04, CHAPTER FOUR. CHECKED ATTITUDE.

word count. 8.0K. warnings. smut (like. actual fucking filth. oral, spitting, strap, etc, etc). links. main masterlist. wicked games masterlist. a/n. micah is just like me bc she so bad at standing on business when it comes to paige 🤷‍♀️ alsooooooooooooooo this is the second part to a double update so if you haven’t read chapter three yet go do that first!!!!!

MICAH SHOULD HAVE BEEN asleep hours ago. She should've been curled up in Jackie's bed, letting Jackie's steady breathing calm her down, letting the guilt settle into something she could maybe manage and just focus on Jackie, Jackie, Jackie rather than anything or anyone else. But she couldn't bear it—couldn't stomach the idea of lying next to her girlfriend after what she did last night, couldn't imagine Jackie's arms around her when she still felt Paige on her mouth, on her skin, on her cunt like a bruise unable to be covered. So, she had texted Jackie some vague excuse about being utterly exhausted from practice and wanting a quiet night to crash early, and Jackie—sweet, understanding, trusting Jackie—had just sent back a heart emoji and told her to rest up. Every time Micah looks at that text, her stomach pulls into a fresh knot.

Now, it's well past midnight, and a violent storm is absolutely tearing through Miami. Heavy, torrential rain sheets against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of her living room, wind howls down the street, and thunder cracks so vehemently that her lights flicker. If she didn't know better, Micah might think it was hurricane season.

The power keeps flashing on and off. She's been trying to watch TV, trying to distract herself with a movie, but every few minutes, the screen cuts to black, then snaps back on, then off again. Eventually, she just gives up entirely, tossing the remote aside and lying back on her couch, sweat sticking to her skin.

Because the AC is out. Of course it fucking is.

It doesn't take long to realize, because in a matter of minutes, the cool air vanishes, replaced by a heavy, humid heat that creeps into the apartment and hangs in the air like a damp towel. It becomes disgusting, sticky, and unbearable almost instantly. Micah sits on her couch in just her black tank top and seamless underwear, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead, fanning herself with a magazine like an idiot. It doesn't help—the room only grows hotter by the minute. She's actually pissed—she thought these were supposed to be luxury apartments. She thought she would be getting luxury AC. All she wants to do—all she has wanted to do all damn day—is just fucking sleep.

Desperate for an escape, she snatches her phone off the coffee table, her thumb flying across the screen as she pulls up Jackie's contact. She's not sure if the AC and power going out is just her unit or a building-wide issue, but she's hoping it's the aforementioned because then she'll have a temporary solution. If it means swallowing her guilt so she can sleep in an air-conditioned bed—she'll do it. But when her screen lights up, she sees the little moon icon next to Jackie's name—DND is activated, which means Jackie is almost certainly asleep. Nonetheless, she texts her—hey, is ur AC out too?—hoping maybe she's just preparing for bed and she might see it. Micah waits, staring at her phone, watching the little "delivered" notification sit there like a taunt.

No response, which was expected.

She tries Aaliyah next—yo u up? my AC is dead and i'm dying—hoping maybe she can crash on her couch if her unit is working. Micah sits on the couch, her skin prickling with heat as she waits. Five minutes pass. Then, ten. Then, twenty. The storm outside thunders louder, a flash of lightning illuminating the dark living room, but her messages with Lili remain silent. She must be completely passed out, too.

Micah wipes sweat from the back of her neck, groaning. She can't go on like this. She feels sticky and miserable and her head is pounding and she's so tired she could cry. She gets up off the couch and goes to her bedroom, grabbing a loose pair of grey sweat shorts. She pulls them up over her underwear, not even bothering to change out of her thin, damp tank top or put on a bra. She grabs her key fob, slides her feet into a pair of slides, and steps out into the dim hallway, making her way toward the elevators. They're working so she was right in assuming the power issue isn't a building-wide occurrence.

Her plan is simple: head down to the lobby, locate the building management pamphlet or emergency maintenance phone number usually displayed near the front desk, and raise absolute hell until someone fixes the unit. It's nearly two in the morning, so she's not stupid enough to expect the daytime concierge lady to be sitting behind the marble counter, but there has to be some sort of protocol for this, something Micah can do besides melt into her mattress.

The elevator doors slide open with a quiet chime when she reaches the ground floor. Micah steps out into the main lobby, the glass doors showing the wild, rain-slicked street outside. She rounds the corner toward the reception desk.

And then she freezes dead in her tracks.

Paige is there, pacing in tight, frantic circles, her phone pressed hard against her ear as she listens to a call that's clearly going straight to voicemail. The frustration radiating off her frame is palpable, her shoulders hunched and her jaw working in tight twitches. She's wearing nothing but a pair of oversized black basketball shorts low on her hips and a white sports bra—she's such a fucking slut, of course she couldn't even be bothered to throw a shirt on over it before coming down here. The sheer sight of her, glistening with sweat, sends a sharp, unwanted pulse of annoyance straight to Micah's chest.

