───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 3𝑅𝐷

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑔𝑒 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 13𝑇𝐻

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑑𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 14𝑇𝐻

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 15𝑇𝐻

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑣𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑚 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 17𝑇𝐻

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑐𝘩𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 19𝑇𝐻

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 21𝑆𝑇

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 24𝑇𝐻

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 27𝑇𝐻

───୨ৎ.. 𝑃𝐴𝐼𝐺𝐸 ⤑ 𝑠𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ⤑ 𝑂𝐶𝑇 30𝑇𝐻

indiana's bench is already up, clapping, someone yelling something you can't hear over the blood in your ears your own bench is quiet in the specific way it goes quiet when they think you might actually get tossed you don't remember deciding to walk toward the ref. 

you just know you're moving, and coach fernandez is already off the bench, and there's a hand closing around your bicep from behind, not rough, not grabbing, just there, solid, familiar in a way your body recognizes half a second before your brain does. "hey." paige's voice, low, pitched just for you. "hey — look at me, not him."

you don't want to look at her looking at her has never once made anything easier. "that was a clean screen, paige, she was standing —"

"i know." she's already walking you backward, toward the bench, her hand sliding down to your wrist like she's done it a thousand times, because she has. "i know it was a bad call. you're not wrong. but you're about to be out if you don't sit down in the next ten seconds, so sit down."

the way she says it is not soft, not coddling, just certain is the only reason you let her steer you onto the bench instead of the girl who fouled you somewhere in the part of your brain that isn't currently on fire, you register that everyone is watching this. 

watching her handle you like it's nothing like it's normal like she isn't the one person on this team who used to know exactly what your hands were doing under a blanket at two in the morning in a dorm room three states from here. "breathe," she says, crouching in front of you so her back is to the court, blocking you from the cameras panning the bench. "in for four."

"i don't need —"

"in for four." her eyes don't move off yours. "you're not doing the ref any favors by getting a tech. you're doing it for you."

you breathe it's humiliating how easily your body still listens to her it wasn't supposed to be like this none of it was storrs, sophomore year, a supply closet that smelled like dry-erase markers, her hand fisted in the front of your jersey like she couldn't decide whether to shove you away or pull you closer. 

it had gone on for two years like that quiet, contained, folded into the corners of a life that had no room in it for anything that might get out.

people will make it about the team, she'd said, the night she ended it, the two of you sitting in her car in a parking lot because it was the only place that felt private enough. they'll say we're playing favorites with each other. they'll say it's why i get more touches. i can't have that follow me into the league.

you remember not crying you remember being proud of that, in the sick way you're proud of things that cost you something you remember saying okay like it was a normal word and not the worst one you'd ever had to use.

you didn't know then that you'd both end up drafted to the same team you don't know, even now, whether that was luck or something crueler. "you good?" her voice again, present tense, snapping you back into the arena, the scoreboard, the fourth quarter about to start without you in it.

"i'm good."

"you're not, but you will be in about ninety seconds, so." she stands, offers you a hand up like it's nothing, like her palm against yours isn't a small, private earthquake every single time. "coach wants you back in with four on the clock. can you give her four clean minutes?"

"yeah."

"say it like you believe it."

you almost laugh it startles you that she can still do that, pull something unclenched out of you in the middle of the worst quarter of your season. "yeah, paige. four clean minutes."

"good." she squeezes your hand once, quick, before she lets go quick enough that no one watching would call it anything quick enough that only you would know it happened at all. "go be a problem for indiana instead of the refs."

you give her four clean minutes you give her a game-tying three with forty seconds left, actually, and when you look to the bench on the way back down the court she's already looking at you, not celebrating, just watching, the way she used to watch you across a dorm room like she was memorizing something she knew she wasn't allowed to keep.

dallas wins by six in the tunnel after, your teammates peel off toward the locker room in loud, happy clumps, and you hang back to retie a shoe that doesn't need retying, and paige hangs back too, because some habits don't unlearn themselves just because you told each other they had to.

"you good?" she asks again, quieter this time, no bench, no cameras, no team five feet away pretending not to listen. "i don't know how you do that." you're not looking at her. you're looking at your shoe. "talk me down like it's nothing. like you're not —"

"like i'm not what."

like you're not the reason i needed talking down from in the first place tonight, you don't say. like some part of me was crashing out about a foul call and a bigger part of me was crashing out about four years ago and you can't tell the difference from the outside, but i can't stop knowing it.

"nothing," you say instead. "forget it." she's quiet for a second too long. "i don't forget it," she says finally, and it's not clear if she means the game, or the question, or something further back than either of those. "i just got good at not saying so."

you don't have an answer for that you're not sure there is one that doesn't reopen something you both agreed, once, in a parked car, to keep closed.

"good game, paige," you say, because it's easier than the truth, and you leave her standing in the tunnel light with her hands in her pockets and an expression you used to be the only person allowed to read.

she doesn't stop you, you don't know, walking away, if that's relief or the thing that's going to keep you up tonight maybe it's both it usually is with her.

it's eleven seconds of footage and it's everywhere by the time you wake up you, on the bench, reese crouched in front of you blocking the cameras her hand on your wrist the way you're looking at her not at the ref, not at the court, just at her, like she's the only stable thing in a building full of noise. 

someone's slowed it down and put a sad piano song under it and the caption says the way she talks her down every single time 🥹and it has four hundred thousand notes by the time your coffee's cold.

you don't watch it paige texts you a screenshot at 8am with no caption at all, which somehow says more than words would have the reporter asks about it before shootaround, phone already out, already recording.

"there's a clip going around from last night — you and paige bueckers on the bench. people are calling it one of the best teammate moments of the season. can you talk about that chemistry?"

chemistry like it's a stat like it's something that started this year.

"paige is good at keeping people even-keeled," you say, and it's true, and it costs you nothing to say, and it still feels like handing someone a photograph with half of it torn off. "she's been doing that for me since college, honestly. she just — knows how to get through to me."

you didn't mean to say since college it slips out easily, unremarkable, the kind of true thing that's dangerous specifically because it sounds so ordinary the reporter doesn't clock it why would she you and paige went to the same school; it's public record, it's nothing, it's two lines in both your wikipedia pages. only you know what's folded up inside those four words.

zaza finds you at your locker after, arms crossed, the specific look on her face that means she was your teammate in college too and she remembers more than she's ever said out loud. "since college, huh."

"we were teammates. it's not a secret."

"i didn't say it was a secret." zaza's voice stays light, easy, but her eyes don't. "i said since college, huh — because i was there, and i remember exactly how much keeping you even-keeled reese used to do for you at two a.m. in dorms she wasn't assigned to."

your stomach drops the way it does every time someone gets close to the thing without saying the thing. "zaza —"

"i'm not saying anything." she holds her hands up. "i'm just saying that clip is doing four hundred thousand notes of a story you two clearly haven't finished telling yourselves, let alone anyone else."

she leaves before you can answer, which is its own kind of mercy, because you don't have one as paige finds you in the hallway outside the locker room, hood up, eyes tired in the specific way that means she's seen the clip more than once. "you told a reporter since college."

"i didn't think —"

"i know you didn't think. that's not what i'm —" she stops, drags a hand down her face. "it's fine. it's true. it's not even the part that matters."

"then what's the part that matters?" she looks at you for a long moment, long enough that you feel it in your chest, that old specific ache of being looked at by someone who used to be allowed to look at you for as long as she wanted.

"the part that matters," she says finally, "is that four hundred thousand people watched eleven seconds of us and called it the best thing they saw all night, and neither of us can say why it looked like that. and i don't think either of us has figured out yet whether that's a coincidence or not."

you don't have an answer you're not sure there is one that doesn't require opening a door you both spent four years agreeing to keep shut. "i have to get to shootaround," you say, which isn't an answer either, just an exit.

"yeah." she steps back, lets you have it. "me too." neither of you moves for a second longer than the exchange requires then you both do, in opposite directions, and the clip keeps climbing notes behind you, telling a story neither of you has agreed to finish.

you beat the toronto tempo two nights later a real win, a statement win, the kind that snaps a three-game skid against them and has the whole locker room loud in a way that has nothing to do with clips or reporters and someone's parents have rented out the top floor of a bar downtown, and by eleven o'clock zaza is doing a truly unhinged rendition of a song from a movie no one under thirty has seen, and paige is sitting next to you on a bar stool with two drinks in her and her shoulder warm against yours. "can i tell you something," she says, the words a little soft at the edges.

"you can always tell me something."

"i think about the closet a lot." she says it into her glass, not looking at you. "the one at storrs. i know that's insane. i know it's been years. i just — i think about it a lot." your heart does something complicated and fast. "paige —"

"i think i made the wrong call," she says, still not looking at you, "back then. i think i picked something that felt safe and it wasn't even — it wasn't even that safe, it just felt like something i could control, and i traded you for it, and i've been regretting it for so long i stopped calling it regret and just started calling it normal."

you should say something you don't, for a second too long, and she seems to hear the silence for what it almost is, because she laughs, short and a little broken. "you don't have to say anything back. i'm just drunk enough to finally say it out loud." and that drunk enough is the exact thing that lets you off the hook, and you take it, because it's easier than the alternative.

"you're drunk," you say, gently, like you're handing her an excuse she can use tomorrow. "we don't have to talk about this right now."

something in her face closes, just slightly, just enough that you notice. "yeah," she says. "you're right. i'm drunk." she doesn't bring it up again that night you tell yourself that's a mercy you don't sleep much either way.

she finds you two days later, at your locker after practice, everyone else already gone, and she's not drunk this time, and her voice doesn't have soft edges anymore it's steady; it's the voice she uses on the bench when she needs you to actually hear her. "i need to say something and i need you to let me finish before you tell me i'm just something."

your stomach flips. "paige —"

"let me finish." she takes a breath. "i said something at the bar the other night and you let me off the hook for it, and i let you, because it was easier that night. but i wasn't drunk enough to make it up. i was drunk enough to finally say it. those aren't the same thing."

you don't move. "i picked my image over you," she says, "when we were twenty, and i've spent every year since then telling myself it was the smart choice, the responsible one, and maybe it was, for my career, i don't know. but it wasn't smart for me. and it's been four years of watching you across locker rooms and benches and tunnels, knowing exactly how you take your coffee and which shoulder you sleep on and what your face does right before you cry, and telling myself none of that means anything anymore because i'm the one who ended it."

