~[Chapter 16] Total Collision~
Liya's hands came up to grip my waist, tentative, uncertain, like she was afraid I might disappear.
The kiss was soft. Gentle. Four years of longing compressed into a single moment.
I felt everything I'd been holding back crash through me—the love, the anger, the grief.
All of it.
My hands trembled against her face. My chest ached. My eyes burned with shed tears that threatened to burst out.
And then reality crashed back in.
What am I doing?
Panic flooded through me.
I pulled away quickly, gasping.
"I—I am so sor—"
I turned and ran inside, trying to slam the door behind me.
But Liya was faster.
She caught the door with her hand, pushed it open, stepped inside.
And before I could say anything,
before I could even think,
she grabbed me.
Slammed me against the wall.
And kissed me.
But this wasn't like before.
This wasn't soft or tentative or uncertain.
This was raw. Desperate. Consuming.
She kissed me like she was drowning and I was air.
Like she'd been starving for years and I was the only thing that could save her.
Like her entire life depended on this moment.
Her hands were everywhere—tangled in my hair, gripping my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.
One hand slid up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair with just enough pressure to make me gasp.
The sound I made seemed to awaken something in her. Something I instantly regretted awakening.
She deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against mine, and I felt my knees go weak.
My back pressed harder against the wall—the only thing keeping me upright.
I could feel her heartbeat pounding against my chest. Could feel the tremble in her hands. Could taste the desperation on her lips.
My hands fisted in her shirt, pulling her closer even though there was no space left between us.
She kissed me like she was trying to memorize every angle, every sensation, every breath.
Like she was trying to make up for four years in four minutes.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't do anything except feel.
Her lips moved from my mouth to my jaw. Down my neck. Each kiss burning like a brand.
I tilted my head back, a broken sound escaping my throat.
"Liya—"
Her name came out like a prayer. A plea.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark and wild and filled with something that made my stomach flip.
"Tell me to stop," she whispered, her voice wrecked. "Tell me to leave and I will. I'll go and nev—"
She didn't finish.
She didn't have to.
I grabbed her shirt and pulled her back to me.
This time, I was the one kissing her like I was starving.
My hands roamed—her face, her neck, her shoulders, her back—trying to convince myself she was real.
That this was happening.
That she was here.
She made a sound low in her throat—half gasp, half moan—and it sent electricity racing down my spine.
Without breaking the kiss, she bent slightly and lifted me.
My legs wrapped around her waist instinctively, arms looping around her neck.
She carried me through the apartment like I weighed nothing, her mouth never leaving mine.
We stumbled once—she caught herself against the hallway wall, pinning me there for a moment, kissing me deeper, harder, before pushing off and continuing.
My bedroom door was open.
She walked us inside, kicked it closed behind her with her foot.
The room was dim—curtains drawn, only thin strips of late afternoon sunlight filtering through.
She lowered me onto the bed gently, carefully, like I was something precious.
Then she pulled back, just enough to look at me.
We were both breathing hard. Both trembling.
Her hair was disheveled from my hands. Her lips were slightly swollen. Her eyes were dark with want and something else—something vulnerable and terrifying and hopeful all at once.
"Maya," she whispered. "Can I—"
She paused, trying to come up with the right word to say. I reached up and cupped her face with one hand. Then I nodded slowly.
Something in her expression shifted—relief and desire and love—all flooding through at once.
She kissed me again, softer this time, as she climbed onto the bed, settling her weight over me.
I sank into the mattress, my hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer.
Her hands moved to my blazer, fingers working the buttons.
She pushed the blazer off my shoulders and tossed it aside.
Then her hands found the hem of my blouse.
She paused, looking at me again—asking permission without words.
I nodded.
She lifted the blouse over my head slowly, her eyes following the path of newly exposed skin.
When I was bare except for my bra, she just stared.
"You're beautiful," she breathed. "God, Maya, you're so beautiful."
My cheeks flushed. "Liya—"
"No." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to my collarbone.
"Let me say it. Let me tell you everything I should have said back then."
She kissed her way across my chest, each touch deliberate, worshipful.
"You're beautiful,"
she murmured between kisses.
"You're brilliant. You're strong. You're everything I've ever wanted and was such a coward to have let you go."
Her hands slid down my sides, fingertips tracing patterns that made me shiver.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against my skin. "I'm so sorry I left. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I wasted four years being a coward."
"Liya—" My voice broke.
She looked up at me, and I saw tears in her eyes.
"I love you," she said. "I never stopped loving you. Not for a single day."
I pulled her up to me and kissed her—deep and slow and full of everything I couldn't say.
When we broke apart, I whispered,
"I love you too. I tried not to. I tried so hard. But I couldn't stop. I can't stop."
She smiled—that beautiful, radiant smile I'd fallen in love with five years ago.
"Then don't," she said. "Don't ever stop, please. I don't know what I'll do with myself if you ever stop"
"I won't."
She kissed me again, and this time there was no hesitation.
Her hands moved with purpose now—unhooking my bra, sliding it off, tossing it aside.
Her mouth followed, kissing down my neck, across my chest, lower.
I arched into her touch, gasping her name.
My hands found the hem of her shirt, tugged at it impatiently.
She pulled back just enough to let me pull it over her head.
And then we were skin to skin, heart to heart, breathing the same air.
"Maya," she whispered, her forehead pressed against mine.
"Hmmm?" I murmured.
We moved together—slowly at first, relearning each other, remembering what we'd loved, discovering what was new.
Her hands traced paths down my body, exploring, memorizing.
Mine did the same, sliding across her back, her shoulders, her sides.
Every touch sent sparks through me. Every kiss made me burn.
She whispered my name like a prayer.
I gasped hers like a plea.
When her hand slid lower, past my stomach, past the waistband of my pants, I made a sound I barely recognized—desperate and needy and completely undone.
"Is this okay?" she asked, her voice rough.
"Yes," I breathed. "God, yes."
She kissed me as her fingers worked open the button, slid down the zipper.
Then she was touching me—through fabric at first, teasing, making me whimper.
"Liya, please—"
"Shh," she murmured. "I've got you."
She slid my pants down, taking her time, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin.
When I was finally bare before her, she pulled back to look at me.
I felt suddenly vulnerable and exposed.
But the way she looked at me—like I was art, like I was everything—made the vulnerability vanish in an instant.
"You're perfect," she whispered.
Then she kissed me again, and I stopped thinking entirely.
Her hands moved with confidence now, knowing exactly where to touch, how much pressure, what would make me gasp and what would make me moan.
I'd forgotten how well she knew my body.
Or maybe she was learning it all over again.
Either way, it was perfect.
She took her time—building slowly, patiently, even when I begged her to go faster.
"Not yet," she murmured against my neck. "I want to savor this. Savor you. I want it to last long, so you won't forget."
So I let her.
Let her kiss every inch of my skin.
Let her touch me until I was trembling.
Let her take me apart piece by piece and put me back together different.
When I finally came apart beneath her, it was with her name on my lips and tears streaming down my face.
She held me through it, whispering soft words I couldn't quite hear over the pounding of my heart. Then she proceeded to kiss the tears from my cheeks, one by one, like she was trying to kiss away every hurt she'd caused.
When I could breathe again, I pulled her up to me and kissed her—deep and grateful and full of love.
She slowly pulled away, then gently wiped my tears with her thumb. We stared at each other for a moment, then I pulled her closer and whispered in her ears,
"Your turn,"