Despite Micah's desperate desire to get her own air conditioning fixed, a single look at Paige's body language tells her everything she needs to know. If Paige hasn't been able to bully a night-shift technician into coming out to the building in the middle of a torrential thunderstorm, it's safe to say nobody is getting cool air tonight. And Micah really, truly doesn't feel like making her already miserable, guilt-ridden night ten times worse by having to interact with Paige again. So, she shifts her weight back onto her heel, preparing to pivot on her slide and slip silently back into the waiting elevator.

But then, because the universe seemingly delights in tearing Micah's peace to shreds, Paige turns her head and catches her movement.

"Yo, is your AC working?" Paige calls out, her voice echoing against the glass walls of the lobby.

Micah pauses, letting a silent, bitter breath through her nose before slowly turning back around to face her. "No," she replies, her tone flat and dry, devoid of any warmth. "Neither is my power."

"Me neither," Paige says, dropping her phone down to her side with a heavy, irritated gesture. She runs a hand through her ponytail, her face scowling in the dim light. "I've been tryin' to call maintenance to come in, but they said they can't send a crew out til tomorrow morning 'cause of the storm."

Micah nods once, her suspicions confirmed. She has zero interest in letting this turn into a real conversation, though, zero interest in standing in a dark lobby exchanging small talk with the woman she cheated on her girlfriend with twenty-four hours ago. So, without offering another word, Micah turns on her heel and steps back into the open elevator, pressing the button for the sixth floor.

She thinks she might be home free, but right before the doors can slide shut, Paige darts forward and steps into the metal car beside her. She looks utterly exhausted, her eyes rimmed with red, irritation rolling off her in suffocating waves.

"I'm gon' kill myself," Paige mutters, leaning her shoulders heavily against the mirrored wall of the elevator, her head shaking in a bitter, disbelieving motion. "First, I gotta deal with your shit all day, and now I gotta deal with this."

At this point, Micah knows Paige just picking a fight to pick a fight. It's classic Paige—when she's uncomfortable, when her pride is bruised, when things aren't going her way, she lashes out at the nearest available target until someone matches her energy. Micah's tired, disgustingly hot, and so thoroughly miserable that the spark catches instantly.

"I didn't even fuckin' do anything to you," Micah snaps back, her voice sharp and loud in the small metal box as the elevator begins its slow, dark ascent.

Paige snaps her head toward her, blue eyes flashing with a sudden, venomous glare. "Please. I spent more than half the day with you, and you were actin' like a cunt for all of it."

"Well, you make it easy to," Micah argues, crossing her arms over her tank top.

"Jesus, it's like all you ever wanna do is be in a fight," Paige says, exasperated, leaning her head back against the wall like she's the one who's exhausted by all this.

Micah lets out a sound that's half-laugh, half-scoff, the noise tearing dryly from her throat because it's almost funny—and completely, fucking ridiculous—the way Paige effortlessly spins the narrative back onto her. The level of cognitive dissonance is staggering, honestly.

"You quite literally started this one," Micah counters, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm just tryna go back upstairs. I didn't say anything crazy until you opened your mouth."

"Nah, that's not what I fuckin' mean," Paige mutters, pushing herself off the mirror and shaking her head, mouth turned in a scowl. "I mean the constant cold shoulder. You've acted like I killed your dog for—I'on even know how long now."

Micah just stares at her as the elevator hums its way up the shaft. God, it's like Paige actually has fucking maggots for brains—completely infested, zero logical thought processing happening up there. There's genuinely no other viable excuse for her being this dense, this willfully ignorant of the destruction she leaves in her wake. She acts as if their history is nothing, as if the draft never happened, as if last night didn't just rip Micah's current relationship into shreds.

"Do you like to act dumb on purpose or... ?" MIcah drawls, a smile of utter disbelief spreading across her lips as she tilts her head, genuinely fascinated by Paige's delusion.

"See? It's that fucking shit right there. I'm so tired of your goddamn attitude," Paige gripes, her jaw snapping tight as her blue eyes flame slightly. She takes a step forward, closing the small gap between them in the cramped metal box.

Micah instinctively takes a step back to maintain her boundary, but her spine almost immediately hits the cold, steel wall behind her—fuck this stupid, small-ass elevator. The enclosure suddenly feels half its size, thick with the rising heat of their bodies and the stifiling humidity they've been sitting in for a while now.

"Stop getting so close," Micah blazes, her heart thumping a frantic, angry rhythm against her ribs. She raises both hands and shoves hard against Paige's chest, trying to force her back to her own side of the elevator so she can just leave her the fuck alone.

That was clearly a massive mistake, however. The second Micah's palms make contact with Paige's damp skin, Paige moves faster than she expects. She reaches up, her long fingers instantly wrapping around Micah's wrists, trapping her hands and pinning them firmly against her own chest, right over the heavy, rapid thump of her heart. Paige has gained a noticeable amount of muscle since their college days; she's so much stronger now, and as hard as Micah tries to yank her arms back, straining until they ache, it's humiliatingly difficult attempting to force her hands free from Paige's vice-like grip.

"I'on wanna stop," Paige breathes, her voice dropping an octave, slipping into a low, raspy scrape that vibrates directly beneath Micah's pinned palms.