"paige —"

"i'm not done." her voice shakes, just barely, just enough that you know it's costing her something to keep going. "i'm not asking you to forgive four years in one conversation. i'm not even asking you to want this back. i just needed you to know it wasn't the alcohol talking at the bar. the alcohol just made me brave enough to say out loud what's been true the entire time. i love you. i don't think i ever stopped. i just got very good at pretending i had."

the locker room is quiet enough that you can hear the hum of the vending machine down the hall. you can hear your own heartbeat, honestly, loud and stupid and four years overdue. "you can't just —" your voice cracks and you hate that it does. "you can't say that like it undoes what it cost me. you left me in a parking lot, res. you made a decision about both of us and only told me after it was already made."

"i know." she doesn't flinch from it. "i'm not asking you to pretend that didn't happen. i'm asking you to know that i've spent four years wishing i'd chosen differently, and i finally have enough nerve to say so, sober, in a locker room, with nothing to blame it on."

you look at her really look, the way you haven't let yourself in years, not the bench-crouch, careful, professional look, but the full weight of it and something in your chest that's been clenched since a car in a parking lot four years ago loosens, just slightly, just enough to feel dangerous. "i'm not saying yes to anything tonight," you say, finally, quietly.

"i'm not asking you to."

"but i'm not saying no, either." you exhale, and it shakes on the way out. "ask me again. properly. when it's not eleven at night and neither of us has just showered off a practice." something in her face breaks open, relief and disbelief tangled together. "yeah?"

"yeah, paige." you almost laugh, and it almost turns into something else. "ask me again."

"okay." she nods, like she's filing it away somewhere she won't lose it this time. "okay. i will." and then, like she can't quite help herself, like four years of holding back finally runs out of road she closes the distance and kisses you. soft, careful, asking permission even as she does it, one hand coming up to rest against your jaw like she's afraid you'll disappear if she doesn't.

you let her for a second, just one, you let yourself have this before you pull back. "that wasn't asking properly," you murmur, breathless, forehead still close to hers. "no." her thumb brushes your cheek, reluctant to let go. "that one was just for me. the real ask is still coming."

"good." you exhale, and it shakes on the way out, but it isn't just nerves this time. "make it count."

"i will." she presses one more kiss to your temple, brief, promise-shaped, before she finally steps back — and for the first time in four years, the space between you doesn't feel like distance it feels like something you're finally, both of you, walking toward.

she asks properly three days later not at a bar, not in a locker room with the vending machine humming down the hall she asks at your apartment, showered and sober and visibly more nervous than you've ever seen her on a court, holding a bag of takeout from the place you used to order from in storrs like she remembered on purpose.

"i said i'd ask you properly," she says, standing in your doorway, "so. can i come in, and can i ask you properly, and can you please not make this harder than it already is for me, because i've rehearsed this in my car for twenty minutes."

you step back and let her in. "you rehearsed it?"

"extensively." she sets the bag down on your counter like it's fragile. "okay. here it is." she takes a breath, and for a second she looks exactly like she did in a parking lot four years ago except this time she's not the one leaving. "i don't want to hide this anymore. any of it. not because i'm not scared of what people will say, because i am, i think i'll always be a little bit scared of that. but i'd rather be scared and honest than safe and lying to both of us again. i want to date you. actually date you. tell people, if you want to. not tell people, if you don't. i just don't want it to be a secret anymore just because that's easier for me." your chest does something complicated and warm. "that's a good ask."

"i practiced it twenty times."

"i believe you." you cross the space between you, slow, deliberate, the way she was with you in the tunnel that first night. "yes, res. i'll date you. properly. loudly, if you want. quietly, if that's what you need. i just want it to be real, however we do it."

relief breaks over her face like something physical, and this time when she kisses you there's no hesitation in it, no asking permission first just four years of waiting finally allowed to land somewhere. "for the record," she murmurs against your mouth, "i would've said all that even without the rehearsed speech."

"i know." you're smiling too hard to hide it. "but i'm glad you rehearsed it anyway."

"twenty times," she says again, like she can't quite believe she's here, saying it, meaning it, with nothing left to blame it on. "i wanted to get it right."

"you did." you pull her back in before she can say anything else. "you got it right."

the takeout goes cold on the counter for a while neither of you mind later, sitting cross-legged on your couch with cartons balanced between you, she tells you the rest of it the parts she didn't have room for in the doorway. 

how she almost said something after your first game together this season, and lost her nerve how zaza cornered her in the weight room two days ago and said, flatly, if you don't tell her, i will, and i'll embarrass you both doing it — which paige swears is the real reason she finally worked up the courage.

"i owe zaza," you say.

"zaza's insufferable and i owe her everything." as paige steals a piece of your food without asking, the way she used to. "she's going to be unbearable about this, you know. she's going to act like she orchestrated the whole thing."

"she kind of did."

"don't tell her that." you laugh, and it feels easy in a way it hasn't in years not careful, not folded into a locker room or a parked car, just yours, out loud, in your own apartment with no one to hide it from. "so what happens now," you ask, "with the team. the reporters. all of it."

"whatever we want to happen." paige shrugs, but her eyes stay steady on you. "we don't owe anyone an announcement. we also don't owe anyone a secret. if someone asks, i'm not going to lie about it anymore. i'm just done doing that part."

"okay." you set your carton down, lean into her shoulder, feel her arm come around you like it's always belonged there. "no more secrets, then."

"no more secrets." she presses a kiss into your hair. "just us. finally just—us."

outside, dallas is still buzzing about the win over toronto, and somewhere a clip of the two of you is probably still circulating, still collecting captions from strangers who don't know the half of it. 

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The irony of it all didn’t escape you.

There you were—sat on the Dallas Wings bench, in a building you used to hate walking into, a building that reeked of old rivalries and even older grudges. Notre Dame's Purcell Pavilion. Cold lights. Smeared banners. That ever-so-sanctimonious fight song playing in the background like the world was still in 2020. You rolled your eyes once at the ceiling, once at the court, and then let the smugness return to your face.

You looked good. You knew it.

And judging by the sideways glances from coaching staff, cameras, and certain opposing players, so did everyone else.

You weren’t dressed like a player today—not in your Wings gear, not in sideline sweats. The team doctors had benched you for precaution’s sake. Mild shoulder sprain, nearly healed, but not worth aggravating just before the regular season started. You had protested, briefly, then gave up the fight once you realized you could milk this little moment for everything it was worth.

So, you dressed accordingly. Black tailored, wide-legged pants that flowed like silk but cut sharp at the waist. They pooled lightly over your sleek black Diesel pumps, glinting every time you crossed your legs. Paire with a fitted black button-up that hugged your frame just right. Thin vertical white stripes guided the eye in all the right directions. Only two buttons were fastened at the center, offering a perfectly curated glimpse of your midriff and just enough cleavage—pushed together with the help of your favorite and most dangerous bra.

You looked like someone’s scandalous boss. Someone’s very expensive mistake.

Your hair was perfectly blown out, strands falling with soft, intentional volume around your shoulders. A pair of sleek, black rectangular glasses sat neatly on your face, giving the illusion of restraint. But the sharp wing of your eyeliner and the darkness smudged into your lower lash line betrayed you. There was nothing restrained about you. Your waterline was tightlined, your lips glossed to a sinful nude, and every time you blinked slowly—like you were bored, or scheming, or both—you felt the attention shift.

The cherry on top? A gold chain, subtle and delicate, with a single pendant glinting softly at your sternum. An “M.” Paige's middle name. Not obvious. Not something a broadcaster would call out. But you knew. She knew.

It started during warmups.

Paige should’ve been focused—on her stretches, her form, the way the ball felt rolling off her fingertips. But her eyes? They kept betraying her. Again and again, they dragged back to the bench. More specifically, to you.

Sitting pretty in your corporate siren getup like you owned the arena, not just the bench.

Your lips curved slowly into a smirk as you crossed your legs with deliberate ease, letting your heel tap once against the polished court. You didn’t wave. Didn’t wink. You just let her look at you.

Let her want.

And she could’ve kept it together—just barely—until Jewell broke formation and jogged her way toward you, momentarily abandoning her own warmup.

Your grin lit up instantly at the sight of her and you got up from the bench, meeting her in the middle.

The hug you gave each other was all warmth, history, and ease, the kind of closeness that came only from sharing victories, locker rooms, and late-night strategy talks. You and Jewell had been tight ever since the Paris Olympics, and even tighter once Unrivaled started. The matching tattoos on your ribs said enough. Little mementos inked during the off-season in a moment of camaraderie with Aaliyah and Dijonai.

She knew there was nothing to worry about. She knew.

But that didn’t stop her gaze from sharpening. Didn’t stop the sting of possessiveness from blooming low in her chest.

It wasn’t jealousy—it was something else. Something quieter but much deeper. Paige was chill, easygoing, confident. But with you? There was always that subtle current of ’mine’. Not in a way that made you flinch. In a way that made your skin spark.

Even during the locker room huddle with the coaching staff, as everyone went over last minute adjustments and rotations, Paige sat with one knee bouncing and cracking her knuckles, stealing glances at you every other beat. You were seated across the room, half listening, chin propped in your hand and legs crossed like you were made to be admired.

You were just as bad, truth be told. The jersey clung to her in all the right places, but it was the slicked back ponytail that had your thoughts drifting. Clean, no braids today, just polished and severe, framing her cheekbones and making her look like a problem. Your problem.

