Kiss Me Like You Miss Me

Zina stared at him after those words left his mouth—"I'll never forget you. Not in this life, not in any other."

Her heart stuttered. Something in her cracked open.

She looked at him slowly, deliberately… her gaze climbing from the hand still gripping her waist, up the hard plane of his chest beneath the turtleneck she wore, to the strong curve of his throat… then—his mouth.

His lips were slightly parted, flushed from tension. Soft. Inviting.

Her breath hitched.

Then—his eyes.

Golden, burning, wide open, watching her like she was a miracle he didn't believe he deserved.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. The space between them had shrunk to a hair's breadth. His hand still rested on her hip, warm and steady, like an anchor. His other hand had moved up—hovering, hesitating near her cheek, like he didn't know if he should touch her.

She wanted to close the gap. God, she wanted to taste him.

But her mind screamed no.

Not yet. Not now. Not while her heart was still a tangled mess.

She tore her gaze away, heart slamming in her chest. "I… I should probably get back," she whispered, fingers curling into the edge of his hoodie. "This isn't…"

But then it happened.

The music box beside them clicked shut with a final, echoing chime—a perfect moment of silence that cracked open the tension like a spark in gasoline.

In that tiny pause, Malik moved.

He didn't lunge. He didn't pull.

He leaned in—slowly, cautiously, as if giving her time to run.

His forehead brushed hers gently, and his breath whispered against her lips, warm and shaky. "Zina…" he breathed.

And she—like a fool, like a girl still in love—didn't stop him.

A beat passed.

And then another.

She met him halfway.

Their lips brushed—just a graze.

Then again, firmer.

The kiss was quiet. Slow. Like they were memorizing each other through the taste of regret and time lost.

Her fingers curled around his collar, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around her back, holding her like she'd disappear.

There was no fire—yet.

It was ache. Longing. Need disguised as tenderness.

When they finally pulled apart, her breath trembled against his skin.

"I'm still mad at you," she whispered.

He smirked, forehead still resting against hers. "I can live with that… if you'll still kiss me like that again."

"The kiss me like you miss me"

She hated how easy it was to fall back into him.

And she hated that part of her… didn't want to stop.

Their years of unspoken desire, hidden dreams, and sleepless lonely nights collided in that kiss. It was soft at first, trembling and tearful, but then it became hotter, angrier, rougher, and desperate. His tongue invaded her mouth possessively, claiming every inch of her as his hands roamed her body greedily.

In a single, fluid motion, he stood up, lifting her with him. She gasped into his mouth as he carried her effortlessly and dropped her onto his work desk, scattering his tools and half-finished machines onto the cold metal floor with clatters and clangs.

Their kiss was harsh and weathered, tongues clashing, lips bruising. His calloused hands slid under his oversized shirt, finding her bare waist. She shivered at his touch, moaning softly when his fingers brushed up to cup her breast through the thin lace of her white bra.

His muscles froze.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Not while his heart was pounding out confessions he didn't dare speak.

He hadn't even thought—

He was supposed to stop her. Protect her. Keep her safe… from the world, from himself.

And yet I kissed her like a starving man. Carried her like she was mine. Like she still belonged to me.

His hands were on her skin, her scent wrapped around him like smoke, and still—his soul screamed: Not now.

He pulled away, chest heaving as he stared at her flushed face, her kiss-swollen lips parted, her red eyes glazed with tears and want.

"Neve…" he groaned deeply, his thumb brushing over her soaked panties, feeling her heat radiating through the damp fabric. "We… we need to stop… before I take you right here."

Her breath came out in ragged, trembling gasps as she arched into his touch, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Then… do it, Malik… please… I want it… I want you…"

But he stopped himself before he could continue. His mind was screaming, body trembling with want, but he clenched his jaw. No. Not like this. This pink-haired girl was his undoing. She was an addiction… and addictions made men like him weak. Vulnerable. Dangerous.

When she felt him pause, she blinked up at him in confusion, eyes glimmering under the dim lights.

"Malik…?" she whispered.

He shook his head, trying to steady his ragged breaths. "I can't do it. Not yet." His voice was low, broken, like rust scraping steel. "I want to be your first, your last, your everything… but not like this. Not while we're hunted like dogs. Not while I'm covered in blood and your life is in danger."

Her eyes widened with pain. "It doesn't matter!" she cried, tears pooling as her lip trembled.

"It matters to me, Neve!" he snapped, his golden eyes flashing dangerously before softening with sorrow. "I don't want your first time to be on my filthy desk… ruled by grief, confusion, desperation. I want you… but not now."

She swallowed her tears, rage bubbling instead. "Fine!" she spat, pushing against his chest and jumping down from the table. "And how do you know you'd even be my first?!" she hissed before storming out.