Paige steps even closer, crowding Micah until there's no space left between them, their chests touching with every heavy breath they draw. The inch or two of height that Paige has on Micah usually feels negligible on the court, but right now, pinned against the elevator wall, it feels like several feet. Paige hovers over her, a dark, suffocating shadow blocking out anything and everything else.

Micah's pulse spikes into overdrive. She opens her mouth to do God knows what—maybe curse her out, maybe scream at her, maybe to tell her to back the fuck off—but as Paige leans down, her hot breath fans directly over Micah's face. Involuntarily, helplessly, Micah's eyes flick down to track the movement of Paige's lips. It's a split-second betrayal of her own mind, an instinctual reflex she hates herself for the exact moment it happens.

"You sure you want me to?" Paige reiterates softly, her face tilting lower, her voice thick with an arrogance that knows it already has the upper hand.

Micah stares up at her, her breathing shallow and ragged. She swears to herself—she fucking hates her, she hates her, she hates her with every single fiber of her being, hates how easily Paige can undo Micah's boundaries with a single look, a single breath.

I'm never, ever letting that shit happen again. Someone needs to slap Micah into standing on business.

But if there's one thing Paige will never do to Micah it's lay a hand on her. And before Micah can formulate a single word of rejection, Paige's mouth crashes down onto hers.

Paige shoves her tongue straight past Micah's lips, taking everything she wants without asking, her hands still holding Micah's wrists against her sternum as she uses her weight to press Micah even harder against the metal wall. The cold steel at her back, the scorching heat of Paige's mouth, and the familiar, intoxicating taste of her completely wipe out Micah's higher brain function, everything shutting off but for the reward system.

All of Micah's anger, her guilt over Jackie, her self-preservation, and her resolve instantly incinerate into ash. Unable to help herself, Micah lets out a low moan right into Paige's mouth, her hips instinctively shifting forward as the elevator doors chiming open on the sixth floor goes entirely unnoticed. Paige must notice Micah's movement because she leans in closer, her knee forcing itself between Micah's legs, the thick muscle of her thigh effortlessly prying Micah's apart. Paige rolls her knee upward, rubbing it firmly against the front of Micah's shorts. The grey sweat shorts are a thin, lightweight fabric, and the seamless panties beneath them offer practically zero barrier against the pressure. Paige's knee works right across Micah's covered folds, grinding upward with enough firm, deliberate force to send a sudden, white-hot jolt straight to Micah's core. Micah's breath catches in her throat, her toes curling inside her slides as a fresh wave of slick heat blooms between her thighs.

Paige releases one of Micah's pinned wrists, her hand sliding up Micah's chest to wrap around her throat, fingers spanning from jaw to collarbone to tilt her head back at an angle. She trails her lips away from Micah's mouth, sliding down her jawline to suck and drag her teeth across the exposed skin of her neck. Micah lets out a long sigh, her body catching fire, all the hard-won anger and self-control she's tried for melting into molten heat. Her eyelids flutter shut for a brief, dizzying second, focusing on the feeling.

When her eyes crack open again, she catches a glimpse of the digital red display on the elevator wall—the number illuminated is six, and the heavy metal doors are already beginning to slide shut again.

With her free hand, Micah reaches up, her fingers tangling into the base of Paige's blonde ponytail, tugging just enough to create a sliver of space. "The elevator," she forces out breathlessly.

Paige barely gives a reaction. Instead of pulling back, she leans right back in, capturing Micah's mouth in another deep, bruising kiss that completely cuts off Micah's air. While her tongue works back into Micah's mouth, Paige's free hand slides down to grip Micah firmly by the hip, using her strength to haul Micah forward as she moves. Paige reaches out blindly, slamming her palm against the door-open sensor just as the metal panels threaten to seal shut.

They stumble out together into the corridor, Paige never breaking the kiss for more than a fraction of a second. She guides them to the right—the side of the hallway where Paige's apartment is located—and Micah just lets it happen. She doesn't fight it, doesn't pull away, doesn't even try to summon the dignity to turn around and walk toward her own door down the left wing. Her brain is too consumed by the hot, wet friction of Paige's tongue against her own, the overwhelming scent of her sweaty skin.

When they reach the door, Paige pulls away for just a brief second, her hand reaching down to grab the handle. The latch clicks immediately, the door swinging open without Paige ever having to insert a keycard or touch the electronic lock.

Micah furrows her brows for a moment through the haze of her arousal, looking at the door in mild confusion. "Why'd you leave it unlocked?"

"Shut up," Paige shuts her down immediately, yanking Micah inside by the waist, kicking the door shut behind them. This time, she flips the deadbolt shut with a sharp click. Before Micah can even process the sound of the lock sliding into place, Paige's hands are back on her body, slotting her lips right back onto Micah's.

Micah isn't terribly keen on being pressed up against another hard surface, her back already sore from the elevator wall, so, keeping her mouth locked onto Paige's, she slides her hands down to plant her palms firmly against Paige's hip, applying a heavy, forward momentum. Paige lets out a soft, approving hum against Micah's mouth and willingly walks backward into the pitch-black living room. Micah can tell Paige's focus is singularly glued to their kiss, the blonde's hand holding firmly to the back of Micah's head, while the brunette guides their uncoordinated steps through the shadow-draped apartment.