By the time you returned to the court, everyone hovering by the bench again as the arena buzzed with anticipation, the tension between you two felt like static—quiet, invisible, charged.

And when they called her name over the speakers, Paige Bueckers—#5, guard—you couldn’t help but smile. That slow, proud, shameless kind of smile. The kind she’d see from the court and feel all the way in her chest.

Your applause was calm. Dignified.

But the way you mouthed, ‘go get ’em, baby’?

Yeah. That was just for her.

The game tipped off with a roar from the crowd, the buzz of preseason excitement electrifying Purcell Pavilion. The whistle blew, and the ball was live, but you barely noticed the opening possessions. Your body was still, but your pulse wasn’t.

You lasted exactly two minutes on the bench.

Then you were up, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Chris, one arm folded against your hip, the other resting loosely against your stomach. Every so often, you leaned in to glance at the clipboard Belle held, studying plays like you were still in them.

From afar, for anyone not in the know, you looked every bit the sharp, young coaching mind plucked fresh from a promising start. A new assistant, maybe. Or some newly promoted coordinator. You had the presence for it. The look for it. Tailored and chic with that undeniable something—that weight in your stare, the seductive curve of your lip when the scoreboard shifted in your favor. It was just enough professionalism to keep things respectable… and just enough allure to leave people guessing.

Your presence caught attention. On the bench. On the sidelines. And definitely on the court.

Especially from her.

At the seven minute mark, the play unfolded like it had been drawn with her name on it.

There was something surreal about watching her from the sideline, removed from the action but still tethered to it by a thread that ran straight through your chest.

Paige controlled the ball at the wing, fluid and locked in, her sneakers barely squeaking as she glided past Chelsea Gray. You watched it unfold like muscle memory, like breathing. A surge toward the paint. One beat, two—then she let it fly.

Nothing but net.

She tumbled out of bounds right after, body catching the hardwood before springing back up without hesitation.

You barely registered the crowd’s reaction. Your grin was already carved across your face.

“Let’s fucking go, P!” you shouted before you could help yourself, clapping once with enough force to echo. Not a single drop of shame in your tone—only pride. Pure and wild.

Paige turned as she ran back on defense, the tiniest breathless smile tugging at her lips. She caught your eyes immediately, and lifted her hand, pointing once—index finger angled cleanly toward you.

No dramatics. No show.

Just a subtle gesture, paired with that look she always gave you when it was only you in the room.

That was for you.

And God, did it land.

The gesture, the grin, the unbothered claiming of you in front of thousands—cameras be damned—lit something low and unrelenting inside of you.

She was done hiding. Done pretending like the most important part of her world wasn’t standing right there in heels and lip gloss, looking like a threat and a promise all at once.

The Wings had come out swinging.

It was clear from the jump that this team, despite being stitched together with new parts, a new coach, and not nearly enough time, had potential. Paige was settling in fast, confident in her reads, driving with purpose. Dijonai was relentless on defense. Arike, as always, was a walking bucket.

For a moment, just a stretch of minutes midway through the first quarter, the Wings held a lead. Slender, but there.

And then it slipped.

The Aces weren’t dominant just because of talent. They were seasoned, connected, one mind split between five bodies. It wasn’t surprising, not really. But it still stung.

Timeout was called.

You were back on your feet before the buzzer even finished blaring. Chris and the rest of the staff huddled near the whiteboard, and you stepped in next to him, nodding subtly at Belle as she scribbled adjustments onto the clipboard.

But your eyes?

Your eyes were already on her.

Paige stood at the edge of the huddle, hands on hips, sweat glistening against the curve of her neck, her jersey clinging to her like it belonged there. You didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to.

You tilted your head just slightly. Let your gaze drag slowly down her form and then back up again. Measured. Deliberate. Like you were taking inventory of something expensive you already owned.

When she caught you looking, your mouth curled into a smirk—teeth just barely catching your bottom lip before you let it pop free with the faintest bite.

Then you turned away.

Didn’t even hold her stare. Just dropped back down onto the bench, crossing one leg over the other with the elegance of a woman who knew she had an audience and didn’t mind putting on a show.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her shift. One foot stepping toward you, then back. Hands flexing once at her sides.

She was losing focus.

Not enough to cost the game. Just enough for you to notice. Just enough for her to feel.

Next timeout, you upped the ante.

This time, when the whistle blew and the players circled up near the bench, you leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, pretending to study the clipboard Belle held—but the angle pushed your shirt open just enough to give Paige a view you knew she couldn’t ignore.

You could feel her eyes burning a hole straight through the neckline.

Still, you didn’t look at her right away.

Not until the players started peeling off, headed back to the court.

Then—and only then—you met her gaze and mouthed a single, silent word.

‘Focus’

The nerve of you.

And that grin you wore as she turned away?

Smug. Knowing. A promise.

The next possession, Paige was a little quicker. A little more aggressive. Like she had something to prove.

And even when the Aces pulled away in the second half, she kept glancing toward the bench between plays, chewing the inside of her cheek, eyes dragging over the stretch of your legs crossed lazily, the glint of your necklace, the gloss on your mouth.

The whole night, she played with a fire that wasn’t entirely basketball-born.

You were the match.

You hadn’t made it ten steps down the tunnel before Paige grabbed your wrist.

The arena noise faded behind you, swallowed by the concrete and fluorescent lighting of the back corridors of Purcell Pavilion. You expected a word. A smirk. Maybe even just a look.

But Paige didn’t waste time.

She pulled you into a narrow alcove, one of the tucked away side halls reserved for storage or staff access—empty now, quiet and dim—and shoved you gently but firmly back against the wall. Her mouth was on you before you could breathe her name.

Open mouthed kisses trailed down your neck, hot and hungry. She peeled one side of your shirt open with practiced ease, fingers curling under the silky material until it hung loose, giving her more skin, more space, more you.

“Got me fucked up, y’know that?” Paige muttered against your skin, her voice low and wrecked with need. Her hands gripped your waist tightly—possessively—fingertips digging into the flesh just beneath your bra line, beneath your shirt, like she needed to memorize the give of it under her hands. “Sittin’ there lookin’ like you need me to fuck you in front of all those people.”

You shivered, half from her words, half from the heat pooling low in your body.

You didn’t speak immediately. Just let her touch and her mouth work you over, let yourself feel the way her body pressed against yours like it was trying to replace your heartbeat with hers.

But when her teeth grazed your jaw, you finally rasped, “Maybe I do.”

It was breathless, wicked. A tease and a confession all in one. “Would that be so bad?”

Paige froze—just for a second.

Then a exhale slipped out of her throat, and she pressed even closer, her thigh slotting between your legs, her hands pulling you flush against her. “Nah,” she said, lips ghosting over your collarbone. “I’ll give you whatever you fucking want, mama. I got you.”

Your head tilted back against the wall, heart hammering. You could feel her smirk against your skin, feel the thrill building between your legs like a threat.

And then—

“Paige!”

Chris’s voice echoed from the distance, firm and searching. The second half was about to start.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned into your chest, forehead dropping against your skin. Not your shoulder, your chest. Dead center, right above your cleavage. She lingered there, unmoving for a beat too long, nose brushing the curve of you as if it was her last meal. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

“You like it,” you whispered, grinning down at her.

She exhaled hard through her nose. Then she straightened up, one hand staying anchored on your waist, the other sliding up to your face to cup your jaw.

“Just wait ‘til I get you alone,” she murmured against your lips, barely a breath between you. “We’ll see if you’re still smiling then.”

You caught her chin lightly between two fingers and swiped your thumb across her bottom lip, wiping away the gloss she’d stolen. Your smirk never faltered.

And neither did hers.

With one last stolen kiss—chaste, but full of promise—she let go, turning toward the direction of the locker room. Her gait was slower than usual, like her body wasn’t fully ready to walk away.

She didn’t look back.

But you knew she didn’t need to.

You waited another minute. Then two. Composed yourself. Straightened your shirt, adjusted your glasses, gave your reflection in the glossy wall a once-over, then returned to the court with the grace and calm of someone completely unaffected.

You weren’t fooling anyone.

Especially not her.

Paige met your eyes the second you stepped back onto the sideline. Her pupils were still blown wide, chest still rising and falling faster than it should’ve been.

She wouldn’t find peace until she had you under her.

The rest of the game passed in a blur of controlled chaos and inevitable disappointment.

You stayed glued to the bench, shoulders rolled back and legs crossed in a way that made your pants ride up just enough to show a peek of skin above your heels. Your injured shoulder didn’t hurt in the slightest—not that it mattered. The decision to sit you out was already made. So, instead of running the floor, you sat like a vision in black and gold, sipping water and watching your team try to stay afloat against the powerhouse that was Las Vegas.

It wasn’t going well.

The starters had slowly been pulled, one by one, until the floor was left to the rookies and training camp invites—girls fighting tooth and nail for a shot at the final roster. You could see it in their eyes, the grit and desperation. It was admirable.

But it wasn’t enough.

You and Paige were seated side by side now. Not a word was exchanged, not really. Just subtle glances and shared breath. Your thighs were flush against each other, warm and pressed tightly together as if the space between you wasn’t already tense enough. Paige’s knee bounced occasionally—nerves or restraint, you couldn’t tell—and her fingers curled into fists every now and then on her lap.

You felt it too.

The buzz beneath your skin. The air charged between you. Her cologne lingered from warmups, light and clean, and her jersey still clung to her like a second skin. Her slicked-back hair was starting to curl slightly at the nape of her neck with sweat. And every time she shifted beside you, you were hyper aware of how close she was.

At one point, your heel nudged against hers—lightly, purposefully—and her head turned like she could hear your thoughts. Her eyes dropped to your lap, lingered for a breath too long on the exposed sliver of your stomach and the necklace that still glinted with that tiny “M.”

It took everything in her not to slide a hand up your thigh. Not to palm the flesh there, grip and squeeze until your posture gave something away. But the cameras were still rolling. The crowd, although thinned, was still watching. Too many prying eyes.

