.

He slammed into her soaked pussy with a grunt.

"Oh fuck!"

He pounded her, hard. Slapping sounds echoed. He pulled her hair, choked her lightly, rubbed her clit while driving into her with punishing strokes.

"Whose pussy is this?"

"Yours," she screamed.

He flipped her over, fucked her missionary, rubbing circles on her clit until she shattered again, her pussy clenching hard.

He pulled out, spit on her ass, and rubbed it.

"You want it all?"

"Give it to me."

He eased into her tight backdoor, inch by inch. She gasped, body stretched around him.

"Oh my God..."

He thrust slow, then faster, reaching around to rub her again.

"Use it," she begged. "Use all of me."

He fucked her ass until her legs trembled, then slid back into her pussy and came hard, stroking himself as he spilled over her belly, thighs, lips.

They collapsed on the floor, breathless, soaked in sweat and cum.

Zariah looked at him, dazed.

"You still love me?"

He kissed her forehead.

"I never stopped."

Part 3: Morning-After Intimacy + Internal Conflict

Zariah woke to the sun pressing gentle fingers through the blinds. Her body ached in places she hadn't remembered having nerve endings. The soreness between her thighs was a pulse, a hum. She turned slightly and saw Malik sleeping beside her.

He was on his back now, sheets low around his hips, one hand behind his head, lips parted just a little. Peaceful. Gorgeous. The golden light kissed his brown skin like it had been waiting all night to see him bare.

She reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of one tattoo across his ribs. He stirred, then turned to her with a sleepy half-grin.

"Was hoping you'd still be here," he murmured.

She smirked, stretched slowly, letting the sheet slip down her shoulder. "Body's too sore to run."

He slid closer, wrapped a hand around her waist, pulled her into his chest.

"You sore?" he whispered into her ear. "Let me make that better."

His fingers slid down her stomach, over her hip, and dipped between her legs. She gasped--she was still wet. Still tender.

Still ready.

He kissed her, slow and deep this time. No rush. Just heat and breath and tongues moving like they had all morning. His body pressed over hers, heavy in the most delicious way.

Malik moved lower, his lips tracing a path between her breasts, down her stomach. He kissed her inner thigh, biting gently, then blew cool air over the spot he licked, making her shiver.

"Still mine?" he asked.

She didn't answer. Just opened her legs wider.

He grinned.

His mouth was on her again. Slower now, deliberate. Like worship. He sucked her clit softly, then flattened his tongue and licked in wide, lazy strokes.

"Oh fuck," she moaned, hands in his hair.

He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right. His tongue circled her clit with maddening patience. She arched off the bed, thighs trembling, the buildup sharper now.

When she came, it was loud, drawn-out, her body writhing under his mouth.

He kissed back up her body, stopping to suck a nipple, dragging his dick across her slick folds.

"Need to be inside you," he growled.

Zariah pulled him down by the neck and wrapped her legs around him. "Then stop talking."

He pushed in, both of them groaning at the stretch, the pressure, the connection.

He started slow. Deep. Rhythmic.

She matched his thrusts, nails dragging down his back, breath hot in his ear. "Don't stop. You feel so good."

He moved faster, fucking her deep and sweet, his name falling from her lips like worship.

They came together, bodies locked, sweat-slicked and breathless.

When he rolled off and pulled her into his chest, she didn't move.

Didn't want to.

Didn't know if she could.

Zariah - What Comes After

Wrapped in Malik's arms, Zariah stared at the ceiling. Her body was satisfied, yes--wrecked in the best way--but her mind was wide awake. And that was the problem.

It was too easy. The way he touched her. The way she fit in his arms like she never left. Like time hadn't peeled them apart and stitched them to different cities, different lives, different people.

She'd spent ten years building walls. Around her heart. Around her body. Around the part of her that used to believe in forever. And now he was here, tearing those walls down like they were made of sugar.

She didn't trust how good it felt.

Because good always meant heartbreak was just waiting for an open door.

"Stop thinking," Malik murmured, voice thick with sleep.

She didn't answer.

But he was right.

And that scared her more than anything.