Paige loses her balance slightly, her heel catching at the base of the couch. Micah seizes the opportunity. She shoves hard against Paige's shoulders, sending her tumbling back onto the plush cushions, and immediately climbs over her, straddling Paige's lap.

They make out there in the dark for a long, frantic minute, their mouths sliding together with a messy heat that makes Micah's pulse roar in her ears. But the stifling humidity trapped inside the apartment quickly becomes overwhelming. The air is so thick it almost feels solid, clinging to their bodies like a wet blanket, and Micah is forced to tear her mouth away from Paige's, gasping for air, sweat prickling heavily along her chest and collarbones.

"It's so fucking hot," Micah complains in a raspy pant as she wipes her damp forehead with the back of her wrist, her lungs burning from the muggy heat.

"Fuck, I know," Paige replies gravelly. She reaches down, grabbing the waistband of her basketball shorts and yanking them down over her hips, kicking them off her long legs until they land somewhere on the floor.

Micah takes Paige's movement as a cue to strip down, too. She sits up on her knees over Paige, reaching down to yank off her own sweat shorts. They slide off easily enough, but her black tank top proves to be completely stubborn. The tight fabric is soaked with sweat and sticking stubbornly to the skin of her back and ribs. Micah pulls at it in frustration, her elbows tangled, until Paige's hands reach in to help. She grabs the hem of the top, efficiently peeling it over Micah's head, tossing it blindly.

Without any power, the apartment is bathed in near-total pitch darkness. Micah's eyes strain to adjust to the heavy shadows as she sits bare-chested above Paige. Then, a massive, jagged bolt of lightning cracks through the storm outside, lighting up the entire living room with a sudden flash of stark white.

For a second, Paige's pale face and sharp features are completely illuminated against the dark sofa cushions. She's staring up at Micah, her eyes dark, completely fixed on Micah's bare body. She's entirely naked except for the white sports bra still hugged around her chest. Micah's the exact opposite—completely bare from the waist up, stripped down to nothing but her black panties.

The brief flash of light vanishes, plunging them back into the humid dark, but the image of Paige looking at her like that is burned into the back of Micah's eyelids.

Micah leans right back down, trapping Paige's mouth in another wet, deep kiss, her chest pressing against the fabric of Paige's sports bra. As their lips slide together, Micah lets her right hand travel down Paige's smooth stomach, her fingers navigating through the slick, gathering heat between Paige's thighs until she finds her wet, swollen clit. She presses down firmly, her fingers beginning to work in small, slow circles, making Paige groan straight into her open mouth.

Micah licks deep into Paige's mouth as she parts Paige's wet folds with two fingers, gathering her slickness. One of Paige's hands reaches up to Micah's face, thumb tracing her cheekbone as her jaw works between kisses, while her other hand grips Micah's ass through the thin material of her panties, kneading hard enough to make the fabric ride up between her cheeks.

Micah breaks the kiss, sliding her mouth down to drag her tongue slowly across the broad expanse of Paige's throat. She traces the skin there, tasting the salt and sweet warmth of her skin. She presses her face into the curve of Paige's neck, eyes shut so tight her vision swims with color, and tries to pretend. If she doesn't look, if she just listens to the sounds and focuses on the feeling, maybe it could be Jackie underneath her. Jackie's skin, Jackie's breathing, Jackie's hands. Micah slides her fingers around the hot wetness, teasing Paige's entrance, gathering the thick arousal to coat her knuckles before working her thumb back onto Paige's clit. She tries to convince herself that she's doing it to the woman who actually loves her.

But it's all wrong. Paige doesn't breathe the way Jackie does. The blonde's reactions are demanding and sharp, little whines that rise in the back of her throat and devolve into deep, guttural groans whenever Micah applies the right amount of pressure. Jackie's reactions are never like that—Jackie's pleasure is measured, heavy breathing and soft murmurs of Micah's name against her ear. And the scent is all wrong, too. Jackie smells like vanilla and clean laundry, while Paige smells like rain, sweat, and something citrusy. Micah inhales it anyway, the contrast making her ache in more than one way.

And Jackie certainly never does what Paige does next, never something so demanding. Paige's hand trails from Micah's cheek to the back of her head, applying a firm, downward force.

"Your mouth," Paige mumbles into her ear, a raspy demand that vibrates against Micah's eardrum. "Gimme your mouth, Mic. C'mon."

Micah wants to refuse. She wants to pull back, to sit up, to leave Paige unsatisfied in the middle of her living room. Paige doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve the effort or the absolute undoing that comes with Micah putting her tongue on her, especially because Micah knows with absolute certainty that it's Paige's favorite thing to be given.

Yet, as Paige's hand continues to guide Micah's head down past her stomach, the thick, musky scent of Paige's arousal hits her nostrils, sharp and intoxicating in the muggy air. Micah completely loses the fight with herself. She gives in, acting on muscle memory that overrides her pride.