Eventually, the final buzzer rang, and the scoreboard didn’t lie.

The Aces had steamrolled, a thirty point deficit that felt heavier than it looked. The team filed back into the locker room in silence. There wasn’t anger, not exactly. Just quiet acceptance. It was the first preseason game, and this roster was still new—a work in progress, barely stitched together.

On the bus, you made a point to walk past Paige without so much as brushing her hand. Your eyes met for a second, and you knew she was expecting you to sit beside her. You always did.

Instead, you slid into the seat next to Dijonai, plopping down casually as if it wasn’t a statement, as if your skin wasn’t buzzing from holding back the grin threatening to break free. You were well aware of the tension still simmering beneath Paige’s cool expression.

Across the aisle, Nalyssa dropped into the seat next to Paige—a convenient shuffle that almost looked choreographed. It was almost funny. A partner swap, if you really thought about it.

You leaned against the window, legs crossed again, phone in hand but eyes flickering over the top edge of your screen every few minutes to steal glances at her. Paige didn’t look at you.

But her jaw was clenched, her fingers drumming against her knee. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t send a thrill straight down your spine.

She could play it cool all she wanted—but you knew what the night still owed you.

w The bus ride back to the hotel was short, but the silence made it feel longer. The kind that stretched like pulled thread—thin, delicate, one wrong move from snapping. Conversations were hushed. Laughter was minimal. Even the rookies who'd given it everything were slumped back in their seats, drained.

You barely said a word. Not to Dijonai, not to anyone. You didn’t need to, your presence was always loud enough. Even in silence, you were impossible to ignore.

Paige didn’t glance your way. Not once. Not when you stood up as the bus slowed to a stop. Not when your perfume trailed in the air like a tether around her throat. She followed the team inside, nodding politely at the front desk staff, bag slung over one shoulder, her stride confident but tense.

You knew she was waiting. For the moment. For you.

And you gave it to her.

You didn’t rush to the elevator. Let the rest of the girls pile in first. Waited for the second one. When Paige stepped into the quieter lift without a word, you slipped in behind her.

The doors closed with a soft thud, and the silence inside was deafening.

There were only a few others around—one of the assistant coaches, a trainer, Arike. The kind of company that demanded restraint. But the heat was unmistakable. You could feel it coming off her in waves.

She stood on the other side of the elevator, back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed over her chest like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her eyes flicked toward the digital numbers above the doors. But she wasn’t really watching them. Not when she could feel your gaze on her.

You licked your lips, slow and deliberate. Just enough to draw her eyes. And when she looked, you gave her that knowing look. The one you always gave her when the air was heavy and her self-control was unraveling thread by thread.

It was intoxicating, this wordless conversation. This tightly wound tension that clung to both of you like static.

The elevator stopped. Coach and Arike stepped out, exchanging brief goodnights. The second the doors slid shut again, it was just the two of you.

Paige didn’t move. But her eyes were locked on you now. Hard.

Your back hit the wall beside her, your shoulder just brushing hers. “Long ride,” you murmured softly.

“Long game,” she said, voice low.

You could feel her gaze trailing over your profile. Your cheekbone. Your mouth. The exposed skin between the buttons of your shirt.

“And you didn’t make it any easier,” she added, her voice edged in restraint.

You smiled, just the corner of your mouth lifting. “Wasn’t trying to.”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, eyes dropping to your cleavage.

The elevator dinged. Your floor.

Neither of you moved at first.

Then Paige exhaled quietly and stepped out, her hand brushing your lower back in a ghost of a touch—protective, possessive, and barely there. You followed, the hallway cool and quiet except for the sound of your heels on the carpeted floor.

Room 477.

She opened the door first. Let you walk in before her. The door shut with a solid click behind you both, sealing the energy between those four walls like a vacuum.

Still, nothing said. Just the sharp sound of her duffel hitting the floor and the faint rustle of fabric as she kicked off her sneakers.

You turned to her then, slowly. Your arms crossed lazily, your back leaning against the nearest wall. Your eyes never left hers.

She didn’t speak—didn’t need to.

You could see it in her posture, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands flexed like they didn’t know whether to hold you or pin you.

And god, that restraint… it made your blood hum.

This wasn’t the moment for release. Not yet.

But it was close. So close.

And that made it all the more addicting.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching her.

Paige’s jaw flexed like she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her shorts now, and her back was to you, but you knew her tells. The slight tremble in her exhale. The way her shoulders rose and dropped a bit quicker than usual. The quiet, building storm just beneath her skin.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” you said, voice silky soft but loaded, “I’m gonna start thinking you’re mad at me.”

Paige faced you, slow and deliberate. Her eyes dragged over every inch of you—the open button shirt, the exposed skin, the curve of your body. She licked her lips, but didn’t answer. Not right away.

“You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, smiling lazily. “Cheering for my girl?”

Her eyes darkened.

“Nah,” she said, her voice gravel low. “Sitting there looking like you wanted me to take you right there on the bench. All those little looks. You knew I was watching.”

You didn’t deny it. Instead, you pushed off the wall and slowly made your way toward her—heels clicking against the hardwood, deliberate and slow like the start of a song that promises to break you by the end.

When you reached her, you didn’t touch her yet. You just looked up, close enough that your breath tickled her chin. “But you liked it.”

Paige’s eyes closed for just a second. Her jaw clenched.

You pressed closer. Just barely.

Then, your hands rose to her waist—slow and smooth—slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt. Your fingers dragged lightly along the ridges of her toned torso, nails grazing her skin just enough to make her hiss out a breath.

“I wanted to see how long you’d last,” you whispered, eyes gleaming. “You made it to halftime. I’m impressed.”

Her hand shot out—fast, like a reflex—and gripped your waist, dragging you flush against her body.

“You’re testing me,” she murmured, low against your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “You’ve been testing me all night.”

Your lips curved. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Paige leaned in. Her nose brushed yours, her mouth hovering just a breath away. Her grip on your waist tightened, her fingers digging in like she could barely stop herself from throwing you onto the bed and showing you exactly what.

“I should make you wait,” she murmured.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against hers but not giving in. “But you won’t.”

Her mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was all tongue and teeth and frustration, a day’s worth of built up heat bursting open like a dam. She kissed you like she needed it to breathe, like she could consume you whole and still not get enough.

Her hands moved fast—one sliding up your back beneath the top, the other gripping your jaw to keep you there, pressed to her mouth. You moaned softly against her lips, your own hands tangling in the front of her tee, dragging her closer, closer, until there was nothing between you but clothes and restraint.

She walked you backward without breaking the kiss, the two of you stumbling toward the bed like you were drunk on each other.

You fell onto the mattress, breathless, her weight pressing into you—her hips pressed flush between your thighs, her hand still wrapped around the back of your neck. Her mouth never left yours for long—just enough to breathe, just enough to whisper sweet nothings into the curve of your jaw before capturing your lips again.

Her free hand moved with maddening skill, unbuttoning the only two buttons holding your blouse together with the kind of ease that made it obvious she'd done this before. Many times.

The moment your chest was bared to her, your bra doing little to shield you from her hungry gaze, Paige let out a low exhale, one that rumbled in her throat like a warning. Or a promise.

"Goddamn," she muttered, her mouth descending, kissing along the curve of your breast with open lips. She sucked at the skin just above the cup, then gently bit down, pulling a gasp out of you despite your best effort to stay composed.

Her voice dropped lower, lips brushing your skin. "Look at you. Spread out, breathin’ like you need me to touch you or you’ll lose it."

You whimpered—quiet, strained—and she smirked, her hand sliding down, hooking under your waistband.

"Don’t worry, baby," she murmured. "I got you."

Her fingers made quick work of the button, then the zipper, and you felt the subtle shift in her position—her thigh sliding between yours, pinning one of your legs down while the other bent up, braced against her hip. It gave her the perfect angle.

She slid her hand beneath the waistband of your panties, hot skin meeting hotter heat and you gasped, your hips twitching in response. Her fingers grazed your soaked cunt, still over the fabric, and she chuckled darkly at how wet you already were.

"Fuck," she hissed, dragging her lips up your neck. "All this for me? Just from a few kisses and some dirty words? You’re such a fuckin’ slut."

She rubbed slow, deliberate circles over your clothed core, her breath warm against your skin, her voice pitched so low it melted straight into your bones. “You sat on that bench looking like sex, and now you’re here, already dripping. You want me to take my time, or should I make you beg?”

You chewed your bottom lip, fighting a moan, your hands clawing at her back, nails digging in just enough to make her shudder.

"Say something," she whispered against your collarbone, teasing the edge of your bra down with her teeth. "Use that pretty mouth or I’ll stop."

"Paige..." you breathed, finally cracking. "Please don’t stop."

That was all she needed.

Her mouth returned to your breast, tugging the bra down just enough to wrap her lips around your nipple, tongue flicking, lips sucking slow and firm while her fingers over your panties pressed in harder, rubbing slow, dirty circles that made your thighs tremble.

“Good girl,” she groaned into your chest. “Keep askin’. I’ll give you every fucking thing.”

Paige’s mouth wandered, but not where you wanted it. She kissed your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts—leaving marks with her mouth, her teeth, anything but her lips. She was everywhere but your mouth, and it drove you insane.

You chased her lips once, a quiet whimper escaping you, but she dodged with a smirk, sucking a bruise just beneath your jawline instead.

Her hand, still between your legs, rubbed those slow, agonizing circles over your soaked panties—drawing out your arousal like she had all the time in the world.

Then she stopped.

You whined, lifting your hips in protest, but before you could whine her name, you felt her hand slide under the fabric.

The moment her fingers made contact with your wetness, she let out a low laugh. A dark, smug sound that sent a shiver rolling down your spine.

“Jesus,” she muttered, teasing her fingers through your slick. “You’re fucking dripping. This all from me just talking to you and some kissing?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a breathless, flustered chuckle. “Shut up…”

She didn’t seem to like that.

