AFTER PARTY **
The apartment felt quieter after the party.
Jane and Fred were the first to leave, laughing as they stumbled toward the elevator, hands tangled and voices low with tipsy affection. Ethan had vanished with Bella soon after, claiming they were heading to grab late-night snacks at a nearby café. That left only two people behind.
Amara and Kai.
He hadn't said a word since the dare.
The moment they got home, Kai went straight to his room, not sparing her a glance. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Amara stood in the hallway for a moment, staring after him, her heart pounding.
She should've laughed it off. Should've acted like it didn't matter. But it did.
That kiss. That touch. That connection.
It wasn't just a dare. Not to her.
She curled up on the couch at first, trying to distract herself. She turned on the TV, scrolled through her phone, but nothing worked. Her body still buzzed, her mind kept replaying the way he looked at her—not with lust, but with something deeper. Something searching.
Her chest rose and fell sharply as she stood and paced.
She couldn't pretend anymore. This wasn't about games or curiosity. This was about a longing that had been buried too long.
She hadn't let anyone close since the scars of her past. She never felt safe enough. Never wanted anyone enough. But with Kai… it was different. It wasn't just want—it was warmth. Familiarity. The safety she never knew she needed.
She walked quietly to his room.
She stood at the door, hand lifted, ready to knock.
But she hesitated.
What if he pushed her away?
What if this ruined everything?
She dropped her hand.
No. Not like this.
Amara turned around and returned to her apartment, heart aching.
---
Inside Kai's room, the silence was thick.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his shirt unbuttoned, trying to read the book in his hands. But the pages blurred. All he could see was Amara in that dress, her laughter, the softness in her voice when she asked if he was okay after the party.
He closed the book slowly and leaned back, his jaw tight.
He wasn't just trying to fight temptation. He was fighting emotion—raw, real emotion.
He hadn't felt like this in years, only with her, and she's here now. He had to do something.
Grabbing his keys, he left his apartment without thinking. The hallway felt longer than usual, the quiet pressing in as he reached her door. He raised his hand and knocked.
Amara blinked awake from her thoughts, surprised by the sound. She glanced at the clock
11:23 PM.
Who would knock this late?
She padded to the door in her soft nightgown—a flowing silk piece, light grey, delicate against her skin. She opened it slowly, her heart thudding when she saw him.
Kai.
He looked unsure. Tired. Torn.
Neither of them spoke.
His eyes flicked briefly over her gown, but the look in his eyes wasn't desire. It was vulnerability. A quiet ache.
She stepped aside and let him in.
He entered, standing in the middle of the small living room, eyes lowered, hands in his pockets.
"I couldn't sleep," he murmured.
She nodded. "Me neither."
She stepped toward him slowly, reaching out to touch his hand.
He didn't pull away.
Her voice trembled slightly. "Why are you here, Kai?"
He met her gaze.
" I don't know, maybe because I miss you. Even when you're right next to me," he said.
That broke something open inside her.
She lifted his hand, placed it on her waist. He didn't move. Just stared into her eyes like they held the answers to questions he'd been afraid to ask.
"I don't want to keep pretending," she whispered.
He leaned in then, slowly, as if giving her a chance to stop him. But she didn't.
Their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first. Tender. Exploratory.
It deepened with each heartbeat, a quiet gasp slipping from her lips as he drew her closer. His hands held her like she was fragile, precious.
When he finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling.
"Stay with me," she whispered.
He didn't answer with words.
He picked her up gently and carried her to her bedroom.
---
The room felt sacred, silent, warm.
He placed her softly on the bed, his shirt slipping off as he leaned over her. Her fingers traced the lines of his chest, unbuttoning his shirt further, her breath shallow, her heart open.
Their clothes fell away in quiet pieces, not rushed or desperate—but careful, almost reverent.
Before he entered her, Kai paused, eyes locked on hers.
Then, lowering himself between her thighs, he kissed slowly down her stomach, and then lower still.
Amara gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth worked tenderly between her legs.
Every stroke of his tongue was deliberate, slow, worshipful. Her back arched, her breath coming out in broken whispers. She moaned his name, unable to hold it in.
He brought her to the edge and over it—again and again—until her body trembled.
Only then did he come up, his lips brushing hers gently.
And when he finally entered her, it wasn't with hunger, but with awe.
She gasped again, her fingers curling against his shoulder as their bodies moved together in sync, like a rhythm they'd always known.
He kissed her over and over—her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids—as if to memorise her. As if afraid she might vanish.
She held him tightly, burying her face against his neck, whispering his name like a promise.
It wasn't wild or reckless. It was slow, aching, beautiful.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, not wanting to let go.
And when they reached the peak together, it felt like, more than a release. It felt like healing.
Afterwards, they lay tangled, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist.
Neither spoke.
But everything was said in the silence.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, kissed her forehead softly.
But then something shifted.
Kai sat up.
She stirred, frowning. "Kai?"
He was already putting his shirt back on.
"You're leaving?" she asked, her voice small.
He hesitated.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said.
"You didn't," she said, trying hard to control her tears.
He finally looked at her—and for a second, she saw it. The fear. The walls.
"I always lose myself in you," he murmured. "And every time… I get left behind, I'm sorry Ama."
There was something else in his eyes—something unspoken. A memory he hadn't voiced. One that haunted him.
But he didn't explain. He just kissed her forehead one last time.
And then he was gone.
Amara lay in the quiet afterwards, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
Not from shame.
But from something deeper.
She clutched the sheets tighter, heart aching.
"It was just sex to him," she whispered to herself. "Just sex."
But a part of her knew—it wasn't.
Still, it didn't stop the tears from coming.
Had she made a mistake? She sobbed silently.