She crawls lower, settling firmly between Paige's spread legs. She pushes her face straight into the heat, her tongue sweeping out to lick a slow, broad stripe from Paige's entrance straight up over her swollen clit. Paige lets out a gasp, and Micah continues to hungrily lave over her wet pussy, her tongue working in flat strokes before curling to lap directly at the sensitive, exposed center of her nerves. She uses her fingers to hold Paige open, exposing her completely to the warm air and the heat of her mouth. She works precisely, sucking the slickness into her mouth, tasting Paige fully.

Paige's grip on Micah's hair tightens until it's almost painful, holding her strictly in place so she can't pull back even if she wanted to. "Fuck, that's so good," Paige groans out as she tilts her hips upward, her head falling back.

Micah doesn't slow her pace, paying no mind to the sweat dripping down her own neck, focusing entirely on the slide of her tongue over Paige's cunt. Paige begins to ride her mouth harder now, her thighs trembling slightly, hips rolling against Micah's face in a desperate search for friction.

But Micah wants more control. She abruptly plants her hands flat against Paige's inner thighs, anchoring Paige's hips down onto the cushions. Before Paige can complain, Micah shifts her angle, flattening her tongue and driving it deep into Paige's entrance.

Paige lets out a sharp, choked grunt, thighs tensing around Micah's head. "Fuck—Mic, yes," she pants out, words dripping with a raw, unvarnished need. "Ah—like that. God, fuck me, bro. Shit."

Micah knows Paige loves being tongue-fucked. It's something that used to drive her crazy and is doing just the trick now. She drags her tongue in and out, pushing in deep, tasting her from the inside, feeling the way Paige's walls flutter and squeeze. Micah doesn't make it perfect, though—prefers to give Paige some sort of bite. She pulls her tongue back and flicks it up before nipping down on the sensitive, swollen flesh of Paige's clit with her front teeth.

"Fuck, Micah," Paige groans, a sharp, violent jolt coursing through her body. "God, just—just keep goin'. Little more, ma, tha's all I need. Make me cum, know that mouth can—mm, do it."

And it does. Micah shakes her head from side to side, her tongue swiping across Paige's pussy until the blonde's lower stomach goes rigid. She lets out a long groan that turns into a higher pitched whine as her orgasm hits her like a freight train. Her hips buck, and she says Micah's name again, her wetness flooding Micah's tongue. She licks her through it, tasting every pulse, every aftershock, until Paige's hand finally loosens and falls away.

Micah crawls up the length of Paige's body after a moment, her own chest heaving as she drags herself out from between Paige's legs. The second she comes within reach, Paige's firm arms wrap tightly around Micah's bare waist, pulling her flush against her torso and capturing her mouth in a slow, messy kiss. Paige lets out a satisfied hum against Micah's lips, tasting herself on her tongue. Micah shifts, swinging one leg over Paige's stomach to settle back into a straddle over Paige's lap. Her bare inner thigh brushes against Paige's, feeling some of the residual wetness still there.

Before Micah can sink back down to capture Paige's mouth again, Paige surprises her. Suddenly, she shifts her legs, hooks her hands beneath Micah's ass, and stands straight up off the couch, hauling Micah's weight off the cushions.

"Shit," Micah gasps out in pure surprise, her long legs immediately wrapping around Paige's waist to keep from falling, her arms locking securely around Paige's neck.

Paige carries her through the dark apartment toward the short hallway leading to her bedroom, one hand planted firmly over the fabric of Micah's panties, palming her ass with damn near every step. Halfway down the hall, Paige's foot catches slightly and she stumbles, before quickly regaining her balance.

Micah lets out a low, smug chuckle right into Paige's ear. "Sore?" she taunts.

Paige immediately reaches her fingers down to deliver a sharp, punitive pinch to Micah's inner thigh. "Don't even, bruh," she grumbles out.

They cross the threshold into Paige's bedroom, where it's just as dark and uncomfortably hot as the rest of the place. Without breaking her stride, Paige leans forward and drops Micah onto the mattress, the impact tossing Micah back against the soft duvet. Paige crawls over her, her long limbs framing Micah's body on all sides as she scoots backward on her elbows until the back of her head lands squarely against a stack of pillows.

Paige hovers directly above her, resting her weight on her forearms, staring down at Micah's face. At first, it feels like a normal, fleeting pause—a beat to catch their breath—but then Paige just keeps staring. She doesn't lean down, doesn't kiss her. She just holds herself above Micah, her blue eyes dark, wide, and strangely unreadable, gaze trailing from the movement of Micah's chest rising and falling in the dark, the shape of her tits, up to Micah's own eyes.

The prolonged, intense eye contact quickly grows innerving, sending a strange, anxious prickle down Micah's spine. She reaches up, her arms wrapping around Paige's neck, attempting to use her weight to pull Paige down into a proper kiss to break some of the tension. But Paige doesn't budge an inch. She stays locked in place, posture rigid against Micah's tugging.

"Come on," Micah groans, voice laced with annoyance as she pulls harder.

