I Starved For You
**Zaid**
I can’t drive fast enough.
Her scent has filled up the car entirely, and she is all I can feel, see and breathe. She’s sitting right next to me, so close and yet not close enough.
My fingers twitch on the steering wheel.
She’s smiling, leaning back in her seat so carefree, like she’s not feeling all the desperation I am. She glances at me every few minutes and the look in her eyes tears me apart.
She’s so fucking happy. So fucking excited to be home.
She looks at me like she can’t believe I’m real.
A year. Three hundred and sixty-five days, minus the month I thought she was still going to be over there. And somehow, I survived it.
I want to know every part of her again. Every new thought. Every new piece.
But mostly I want to touch her. Every inch of her, get to know all of that all over again, too. That part of me has been half dead since she boarded that plane.
Not just out of want. Out of need. Out of something in me that has been dormant and half-dead since the night she boarded that plane.
“I like the beard,” she whispers, her hand reaching out to run her fingers through it.
I glance at her again. Her eyes are wide, her lips tugged into a smile that punches straight into my gut. I grip the steering wheel harder.
Her touch burns, kills, and heals me at the same time. I swallow hard, trying to hold myself together like a man.
“You like it more than when you saw it on video?” I manage, though my voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in days.
She nods. “I love it.”
I nearly pull the car over. Her fingers linger, brushing over my jaw. It’s like she doesn’t know what she does to me. Like she doesn’t see the effect she has.
I shouldn’t be driving.
Not when my heart is in my throat and my blood is boiling and I want to lean over and kiss her. I want to know everything about her time away.
But right now? Right now, I want to get home, because if I don’t kiss her soon, I might lose my mind.
She’s still watching me. Still running her fingers through my beard. Like she can’t believe I’m real either.
Loving her hasn’t dulled. It’s only sharpened.
She pulls her hand back slowly, and I feel the loss like a slap. I ache for it. I nearly slam on the brakes. I grip the wheel until my knuckles ache, my jaw locked tight.
I worshipped her from afar.
I drove past the airport. Twice. Bought a ticket only the second time, but I managed to keep myself here at home. I went to bed with her picture on my nightstand and woke up with her name in my mouth.
She is the thing I love most in the world.
Now she’s back, and I’m driving like the road is a countdown to a moment I’ve needed for a goddamn year. She leans her head back against the seat, watching me like she can see inside me, see the way I’m barely holding it together.
My chest tightens.
“I missed you so much,” she whispers, like we haven’t said it to each other a thousand times already.
I glance at her. “I didn’t miss you.”
She blinks, lips parting, frowning.
I breathe out, shaking my head. “I didn’t miss you, Alina. I starved for you. You have no fucking idea.”
The silence in the car shifts. It grows heavier, thicker. Her eyes don’t leave mine.
Neither of us says another word. I pull into the driveway, barely remembering the drive at all, heart hammering against my ribs. My hands shake a little as I park, but I shove it down and get out, walking around to open her door.
She smiles up at me, so soft, so trusting.
Fuck. Fuck. She doesn’t even know what she does to me.
I lace our fingers together, pulling her toward the front door. I fumble with the keys, cursing under my breath when they slip in my hand.
She laughs, a soft, perfect sound, and presses her hand against my chest, steadying me without even knowing it. She reaches for the keys and opens the door.
I barely get us through it before I turn her in my arms, pushing her back against the wall. I crash my mouth to hers. Hard. Desperate.
She gasps against my lips, and I drink it in like the drowning man I am. Her hands are everywhere, threading into my hair, clutching at my jacket, tugging me closer even though I’m already trying to fuse us together.
I press into her, into every curve, every dip, her soft body molding perfectly against mine. I feel her so deep in the broken, splintered pieces of me I thought were dead.
She fits. God, she fits perfectly.
Every kiss, every touch, tells me I belong. Tells me I’m finally home.
I kiss her like it’s the only thing I’m good at. She whimpers against my mouth, and the sound nearly brings me to my knees.
I pull back just a fraction, my forehead pressing to hers, our breaths heavy and tangled.
“My love,” I rasp out, my voice rough, desperate. I can’t wait, it’s impossible.
I can’t stop my hips, they grind into her, involuntarily. My body missed her as much as my heart did. Her eyes, wide and shining, search mine.
“I want you, Zaid, my love,” she whispers.
I scoop her up into my arms, hearing her broken breath as she clutches to me.
I carry her straight to the living room, not bothering with anything else, not even attempting to wait until I can get her upstairs.
I lower her down onto the couch, following her down, hovering above her.
I take a second to look at her. The rise and fall of her chest. The pink flush blooming across her cheeks. The way she looks at me like I’m something precious.
It wrecks me. Shatters me.
I kiss her again, softer this time, but no less desperate. A slow, deep slide of lips, a savoring.
Her fingers slip under my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders, and I let it fall without a second thought.
This is all I have ever needed. Her. I kiss her until I’m drunk on her, kiss her until it’s not enough.
My fingers fumble with her dress until I find the hidden zipper. Her lips tremble, her breath shaking as I peel away the thin, black fabric.
It gives way to her perfectly soft, precious skin.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.”
Her breasts tremble when she breathes and they draw my attention to the hard, pink crowns. I brush my thumb over one, watching as her skin prickles. She releases a desperate hiss, her back arching.
Her hands claw at my shirt, at my tie, at my buttons. “Zaid, please. I want to feel your skin. Please.”
I reluctantly pull away, shoving off my clothes like they’re offensive. I give her a moment to take me in, but only a moment because it is her that should be worshipped, not me.
I close the distance between us, wrapping my hand around her waist and sucking a nipple into my mouth. I roll it between my teeth, savoring the soft moans and mewls that leave her mouth.
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