Her free hand moved from behind your neck to grip your jaw, firm and fast, tilting your face toward her. The pressure wasn’t gentle, and the command in her eyes made your breath hitch.

“Don’t fucking tell me to shut up,” she warned, before finally crashing her mouth against yours.

It was rough. Unforgiving. All teeth and spit and frustration.

When she pulled back, your lips were swollen, and a thin string of spit still connected you. Her hand remained wrapped around your jaw, fingers digging in, keeping your face locked in place.

“You’re on thin ice right now,” she said lowly, the words thick with hunger and something darker. “You don’t get to run that mouth unless I say so.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as her fingers moved again, slow, pushing one long digit inside you without warning. You gasped, sharp and high, your mouth falling open as your body arched into her.

But Paige didn’t let your head fall back.

Her hand on your face held you steady, forced your gaze to stay locked on hers.

“Nuh uh,” she said, voice hoarse. “Keep your pretty eyes on me. I wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your breath hitched as her finger curled inside you, the pace slow and controlled, dragging over every nerve like she’d mapped your body out and memorized it.

“Say it,” she demanded, leaning in, lips brushing your cheek but not your mouth. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

You swallowed hard, barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. But her eyes—those hungry, sharp, unrelenting eyes—never left yours, and neither did her hand.

“…You,” you rasped. “It’s you, Daddy.”

Her smirk deepened. “Damn right.”

And with that, she pushed deeper, knowing full well you’d break before the night was over.

Paige’s eyes flicked up to yours again, still holding your gaze like a chain wrapped tight around your throat. Her finger never stopped moving, the slick sounds between your legs growing louder in the quiet room.

Then she slowed, almost to a stop, barely curling her finger with maddening control.

“You want more?” she asked lowly, like she didn’t already know the answer. “Think you can take it?”

Her voice was smooth and mocking, thick with amusement and desire. She leaned in just a little closer, eyes never straying from yours. “Be honest, baby. You really think you can handle another one?”

That teasing lilt in her voice made your jaw clench, your fingers twisting in the sheets beneath you.

You didn’t just want more—you needed it. Your body was already begging, trembling, aching for her to fill you just a little more. And she knew it.

So you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, chest rising and falling faster, lips parted, silently pleading. She already knew.

Paige laughed under her breath. “Figures.”

And just like that, her second finger pushed in beside the first. Your head snapped back with a sharp gasp, a breathy moan slipping past your lips as your back arched. Your elbows wobbled where they held you up, threatening to give out from the sudden wave of pressure and pleasure crashing into you.

But you held yourself up. Barely.

Paige's other hand finally released your jaw and braced herself against the bed, palm flat next to your hip, hovering over you like a predator.

Her fingers moved in and out of you, curling and scissoring, switching between long, languid drags and quick, pulsing thrusts that had your thighs twitching. The room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal, and the only thing louder than that was your breath—ragged, shallow, desperate.

But still, your eyes never left hers.

Even as your legs began to tremble, your focus stayed locked on her. Eyes wide, pupils blown, your bottom lip caught between your teeth like you were holding back from begging or crying out. You looked wrecked, completely overtaken by lust, and it made her lose her rhythm for a second.

Her gaze dipped from your face to your heaving chest, down to the way her digits pumped into your sopping pussy, then back up again.

“Fuck…” she whispered, her pace speeding up before she could even stop herself. It was instinctual. Animalistic.

For a moment, she lost herself in you. In the way you looked at her like you wanted to eat her alive. Like nothing existed except her hands on your body, and the high you were chasing.

But then, she caught herself.

She blinked hard and slowed down—too fast. You felt it immediately.

“No—no—" you whimpered, hips twitching, your body already so close you could taste it. But she didn’t stop gradually. She stopped completely.

Fingers still buried inside you, she stilled them, refusing to move. You were practically vibrating, your body locked in that terrible, beautiful edge of no return.

Your head fell back in frustration, eyes squeezing shut. “Whyyyy…”

Your voice was cracked and desperate, a pathetic little whine that only made her smirk.

She slowly slid her fingers out of you with a wet, sinful sound. And then, holding your stare again, she brought her fingers to her lips and licked them clean.

“Tastes like heaven,” she murmured, letting her tongue run over the pad of each finger.

Then, smirking down at you—panting, trembling, and glistening between the legs—she said lowly, “You know damn well why, mama.”

She leaned in close, lips just brushing yours but not kissing. “You don’t get to come ‘til I say you can.”

And you swore you could’ve come from just those words alone.

Paige sat you upright with a quiet kind of urgency, the heat in her eyes doing more than words ever could. Her fingers curled around the edges of your button-up, tugging it off your shoulders and down your arms until it slipped free. She tossed it somewhere behind her without a second thought. Then came the gentle taps on your hips and you instinctively lifted them, letting her drag your pants and underwear down and off in one smooth pull. Her movements were sure, practiced, reverent.

Her mouth found the curve of your neck again, soft lips pressing against your pulse as she reached behind you with one hand, unclasping your bra with that same cocky ease you’d never admit drives you crazy. The straps slid away, and she tossed that too, her breath warm against your collarbone as she pulled back just enough to take you in—fully bare now, save for the necklace with her initial that rested right above your chest and your heels, which she deliberately hadn’t touched.

“Y’look so fucking good wearing my name.”

She stood up straight, eyes lingering for a second longer before she reached over her shoulder, tugging her own shirt off. Her muscles flexed subtly with the motion, her nike sports bra clinging to her frame, rising just a bit with each heavy breath. Her shorts still sat low on her hips, but she didn’t touch them yet.

Instead, her hands found your waist again. She dragged you closer to the edge of the bed, her palms firm on your skin, possessive. Your knees parted naturally, thighs relaxing around her shoulders as she dropped to her knees—slow, like she had all the time in the world. Her arms wrapped under your thighs and she pulled you forward until you were right where she wanted you. Her face hovered close, her nose brushing against the inside of your thigh, eyes flicking up with that look—the one that made your breath catch every single time.

"Look at you," she murmured low, almost in awe, her voice rough. “prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Her grip on your thighs tightened slightly, anchoring you in place. You could feel her breath against your skin, warm and teasing. Every part of you felt like it was pulsing in anticipation—mind hazy, legs tense, spine arching ever so slightly as your body leaned into the gravity of her.

"You wanna act like a brat," she whispered, her voice husky and dangerously calm, "so now you’re gonna take everything I give you, right?”

And all you could do was desperately nod.

She didn't move yet, not really. She just stayed there, admiring you, kissing the inside of your thigh once, twice, with maddening restraint. Teasing. Waiting.

And then her grip shifted again, just slightly, as if she were finally ready to devour you whole.

The air in the room was thick with heat, not from the summer night, but from the slow, delicious burn building between you and Paige. Her palms pressed against your thighs, thumbs brushing lazy circles into your soft skin as her eyes roamed over your body with dark intent. From her position on her knees, she looked like worship and sin all at once.

She didn’t rush. Paige never did. She took her time, like she wanted to commit every inch of you to memory.

Her lips ghosted over the inside of your thigh, moving higher, then lower again, teasing. She nipped gently at the sensitive skin, just enough to make your breath hitch—and then soothed it over with the flat of her tongue, a silent apology that somehow only made the ache worse. Your hips shifted slightly, not enough to beg, but close.

Her arms tightened under your thighs as she pulled you a little closer still, locking you into place. Her breath was hot and steady, and her lips so close—so achingly close—but still not where you needed them.

“You’ve got no patience,” she murmured, mouth brushing your skin, her voice thick with a grin you couldn’t see but could feel. “You sit all pretty on the sidelines all game, teasing me... and now you want it all at once?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t, really. Your throat felt tight, your body strung out with anticipation. You didn’t need to speak anyway. She could feel the way your thighs trembled slightly beneath her grip, the way your hips bucked without realizing, the way your fingers clutched the bedsheets behind you.

Paige pressed another kiss higher up your thigh, dangerously close, then paused. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours with that same fire that had been there since tipoff.

"Use your words" she breathed, low and commanding. "Tell me what you want."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough. “You.”

She smirked, not cocky, but hungry. “Yeah, mama?” Her tone was thick with heat, her lips brushing against your skin between every word. “You’re gonna get me.”

And then she dipped her head again—slowly, reverently—as her grip tightened and she finally closed the space between you.

Your breath caught in your throat the second Paige finally moved. Her mouth found you like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it, licking a stripe up your folds—slow at first, like she was savoring something forbidden. Her grip under your thighs remained firm, keeping you right where she wanted you, like she didn’t trust you not to squirm away from the intensity she brought with every calculated kiss, every hot breath against your skin.

She moved with intent. No rush, no hesitation, just pure control. The kind of control that had your head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed, and one hand coming up to grab the sheets as your body tried to process it all.

Then came her voice, low and muffled against you, still cocky even down on her knees. “Mm... this what you wanted?” Her voice alone had your stomach tightening. “You were damn near begging for it without saying a word.”

You whimpered in response, because yes, this was exactly what you wanted. Maybe more than you could admit.

Shuffling your feet, you managed to kick your heels off.

She didn’t let up. The hand that had held your thigh adjusted, her fingers brushing over your skin possessively, thumb stroking idle circles into your hip while she worked you over, relentless and deliberate. Lips wrapped around your lips, tongue teasing your entrance, slurping up everything you gave her.

You were soaked, needy, and trembling, your body starting to rock toward her without thought—like your hips had a mind of their own, chasing the high she was expertly building.

Then, just when your breaths were getting short and your grip on the sheets was threatening to rip the fabric, Paige pulled back, just slightly.

Your eyes snapped open in protest.

She looked up at you through her lashes, chin glistening, lips swollen, and all she did was smirk. “Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, voice dark and dripping in amusement. “You knew I was gonna take my time.”