"You need sum?" Paige teases, a slow, cocky grin spreading across her face.

Micah rolls her eyes, letting out a frustrated breath as she tugs at her again, refusing to play into the game. "Just come."

Paige tantalizes her by leaning a tiny fraction of an inch closer, but instead of bringing her mouth down, one of her large hands moves up to grip Micah's jawline firmly. Her fingers press tightly into the soft skin beneath Micah's chin, holding her head entirely still, her thumb resting directly against Micah's lower lip.

"You gon' be good and take what I give you?" Paige asks, raising her eyebrows, her tone dropping into a challenge that makes the air feel ten times hotter than it already is.

Oh, fuck her.

Fuck her, fuck her arrogant smile, and fuck the way those stupid, filthy words send a hot, involuntary flutter straight to Micah's pussy. Micah hates her for it. She hates how easily Paige can flip a switch, hates how Paige can go from completely undone under her tongue to demanding total submission.

"Can you just—do something?" Micah says impatiently, squirming beneath Paige, trying to mask the sudden, electric jolt of arousal working through her blood.

"Say you'll be good," Paige demands, her grip on Micah's jaw tightening just enough to lock her into place, her eyes flaring with familiar heat. "What I tell you? I'm tired of the goddamn attitude."

Micah rolls her eyes again, letting out a harsh scoff. Irritation and need war violently in her chest, and in a fit of restless frustration, she slams her open palm down against the mattress beside her head. "Fine!" she snaps, before her voice drops into a sickly sweet tone, full of fake compliance. "Fine, I'll be so good for you, Paige."

Paige stares down at her, seeing right through the saccharine octave. But she must know deep down that the loud, bitter sarcasm is probably the most she'll ever be able to get out of a girl as fiercely as stubborn as Micah. A knowing smirk tugs at the corners of Paige's mouth, her grip on Micah's jaw refusing to loosen.

"So stubborn," Paige mutters under her breath, her eyes tracking down the angle of Micah's face.

She holds Micah's gaze for a long, heavy second, before she instructs softly, "Open your mouth."

Micah glares up at her, thinking about refusing, fighting back, to bite the thumb resting near her teeth. But, truthfully, pathetically, she wants to be fucked more. Whatever makes that come quicker. So, slowly, she parts her lips, letting her jaw drop open beneath Paige's hand.

Paige doesn't hesitate. Hovering directly over her, she gathers a pooling drop of saliva in her mouth and spits directly into Micah's open one. The warm, wet impact lands right on Micah's tongue.

"Swallow," Paige tells her.

Micah keeps her dark eyes locked on Paige's, closing her mouth. She tilts her head back slightly against the pillows, swallowing the fluid down. Paige watches her attentively, her gaze tracking the distinct bob of Micah's throat as the gulp goes down.

A satisfied gleam flashes in Paige's eyes. She leans in close, dragging her lower lip lightly across Micah's in a fleeting, teasing brush of skin that barely qualifies as a kiss. Then, Paige shifts her weight off Micah's chest, leaning over to the side of the bed to pull open the top drawer of her nightstand, her hand blindly reaching around inside.

Just a moment later, Paige pulls out that godforsaken purple strap. The sight of it hits Micah with a sudden spasm straight through her core, her pussy clenching violently around nothing as it begs for any shred of real, deep release. While Paige shifts her weight to begin pulling the black nylon straps over her long legs and cinching them tight around her hip bones, Micah reaches down, hooking her fingers into her panties. She yanks them down over her thighs, kicking them off the foot of the bed into the dark room.

When Paige finishes adjusting the harness, the straps sitting low and taut against her pale hips, she hovers over the mattress and stares at Micah. She reaches down, wrapping one hand around the strap, stroking the purple silicon as if the dick were truly part of her—as if it were wired directly into her central nervous system and she could feel every ounce of texture against her skin. She holds Micah's gaze, raising her brows in expectance.

Micah knows what Paige wants. She wants Micah to turn over, to beg for it without Paige having to ask. But a stubborn flare of defiance burns through the haze of Micah's arousal, refusing to make this easy for her. It feels good for a moment, like she's holding onto some scrap of control in a situation where she has none. Micah just lies there on her back, her bare chest heaving, staring straight back into Paige's eyes without moving an inch.

Paige rolls her eyes, letting out a sharp, irritated breath. "What, you need me to toss you around like a lil' rag doll or sum?" she mutters. "C'mon." She flicks her wrist in a sharp get moving gesture.

Micah rolls her eyes back, letting out a heavy, dramatic sigh to signal her annoyance. She flips over onto her stomach, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, arching her back as she assumes the position on all fours. She feels exposed like this, ass up, pussy on display.

Barely even a second later, Paige is right behind her, pressing her long, warm body directly against Micah's backside. Micah can feel the firm, cold silicon of the strap resting against the back of her thigh, sending a prickle of anticipation across her skin. Before lining it up, Paige reaches her hand down, her fingers finding Micah's slick, swollen center. She rubs two fingers over Micah's folds, gathering the thick, hot moisture and coating her palm in it, her chest pressed flat against Micah's back as she leans her head down right next to Micah's ear.