Part 4: Lingering Light + Message Reveal + Final Sex Scene

Lingering Light

Malik rolled onto his side and kissed her shoulder. "You always think so loud," he whispered against her skin.

Zariah let out a soft, dry laugh. "It's a curse."

He pulled the covers higher around them, his hand smoothing over her belly, resting just above her navel like a quiet promise. "What if it doesn't have to be?"

She turned her head, met his gaze. Those eyes. Dark, soft, unflinching. They made her want to say things she didn't have the nerve for. Things like I missed you every year or I still dream about that night on the floor.

But her mouth only moved around the safer words. "I don't know what this is, Malik."

His thumb brushed along her ribs. "It's whatever you want it to be. But don't pretend it's nothing."

She bit her lip. Swallowed. "You really never stopped... feeling something?"

"I never stopped," he said simply. "And I damn sure never forgot."

Silence fell again, but it wasn't empty. It pulsed, heavy and thick between them.

Zariah rested her cheek against his chest. Listened to the steady beat under her ear. It calmed something in her, that sound. That man.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped. The cicadas started up again, loud and alive.

Inside, her walls creaked--but maybe that was the sound of them finally breaking.

Unspoken Echoes

Her phone buzzed.

Zariah tensed, instinctively reaching across Malik's chest to the nightstand. The screen lit up with a name she hadn't seen in six months:

Jared.

She froze.

Malik noticed. Of course he did. "You good?"

"Yeah," she lied, setting the phone face down.

But he was watching her now. More awake. Less tender.

"You sure?"

Zariah sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. The shift in her body language betrayed her.

"Is that him?" Malik asked quietly.

She didn't answer right away. Just stared at the phone like it might explode.

"Z?"

She sighed. "It's complicated."

He sat up too. "Unpack it."

She glanced at him, saw the calm in his eyes--but also the edge.

"We weren't serious," she started. "Not really. But... he didn't see it that way."

"Is he why you left Atlanta?"

Zariah paused. Then nodded. "I didn't feel safe anymore."

The silence that followed was thick.

Malik's hand clenched in the sheets. "Did he put hands on you?"

"No. Just... made me feel like I owed him something. My time. My attention. My silence."

His jaw tightened. "You should've told me that shit last night."

"I didn't want to bring him into this," she said. "Didn't want to make this--us--dirty."

Malik looked at her, all that slow-burning heat now mixed with something else: protectiveness. Rage. And maybe--worse--hurt.

"I'm not mad you've got history," he said. "But I need to know what kind of danger's knocking on your door."

"He's not a threat," she said quickly. "He's just... persistent. Entitled."

Another silence.

Then Malik stood, the sheet falling from his body. "You still talking to him?"

"No!" she snapped. "I blocked him. He must've found another number."

She reached for him, but he stepped back. Not away--just far enough to think.

"You ever gonna stop running, Zariah?"

That cracked something in her.

She climbed out of bed, naked, crossed the space between them. "I don't want to run," she said softly. "Not from this."

He didn't speak.

She placed his hand on her chest. "I just don't know how to stay."

That was the truth. The one she hadn't said aloud in years.

His lips crushed hers a second later.

It wasn't sweet.

It was angry. Needy. Consuming.

He backed her into the dresser, lips bruising, hands gripping.

"You don't get to disappear again," he growled. "Not after last night. Not after telling me that."

"I'm not," she whispered. "But I need you to take it out of me."

And just like that, he spun her around, bent her over the dresser. She gasped as he yanked her hips back.

No foreplay this time.

He slid inside her, hot and deep, his hands gripping her waist like he owned it.

Zariah moaned loud, back arching, legs trembling.

He fucked her like he was exorcising her fears. Like he was driving Jared's memory out of her body with every thrust.

"Say it," he grunted.

"I'm yours," she cried. "Fuck--Malik--I'm yours."

He reached around, rubbed her clit hard, and she shattered--screaming, shaking, soaked.

He followed with a groan, spilling deep inside her, forehead pressed to her back.

They stayed like that.

Breathing.

Bleeding.

Binding.