The candlelight danced along the walls, deep shadows flickering across Malik’s South Side loft. Outside, the city hummed softly, but in this space, the world felt quiet—intimate, sealed away from everything beyond the thick curtains.

Aaliyah stood at the edge of the bed, her breath steady but shallow, wrists bound delicately behind her back with the silk scarf, her body thrumming with awareness beneath the black lace that barely covered her skin.

The blindfold was snug, robbing her of sight, heightening everything else.

The sound of Malik’s footsteps as he circled her.

The scent of his cologne—dark, woodsy, laced with something deeper.

The warmth of his breath ghosting along her collarbone without touch.

And then—his fingers.

They traced from her jawline down the curve of her neck, slow, deliberate, until his thumb rested just at the hollow of her throat.

"You’re beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice deep, soothing yet commanding. "Completely open. Completely mine."

Her breath hitched, the ache building low in her stomach as he kissed her—soft at first, tasting her lips, teasing her mouth open until the kiss grew deeper. His tongue claimed hers, slow, sensual, each stroke making her knees weaken.

But he didn’t let her fall.

He caught her by the waist, pressing her back against his chest. The heat of his body, skin to skin, was enough to send shivers down her spine.

"You trust me, right?" he whispered against her ear, his lips barely grazing the sensitive spot below it.

"Yes," she whispered, voice trembling but steady.

"Good. Then let go."

His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her hips, thumbs grazing just above the edge of her lace panties. He took his time, exploring every inch of her body as though committing it to memory.

But he didn’t rush.

He teased.

Dragging his fingers over her stomach, tracing the underswell of her breasts but never quite touching where she ached most.

"Malik, please…"

"Not yet," he growled softly, lips grazing her shoulder. "I want you to feel everything first.

The next thing she felt was warmth—the gentle press of his lips lower, trailing down the curve of her back, his hands spreading along her hips as he knelt behind her.

And then, a sudden contrast—

The heat of his mouth on her inner thigh, paired with the soft, cool kiss of silk as he dragged the scarf he had bound her wrists with over her skin, making her shiver.

"You’re so sensitive here," he murmured, brushing his tongue higher, closer, teasing her with just enough friction to make her squirm.

"Malik," she whimpered, the sound raw, desperate.

He smiled against her skin, hands parting her thighs wider.

"Tell me what you want, Aaliyah."

"I want—" Her voice caught, trembling. "You. I need you."

The control he had been holding onto finally cracked.

The blindfold stayed on, but he released her wrists, letting the scarf fall as he guided her back onto the bed, spreading her beneath him.

The first thrust was slow, agonizingly deep, both of them gasping at the connection.

"That’s it," he whispered, pressing deeper, lips at her ear. "Let go for me, baby. Let me hear you."

And she did.

The sounds of their bodies filled the space—soft gasps, the rhythm of skin meeting skin, the whispered curses that spilled from her lips as he drove her higher.

And when she finally shattered beneath him, trembling, breathless, his name on her lips—

He held her close, pressing a final lingering kiss to her lips.

And it was only the beginning.