Still kneeling, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed up slowly, hands gliding up your sides before she leaned in, the weight of her body settling comfortably against yours again. Her mouth hovered just beside your jaw, her breath warm and teasing.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she whispered, pressing a kiss right beneath your ear. “Not even close.”

Then, her mouth found yours, and this time, she didn’t hold back.

You could still taste yourself on her lips—warm and sweet, a reminder of how she’d had you moments ago. The kiss between you turned greedy, tongues tangled in a dance of desperation. You tugged at her waistband, your fingers curling under the elastic with an urgency you didn’t bother to hide.

Paige grinned against your mouth, the cocky tilt of her lips a stark contrast to her breathlessness. “Damn, baby. Slow down,” she murmured, voice teasing and low. “I’m not going anywhere.” But she gave in, tugging them down and kicking them off.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to respond—instead pulling her mouth back to yours, swallowing whatever quip she might’ve had lined up next. The two of you shifted, clumsily but in sync, toward the center of the bed. Your back hit the pillows, hair spilling across the sheets like a halo, while Paige loomed above you in her boxers and sports bra, every inch of her radiating heat.

The ache between your thighs was still there, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, and before you could stop yourself, the thought was already spilling into the space between you. You bit her lower lip, sharp enough to make her pull back with a dramatic wince, though the glint in her eyes betrayed how much she liked it.

She licked her lips slowly, gaze dropping to your flushed, eager face. “What was that for?”

“Wanna try it” you murmured, fingers brushing the edge of her waistband again. “On you.”

Her brows lifted slightly, curiosity igniting behind her eyes. “Try what on me?”

You exhaled, slightly exasperated. “You know what. Your ‘mousekatool’ as you call it. Don’t make me spell it out.”

That earned a quiet snicker from her, and her head dipped as if to hide the grin spreading across her face. “You mean my strap?” she teased, voice pitched low with faux innocence.

A soft laugh escaped you despite yourself. “Yes, Paige. The strap.”

She tilted her head, amused and entirely too smug. “Who says I brought it this time?”

“You always bring it,” you countered without missing a beat, your tone equal parts accusing and needy. “You bring it everywhere. Don’t lie to me.”

She smirked, fingers idly tracing along your thigh, like she was in no rush at all. “Maybe I like being prepared,” she hummed, leaning in to press a kiss just beneath your jaw. “You been thinking ‘bout it?”

“For a while,” you confessed softly, voice almost shy beneath the tension in the room. “Like a lot.”

She paused for a beat, her breath fanning against your skin as her lips curved into something darker, softer. “Yeah? How long’s a while?”

You rolled your eyes again, clearly not in the mood for her games, and gave her shoulder a small push.

But Paige only laughed under her breath — a low, husky sound—before finally nodding, the shift in her expression signaling a silent ‘okay’. Her gaze held yours for a beat longer, just long enough for your breath to hitch, before she pushed up off the bed to retrieve what you both knew she had packed.

The anticipation thickened the air, the weight of the moment drawing everything tighter. She was quiet as she moved, deliberate and smooth, her back flexing beneath the dim light while you watched her, bare and wanting and more than ready.

And she could feel it too, the heat that simmered in your stare, the tension in your posture, the glint in your eye that made it abundantly clear. She wasn’t the only one who knew how to take control.

When Paige returned, the familiar shape of it in her hand, your smirk was immediate—small, sly, and a little too eager. You reached for it without hesitation, and she let it go just as quickly, the edges of her mouth curling in a low chuckle.

“You waste no time, huh?” she murmured as she watched you from the foot of the bed, eyes hooded, mouth still glistening faintly from you.

“Could say the same about you,” you replied, voice light but your fingers focused as you stepped into it, adjusting the straps and tightening where it needed with a practiced ease. Confidence hummed beneath your skin, electric and heavy, and you didn’t bother hiding it.

Once it sat snug and secure against you, you tilted your chin, nodding toward the bed, a silent instruction.

And to your pleasant surprise, Paige obeyed.

No eye roll, no sarcastic comment. Just a quiet spark of something between amusement and anticipation in her expression as she crawled backward, settling herself against the pillows. Her breathing was calm, but you knew her well enough to spot the tension—the subtle way her fingers curled into the sheets, the way her eyes tracked your every movement just a second longer than usual.

She was curious, excited. And nervous.

The realization that she’d never let anyone else do this, never even entertained the idea, filled your chest with a kind of fierce pride. It wasn’t just trust.

You climbed onto the bed slowly, knees on either side of her hips. The sight of her spread out beneath you, still in her sports bra and chest rising and falling, was enough to make your breath catch. You tapped her hip gently.

“Lift,” you said, quiet.

She obeyed again, and you tugged her boxers down with care, dragging the fabric past toned thighs, revealing her inch by inch. Her skin was warm beneath your palms, and when you looked up at her again, her gaze was already locked on yours—unreadable, but heavy with something unspoken.

You leaned forward, catching her mouth in another kiss. Slow at first, exploratory. But it didn’t stay soft for long. Soon it was hungry again, mouths open, lips swollen, tongues sliding in sync. You deepened it purposefully, pouring reassurance into every motion, letting your hands slide over her. Grounding her, and reminding her this was you.

Her legs shifted slightly beneath you, and you felt it. The tension in her thighs, the way her fingers grazed your arms, seeking anchor. So you kissed her harder. One hand cradled the side of her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone, while your hips stayed still for now—letting her adjust, letting her breathe.

You didn’t need to rush.

This was new. But it was yours to explore together.

Paige's breathing had shifted, deeper and slower, like she was trying to brace herself for something unfamiliar. You hovered over her, letting your eyes roam, deliberately dragging your gaze down the length of her body. The contrast was striking. Strong, confident Paige, laid bare in front of you, chest rising and falling with anticipation she hadn’t put words to yet.

You let your fingertips trail down her sides, a whisper of a touch. Featherlight at first, just enough to draw goosebumps along her skin. Her stomach twitched beneath your hand when your palm flattened just above her navel.

“You good?” you asked, voice hushed but edged with something firmer, more grounded.

She gave you a small nod, eyes burning into yours. “Better than good.”

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You kissed her again, but not her mouth this time. You pressed your lips to her neck, slow and indulgent, tasting the skin there. Down to her collarbone, where your tongue traced the curve, your hands moving to her hips to keep her steady. You heard the slight hitch in her breath when your lips dipped even lower, pressing along the top swell of her chest, still caged beneath her sports bra.

You smiled against her skin. “This in the way?”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, lips quirking. “What do you think?”

You didn’t hesitate. You slipped your hands under the band and dragged the fabric up and over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor. The second she was bare to you, you didn’t even look. You leaned in, kissing the top of her breast first, then lower, letting your tongue sweep over skin that was already flushed and warm. Her hands found your back, blunt nails digging slightly when your mouth closed around her nipples, drawing a soft, reluctant moan from her.

She arched into you without thinking, chest pressing against your mouth, and you took your time—suckling gently, then switching sides, giving her equal attention until her grip on your shoulders turned into a quiet plea.

“Mama.”

“Mhm?” you murmured against her.

She gave a small shake of her head and exhaled a half laugh. “Teasing me already?”

You kissed your way back up her collarbones, up her throat, and then caught her mouth again, messy and hungry. She could taste your hunger on your tongue and it only made her pull you closer.

One of your hands slipped between her legs, stroking over the inner thigh, slow and measured. You were deliberately avoiding where she wanted you most. She tried to shift her hips, subtly guiding your hand lower, but you held your place—firm, patient, smiling into the kiss.

“You’re not the only one who gets to tease,” you whispered against her lips.

“God,” she muttered, tilting her head back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a beat.

You used that moment to lean in, letting your mouth hover beside her ear, voice low and deliberate. “You want it, pretty girl?”

Paige’s brows knit together slightly, breath catching again. Her hands clenched the sheets beside her. “Yeah.”

Your hand finally slipped lower, brushing softly over her core,slow and maddening, enough to make her hips twitch. You dragged your fingers in circles, watching her expression unravel in real time—almost cursing at how wet she already was.

The look in her eyes—wide, dazed, dark with hunger—made your stomach twist in the best way.

You slowly pulled your hand away, earning yourself a disappointed sigh from the blonde underneath you.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth as you casually brought your fingers to her mouth, her tongue immediately darting out to lick off her own slick. It was nothing short of intoxicating and addicting to see her like that.

You slipped your fingers out of her mouth and your hand curled around the strap, getting a feel of what had been inside of you countless of times, before slowly spitting down on it. You watched as you stroked the silicone, wetting it. Suddenly, you understood why she found so much enjoyment in it, why she always took her sweet time while you waited impatiently.

And now the roles were reversed.

Paige was just about to protest, wanting to tell you to hurry the hell up, but the feeling of the tip of her own strap circling her entrance had her swallowing her own words and her breath catching in her throat.

“Y’good, daddy?” Your voice is silky smooth and sweet like honey, a smug look etched into your features.

Paige wanted to just flip you over and have her way with you. Calling her that while teasing her after you’d practically begged her to let you fuck her? You knew exactly what you were doing.

She didn’t reply, not with words. Her hands rose up, curling tightly around your hips, nails digging into the plush of your skin.

But you didn’t react—not even when she tried to pull you closer.

You positioned the tip at her leaking entrance, the sight causing you to unconsciously lick your lips. She needed you desperately, and probably had been all day long.

Slowly, hand still wrapped around the strap, you moved your hips closer, only the tip pushing in. You watched her for a moment, eyes glued on the way her lips parted as her head tipped back. Then, your gaze traveled down, taking in the way it slipped deeper inside of her torturously slow, inch by inch until you bottomed out.

Paige gasped at the delicious stretch, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“This okay?” You felt the need to ask, to make sure she was comfortable under your care and give her time to adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck,” the blonde cursed under her breath, her grip around your hips tightening as if you were her lifeline. “It’s good, mama. You can move.”

Nodding your head, you pulled out half way, easing back in with deliberate patience.