"So wet," Paige murmurs, almost conversational. "You like eating my pussy, tasting my spit that much, mama?" Her fingers circle Micah's entrance, not pushing in, just teasing. She leans in and presses a kiss to Micah's cheek, almost sweet, and Micah shakes her head even though they both know it's a lie. Paige chuckles low in her throat, the sound vibrating against Micah's skin.

The head of the strap drags through Micah's folds now, coating itself in her wetness. Micah pushes her hips back without thinking, chasing the pressure, needing to be filled. The guilt crashes over her again, heavier this time. She's cheating on Jackie. She's on her hands and knees in another woman's bed, dripping down her thighs, about to take another woman's cock. And she wants it so badly her hands are shaking where they grip the sheets.

"You want this dick?" Paige asks, voice low and expectant. She drags the tip slowly over her throbbing clit, just rubbing. Micah's fingers dig harder into the mattress. Her cunt flutters, trying to pull it inside.

"Yeah," Micah breathes, pressing her ass firmly back against the base of the harness, searching for the blunt pressure of the tip against her entrance.

Paige's hand comes down on her hip, holding her still. "Do better."

Micah kisses her teeth in a fit of impatient, searing irritation, her head dropping in frustration. But the empty, hollow ache inside her pussy wins the war against her ego. "Please," she forces, the word dragged out of her like it costs something.

Paige hums in approval and shifts her hips, lining the strap up. Micah feels the blunt head press against her entrance, not pushing in yet, just resting there. Her whole body is tense, waiting, every nerve ending screaming for more. She can hear the storm outside, rain hammering against the windows, thunder still rolling in the distance. Inside, the only sounds are their breathing and the wet slide of the strap against her pussy as Paige teases her.

Micah's mind is a mess of contradictions. She thinks about Jackie, about how soft Jackie's hands are, how sweet she is when they have sex. Jackie would never make Micah beg like this. She doesn't call it a dick or make Micah say please before she gets fucked. But Jackie also would never make Micah feel like this, like she's about to come apart from wanting it so badly. The guilt and the need twist together until Micah can't tell them apart. She pushes her hips back again, trying to take the strap inside, but Paige's hand on her hip holds her steady.

"Stay still," Paige says, and there's something almost fond in her voice, like she enjoys watching Micah struggle. She rocks forward just enough for the tip to breach Micah's entrance, stretching her open slowly. Micah's mouth falls open in a silent gasp. The stretch is perfect, just on the edge of too much, and she can feel every inch as Paige sinks deeper. Her walls flutter around the intrusion, truing to adjust, trying to pull it deeper. Paige's hips press flush against her ass when she's fully inside the harness straps digging into Micah's skin.

Micah leans over, resting her cheek against her shoulder, trying to keep her head up. She can feel Paige everywhere, the weight of her body, the heat of her skin, the thick length of the strap filling her completely. Her clit throbs, untouched, and she knows Paige won't touch it until she earns it. The thought makes her whimper, the sound muffles against her own skin. She thinks about Jackie again, about how she would feel if she knew Micah was here, sober and bent over, begging for Paige Bueckers' dick.

But all thoughts of Jackie vanish when Paige begins to set a pace. The blonde pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, until just the tip remains inside. Then, she thrusts forward again, harder this time, the force of it rocking Micah forward on the bed. The wet sound of it is obscene in the quiet room, skin slapping against skin, the strap sliding in and out of Micah's soaked cunt. Paige sets a steady rhythm, not fast yet, just deep and deliberate, letting Micah feel every inch. Her hand stays on Micah's hip, holding her in place, thumb stroking over the curve of her ass.

As the pace grows quicker, Paige's hand finds the back of Micah's neck and pushes down, pinning her face into the pillows. The pressure is firm, leaving no room for argument. Micah's cheek presses into the damp cotton and she can't help but moan, the sound muffled but still too loud, too desperate. She knows Paige likes that—likes hearing her fall apart, likes knowing she's the one making her sound like this—and it pisses her off to know she's giving it to her.

"Yeah, tha's it," Paige pants behind her. "Take it. Fuckin' greedy for it, aren't you?" Her hips snap forward harder, the strap driving deep enough that Micah feels it in her stomach. "Look at you, drippin' down your thighs. Soakin' my fuckin' sheets." She grinds in a slow circle when she's buried to the hilt, the base of the harness rubbing against Micah's swollen clit just enough to make her see stars. "Beggin' for this shit like you didn't spend all goddamn day actin' like you hated me."

Micah can't answer. Can't do anything but gasp and moan and try to stay upright as Paige fucks her like she's trying to break something open inside her. The pace is brutal now, fast and relentless, each thrust punching the air from her lungs. Sweat slides down the curve of Micah's spine, pooling in the small of her pack. She's burning, inside and out.

"Yeah, make those sounds for me, Mic," Paige grunts, leaning over her, her breath hot against Micah's ear. "Bet Azura next door can hear you. Bet she knows exactly what's happening' in here." She punctuates the words with another hard thrust, the strap bottoming out so deep Micah's vision blurs. "You like that?" Like knowin' someone might hear you gettin' fucked stupid?"