You shifted above Paige, the leather strap harness snug around your hips—foreign, unfamiliar, but grounding you in the moment. Your palms braced on either side of Paige's bare waist, breath catching as you looked down at her.

Paige was already flushed. Blonde hair a halo of gold across the pillow, pale chest rising and falling in shallow waves. Her legs fell open again, instinctively, as if inviting something she’d never asked for before.

Her lips parted, just barely. “You can… go slow.”

“I was planning to,” you murmured, voice low, nearly sweet. Your fingers brushed up Paige’s thigh in a soothing pass, a grounding gesture for both of you.

The first push back in was gentle. Careful. A slow rock forward as you let the strap guide you, adjusting to the rhythm, to the tension and give of Paige’s body beneath you. Paige’s breath hitched—sharp and soft at once—and her hands curled into the sheets.

Her blue eyes fluttered up, catching your gaze with something between disbelief and desire. She’d ever felt this full. Never been looked at this way.

You leaned down, lips grazing Paige’s jaw. “Still okay?”

Paige swallowed, nodding, her fingers sliding up to grip your forearm. “More than okay.”

You set a rhythm, slow and purposeful, letting each roll of your hips press deep and linger. Paige’s moans started soft, reluctant at first—like she was surprised by how good it feels. Each one drawn out, breathy, as her thighs trembled slightly with every thrust.

You watched her unravel beneath you. How Paige bit her bottom lip, how her fingers dragged along your bacm, how her lashes fluttered every time you sunk in deeper. It wasn’t just about control, it was about giving, too. Giving Paige something she never thought she wanted, and now couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Sweat beaded at both of your skin, the room warm with breath and heat and slow tension. When Paige wrapped her legs around your hips and pulled you in closer, your bodies locked together, like it was meant to feel this way all along.

“Fuck,” Paige breathed, voice wrecked. “You feel so good.”

You brushed your lips against her temple, whispering like it was sacred. “You feel even better, Baby.”

And then you rocked in again—harsher, deeper—and watched Paige slowly fall apart all over again.

The way she clung to you, the sound of her moans unraveling in your ear, the heat radiating off her body. Every time you sank into her, every time her hips tilted to meet yours, it got a little harder to hold back.

You didn’t even realize you were moving faster until her breath hitched again, more desperate this time. Her fingers dug into your hips like she needed something to ground herself, something solid while you pulled her apart.

Your eyes stayed glued to her. To the way her lips parted just before every moan. To the way her brows pulled together when your thrusts got deeper. To the way she took you, like it was too much and not enough all at once.

And then your gaze dropped, locked in on where your body met hers. How the strap stretched her glistening cunt.

You swore you could feel her. Swore you could feel every squeeze, every flutter, every reaction she gave you—even through the strap. And it drove you fucking insane.

The pace picked up, your hips rocking harder now, the sound of skin on skin thick in the air. Paige’s moans came faster, choked and breathy, and still she didn’t tell you to stop.

She didn’t want you to stop.

One of her hands slipped up to her mouth, knuckles pressed to her lips as she bit down, trying to keep quiet, trying to keep herself from falling apart too loudly.

“Don’t hide those sounds from me,” you warned, voice low and ruined, one hand grabbing her thigh to yank her closer with every thrust. “You’re so fucking pretty when you moan.”

Her eyes rolled back, her back arched, and a whimper escaped around her hand despite her best efforts.

“Look at you,” you murmured, nearly breathless yourself, the rhythm hard and steady now. “All spread out for me… letting me fuck you like this for the first time. You feel it, don’t you? You feel me in your guts.”

She nodded, mouth open but words gone, completely lost to the feeling.

And you were gone, too. Gone in the way she clutched at you, in the slick sounds filling the room, in the way she trembled every time you hit just right. You’d never seen her like this—never been inside her in this way. And it made you feel invincible.

It made you feel obsessed.

“I could stay right here all fucking night,” you whispered harshly, eyes devouring her. “You feel unreal. Don’t ever wanna stop.”

Paige let out a broken, muffled moan—legs shaking, knuckles white against her mouth, body arching into yours like she couldn’t bear a single inch of space between you.

And with every thrust, every cry, every sweet wrecked sound you pulled from her lips, you made her yours.

She’d taken taken two orgasms from you. Stolen them, really—left you shaking, wrung out, and aching with nothing to show for it but trembling thighs and the ghost of her mouth still between your legs. And now, with every thrust of your hips, the straps pressed hard against your core. Slick and pulsing and needy, and it was driving you insane.

Your fingers curled tight into the flesh of her hip, holding her in place, like if you didn’t keep her still you’d lose your fucking mind. Her legs locked around your waist, dragging you in deeper, and you leaned down to kiss her, messy and hungry and almost angry with how much you wanted her.

She moaned into your mouth, high pitched and breathless, and it broke something in you. The squelch of wet, filthy friction echoed between you, loud and obscene, and it made your stomach tighten. She was so fucking wet for you. You could feel her flutter around the strap again, tightening, pulling, like her body knew you now.

Her breath hitched, over and over, those beautiful little gasps coming faster, more ragged. Her thighs trembled against your sides. Her hand shot up to the pillow, grabbing desperately for something, anything, to ground herself.

“Oh my god—” she whimpered, breathless. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” you growled, not slowing for a second. “I know, baby. Look at you. So fucked out, clinging to me like this. You gonna cum all over me? Gonna soak it for me like a good fucking girl?”

Paige choked on a sob, nodding frantically as her mouth opened but no words came. Just sounds, broken, ruined little moans that made your hips stutter with the sheer heat of it.

“That’s it,” you panted, the rhythm wild now, completely consumed by her. “Take it. Take all of me. You feel that?”

“Y-yeah,” she gasped, her hand clawing at your back. “You fuck me so good—shit—baby, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Your mouth dropped to her neck, biting down just enough to leave heat and pressure behind.

She cried out then, loud and raw, back arching as her orgasm hit like a fucking storm. She clung to you, muscles clenching hard around the strap as she came, soaking you with it, thighs twitching uncontrollably. Her moans turned into whimpers, then into wrecked little “oh my god”s and “don’t stop”s as her high dragged out, long and messy.

You didn’t stop, not right away. You rode it through, watched every flicker of pleasure twist across her face, obsessed with how beautiful she looked undone like this. She was yours. Wrecked by you. Filled by you.

And through it all, Paige kept whispering, voice hoarse and trembling. “So good… fuck, you feel so good… never—never been fucked like this before… you’re so fucking good, baby.”

You slowed eventually, panting against her skin, her praise still echoing in your head like a damn prayer. And all you could think—half crazed, overwhelmed, euphoric—was ‘I’d do it all over again.’ Just to see her fall apart like that one more time.

Her moans still echoed in your ears. High, strangled, ruined, and yet you still hadn’t cum.

She’d robbed your from it twice earlier, dragged those highs from you with her mouth, her fingers, her body pressed into yours like she had something to prove—then left you hanging. But now? Now it was your turn.

You didn’t give her time to come down. Didn’t even let her legs close. You fumbled with the straps, tugging the harness of and sitting back. Your thighs slipped between hers, only to be met by the hot, slick press of your cunt grinding down onto hers.

Her gasp was sharp, almost pained, but her hips lifted into yours anyway, her body betraying her sensitivity in favor of your shared need.

“Oh my god,” she whines, head rolling back as your cores met, swollen and soaked and completely unfiltered. The friction was messy, wet and loud and absolutely obscene, but you didn’t care. Neither of you did.

You moaned, high and needy, grinding harder as the sensation built—bare skin dragging against hers, nerves shot and screaming, the strap still hanging from your hips, forgotten now. It was just you and her—sliding together, chasing it, drowning in it

“Fuck, Paige—” you gasped, eyes half-lidded and locked on her flushed face. “I need—need to cum.”

She groaned, reaching for your hips with shaky hands, guiding you, matching your rhythm even though her legs were trembling.

“Take it,” she rasped, breath still ragged. “Fucking take it. You’ve earned it, baby. Cum for me, rub that pretty pussy on me until you fall apart. Don’t stop.”

You whimpered, the sound punched from your chest as you rolled your hips harder, faster, your wetness mixing with hers in a way that made everything slip and slide just right. Too much and not enough all at once.

Then—without warning—her hand slid up, two fingers pressing against your lips. You didn’t hesitate. You took them into your mouth, sucking hungrily, eyes glued to hers like she was your entire world.

Paige’s eyes darkened, her voice dropping into something deep and dangerous.

“Look at you,” she growled, the fingers in your mouth curling slightly, holding your jaw. “So desperate. So fucking wet. You gonna cum just from this? Grinding that needy little cunt on mine like a good girl?”

You moaned around her fingers, nodding, the coil in your belly threatening to snap. Your hips stuttered, rhythm breaking as the pressure built, dizzying and intense.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice a husk, her eyes wild with want. “C’mon. Show me. Take what you need, mama.”

You cried out around her fingers, your entire body locking up as your orgasm tore through you—hot and violent and blinding. You shook against her, thighs trembling, nails digging into her sides as you lost yourself, your high crashing into hers, mingled and messy and soaked with everything you’d been holding back.

And through it all, Paige just held you. Let you ride it out, while coming down herself. Her fingers slipped from your mouth, trailing down your jaw, down your neck, and she whispered,

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

Your chest was still heaving, legs quivering and damp with both your releases. She leaned in, her touch featherlight on your jaw, caressing your cheek like she hadn’t just dragged the orgasm of your life out of you.

“You good?” she murmured, voice hoarse, but laced with something dangerous underneath. Something eager.

You nodded, dazed, your lips parting to respond. But before a single word could come out, she flipped you onto your back with terrifying ease, making you gasp.

“You’ve had your fun,” she rasped, reaching behind her for the discarded strap and sliding it on like it was muscle memory. Her eyes never left yours. “My turn.”

Your breath caught. That quiet ache between your legs that had just barely dulled now flared back to life. Your heart kicked up again. You could only watch, eyes wide and pulse skipping, as she adjusted the straps against her hips, rolling them once to test the feel.