Micah shakes her head even as her body betrays her, hips rocking back to chase every thrust. "That's so—nasty, Paige," she pants out into the pillow, her hands gripping the sheets until the fabric threatens to tear under her nails. "Just—fuck, keep going, don't talk."

"Nah, I'mma talk all I want," Paige retorts, letting out a sharp, breathless laugh.

Micah's clit throbs, neglected and aching, and every time the base of the strap grinds against it, she feels herself getting closer, the pressure building low in her belly like a storm about to break. She can feel how wet she is, how easily the silicone slides in and out of her, coated in her arousal. The sounds are filthy, wet and messy, and she knows Paige is getting off on it just as much as she is. She can feel it in the way Paige's breathing changes, in the way her thrusts get just a little bit more desperate, a little bit more erractic.

"You're so fuckin' tight. Grippin' me like you don't wanna let go," Paige mutters, almost to herself. One hand slides down Micah's spine, fingers splaying across her sweaty lower back to hold her in place. She pulls almost all the way out then, the head of the strap catching at Micah's entrance, stretching her open just enough to make her whimper at the loss. Then, she slams back in, the force of it rocking Micah forward once more. "Say it. Tell me how bad you need it."

Jesus Christ, Micah forgot how fucking life changing Paige's strap game is. Fuck her.

Even still, Micah's voice comes out barely recognizable, unable to be quiet. "Paige—fuck, fuck, please—"

"Please what?" Paige's hand tightens on the back of her neck, holding her down. "Use your words, baby. Tell me what you need."

"Harder," Micah gasps, her face flushing.

Paige lets out another low grunt and gives her exactly what she asks for. The next thrust is punishing, deep and pressing. Paige's hips snap forward again and again, skin slapping.

"That's it," Paige says, voice strained and breathless. Her free hand slides around Micah's hip, fingers finally finding her clit, rubbing in tight, rough circles that make Micah's whole body jerk. The touch is almost too much after being denied for so long. "You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my dick like a good girl?"

Micah nods frantically, face still pressed into the sheets. She's close, so close she can taste it, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly until she feels like she might break apart. Paige's fingers work her clit faster, the rhythm matching the pace of her hips, and Micah can feel herself starting to unravel, can feel the orgasm building like a wave about to crash.

But then Paige pulls out.

The loss is sudden and devastating. Micah's cunt clenches around nothing, empty and aching, and the sound that tears out of her is genuinely fucking pathetic—a high, broken whine that she can't hold back. She wants to take it back instantly, but it's too late.

Paige's wordlessly flips Micah over in one smooth motion, rolling her onto her back. Micah's legs fall open automatically, thighs shaking, and Paige settles between them, the strap still glistening with Micah's arousal.

"Wanna see your face when you cum," Paige pants out, her blue eyes wild as she hovers over her. Her face is flushed bright pink, shiny with sweat.

She lines up again and pushes in, slower this time, letting Micah feel every inch as it stretches her open. Micah's head falls back against the pillows, a choked moan spilling from her lips as she's filled again. Paige's hands find her thighs, pushing them wider, holding her open as she starts to move again. The angle is different like this, deeper somehow, and every thrust drags against that spongy spot inside Micah that makes her vision swim.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Paige breathes, leaning down to press her gleaming forward against Micah's. Their bodies move together, desperate and frantic, hips snapping in a rhythm that's more about need than anything else. Paige's breathing is ragged now, her thrusts getting sloppy, and Micah knows Paige is getting off on this too—just from fucking her, the vibrator on the strap not even on, just from watching her fall apart. The thought makes something hot and tight coil in Micah.

"Come on," Paige pants against her mouth, not quite kissing her. "Cum for me. Micah, please, come on. Yeahhh, mama, you got it."

The blonde's hand finds Micah's clit again, rubbing messily, her juices getting everywhere. Micah's whole body goes taut, every muscle locking up, her vision going red.

"Paige," she cries out, nails digging into the skin of Paige's biceps, repeating her name because it's all she can really remember right now. "Paige, Paige—fuck, yeah, yeah."

Micah's walls clench tightly around the strap, pulsing, thighs shaking as Paige fucks her through it. Paige doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps thrusting, drawing it out until Micah is gasping and oversensitive and pushing at her to stop.

When it's over, Paige stays buried deep, hips pressed flush against Micah's, pressing tiny kisses to the side of Micah's neck. Micah can't help but let her hand fall on Paige's back, fingers trailing lightly down her spine. Even so, the guilt is back, heavier than before. She thinks about Jackie, about how this is the second time in two days that she's done this. Cheated on her with someone who will never love her the way Jackie does.

Paige shifts, pulling out slowly. Micah winces at the loss, at the empty feeling it leaves behind. Paige rolls onto her side beside Micah, one arm still draped over her waist. The harness is still on, the strap resting against Micah's thigh, wet with her cum. Neither of them say anything, the only sound now that of the pouring rain outside. It's not thundering anymore, though the power and the AC haven't kicked back on.

Micah lays there, sweating. What else can she even do?