You expected her to climb over you again, to press her body flush against yours.

But instead, she grabbed your thigh, flipped you again, and hauled your hips up until your knees dug into the mattress and your chest hit the pillow.

“Wh—Paige—” you barely managed, dizzy from the motion, your ass up and exposed, slick still dripping between your thighs.

“Shh,” she said, low and firm, one hand splaying against your lower back to keep you down. “You’re ready for it, baby.”

And then she sank into you.

No warning. No teasing. Just one smooth, hard thrust that punched the air from your lungs. The stretch burned for a second, sensitive and overwhelming, but your body welcomed her fast, the slickness easing her in and making the glide so damn deep.

You gasped into the pillow, your fingers clawing at the sheets.

“Fuck!” You tried to back away from the sudden intrusion.

“Oh, now you wanna run from this dick?” she growled behind you, her pace already brutal, hand gripping the back of your neck and pinning you down. “Stay with it, ma.”

Every word was punctuated by a thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin loud and wet, echoing through the room like sin. The bed rocked, your thighs shaking, your jaw slack as moans spilled from your lips without warning.

“You feel that?” she panted, hips snapping forward. “So tight—still sucking me in like you didn’t just come all over me a few minutes ago.”

You whined, eyes rolling back.

“Messy fucking girl,” she hissed. “Dripping all over my thighs. Can’t even think straight, huh?”

You tried to speak—tried to beg, moan, something—but all that came out were high pitched sounds, your cheek rubbing against the pillow as she fucked into you like she owned every part of you. You knew it was gonna leave makeup stains.

“You like being used like this?” she breathed. “Stuffed full of my cock like a good little slut?”

You whimpered, nodding frantically, and Paige moaned behind you, a low, almost possessive sound that made you clench around the toy still sliding in and out of you.

“Yeah, you do,” she said, her voice unraveling. “So greedy. So fucking wet for me. You’d let me do this all night if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

You would. God, you would.

And she knew it.

Her hand slipped down your back, finding your ass, squeezing once before giving it two sharp slaps that sent a jolt through your body.

You were loud. Too loud.

You knew it the second the heel of her hand shoved your face further into the soft pillow, muffling the wanton moans that kept slipping past your swollen lips. The hotel room felt like it was vibrating with your sounds—high, helpless, wrecked. Paige’s thrusts hadn’t let up for a second.

“Shh,” she gritted, eyes blazing as she hovered above you, sweat dripping down her chest. “You want the whole floor to hear how good I’m fucking you?”

Your response was just a choked whimper, muffled against the pillow. You couldn’t stop trembling.

She’d slid out and flipped you fast, like you weighed nothing, shoving you onto your back and sliding right back in with a single sharp thrust. She slapped a hand over your mouth, covering it. Now your legs were everywhere. One pinned tightly against your chest, the other slung up and over her shoulder, spreading you open, folding you. The angle had her deep—so deep you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but take it. You swore you could feel her in your lungs.

“Fuck, look at you,” she rasped, her eyes dragging over your face. “Mascara running, mouth open, pussy clenching like you’re trying to milk me. You can’t stop, can you?”

You tried to shake your head, tried to answer her, but all that came out was a cry into her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” she growled. “Drippin’ on the sheets, crying for my cock.”

You blinked up at her, more tears threatening to spill now from overstimulation, from how full you felt. You were so far gone it didn’t even feel real.

And then her voice dropped lower—dangerously low. Possessive.

“I could fuck a baby into you like this, mama,” she murmured, eyes locked to where she was sliding in and out of you. “Folded in half, stuffed so deep you’d take every last drop.”

Your entire body tensed at her words, another sharp cry muffled against her hand.

“Oh, that got you,” she cooed, rolling her hips slow and deep, pressing until your breath caught and your toes curled. “You want me to fuck you full, huh? Knock you up?”

You whined, your hands scrambling up to her wrist, not to pull her hand away—but to hold her there, like the weight of it grounded you.

She leaned in, sweat-slicked chest and hard nipples brushing yours, her palm still sealing your mouth as she whispered filth in your ear.

“Everyone down the hall could hear you if I let go,” she breathed. “You want them to know what I’m doing to you? Want them to hear you beg me to cum inside? To fill you up so good you’ll still feel it tomorrow?”

You couldn’t take it. Your back arched, tears spilling now from the intensity of it all. Her words, her thrusts, the way your body had no control anymore.

“You gonna cum for me again?” she growled, pace turning brutal. “So messy, so loud, soaking my cock like it was made for that pretty pussy?”

You screamed into her hand as your climax hit you hard, your body locking up, shaking beneath her like you’d been electrocuted. Every muscle trembled, your cunt pulsing around the toy like it was real, like your body couldn’t tell the difference.

“Fuck,” she moaned, watching you fall apart. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Take it.”

Your cries were muffled, desperate, ruined. And still, she didn’t stop. She fucked you through it, deep and filthy, until you went limp beneath her, completely wrecked, your leg falling from her shoulder as she finally slowed down, panting hard above you.

And when she finally removed her hand, your lips were glossy with spit, your cheeks stained with black streaks, your voice barely a whisper.

“Paige…”

“Shh,” she whispered, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “Just lay there. Let me take care of you.”

And with one last kiss to your temple, she finally pulled out, leaving you gasping, trembling, your entire body a soaked, overstimulated, satisfied mess.

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling as Paige finally stilled above you. The sweat on her skin shimmered under the dim bedside light, her golden hair clinging to her temples, and her lips were parted—soft, flushed, as if she’d just confessed something without meaning to.

You didn’t even realize you were crying again until she reached up and thumbed away the tears under your eyes. Her touch was gentle now, tender and careful, as if she was worried she’d break you after what she’d just done.

“Hey,” she whispered, brushing her thumb along your jaw. “You okay?”

You gave a dazed little nod, voice barely audible. “Mhm… Just… That was crazy, what the fuck.” You let out a long exhale.

Her chest lifted with a soft laugh, but there was something else behind it. A vulnerability. A truth trying to sneak through between the lines.

She helped you sit up slowly, her hands never leaving your skin. She unstrapped herself and tossed the harness aside, then climbed back onto the bed to cradle you in her lap, letting your legs rest over hers. You could still feel her heartbeat beneath your cheek as you curled into her, warm and safe.

You were quiet for a while—until you felt her lips near your ear.

“I’d do it,” she murmured, voice thick and quiet.

Your brow furrowed slightly, still dazed. “Do what?”

She pulled back just enough for her eyes to meet yours.

“Put a baby in you,” she said, dead serious. “If I could… I would’ve done it right there. Fucked it into you like I meant it.”

A breath caught in your throat, the ache between your legs flaring back up even though you were exhausted and sore. Your heart felt like it skipped a beat.

“Cute.” You grinned bashfully, eyes still glassy. “I’d let you.”

And you meant it—God, did you mean it. If biology didn’t care, if the world didn’t matter—you’d let Paige Bueckers ruin your body, mark your life, and carry her forever in you. You’d wear her love, her heat, her name, like it was carved into your bones.

She kissed you softly after that, nowhere near as greedy or hard as before. Just lips to lips. Reverent. Slow. Worshipful.

“C’mon,” she murmured eventually, slipping out from under you and reaching for a robe. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let her guide you into the hotel’s oversized bathtub, both of you sinking into the steaming bath she’d set up. She sat behind you, your back against her chest, arms looped gently around your waist.

She washed you with care—her fingers massaging your scalp, rinsing off the sweat, the stickiness, the smeared makeup. All the marks she’d left.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t… Did I?”

She chuckled, warm breath against your cheek.

“Nah,” she whispered. “You were perfect.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and sinking further into her hold.

And there, in the soft glow of the bathroom lights, skin clean, hearts raw, and bodies tangled up beneath the water—you stayed. Letting love settle in the places lust had already scorched. Letting her hold you like she never planned to let go.

Because she didn’t.

paige couldn’t stop thinking about you.

she hasn’t seen you all week. not really. not because she didn’t want to. god, she wanted to. only a couple texts here and there. not a lot. half-hearted. nothing like before. and every time she thought about reaching out, her thumbs would hover over the screen, typing and deleting the same shit over and over again.

she figures you’ll probably get upset about the fact that she doesn’t reach out. she knows it’s her fault, really. 

but, lately, she’s been getting stuck in her head. what if you regret it? what if she messed it all up? what if you don’t even wanna talk to her anymore? 

it’d been days since you kissed her, and her mind hadn’t shut off since. she could still feel you. your hands on her neck, the way your fingers played with her hair. the warmth of your thigh under her palm. the way you whispered against her mouth. god, she couldn’t stop thinking about your lips. the way you tasted. the way they moved against hers. she kept replaying it. over and over and over. the way your bottom lip trembled just slightly before you kissed her back. the way gasped when she kissed you a little deeper. the way you let out that tiny, shaky moan against her mouth. 

she hadn’t been sleeping right. laid up in bed every night, eyes wide open, heart racing, thinking of all the things she probably should’ve said.

she kept checking her phone like a damn addict—hoping for a text. anything.

but you don’t say much.

and deep down, she knew she was supposed to say something first. you’d kissed her, trusted her, asked her to show you something you had little experience in.

but all paige had done since then… was freeze. she didn’t know what to say when she wanted to text you. 

everything afterwards felt off.

her routine didn’t feel like her anymore. her days felt too long. her nights too short. food didn’t hit the same. music didn’t sound right. even the gym—basketball—felt too damn loud. or sometimes, too damn empty. she really couldn’t get you out of her mind. no matter how many times she told herself to lock in, to just shake it all off… you were everywhere. in the back of her thoughts during drills. in the corners of her dreams when she managed to sleep. on the tip of her tongue when she opened her phone, just to stare at your name without sending anything.

her body ached for you, and she hated that it sounded that dramatic—but it was the truth. because it wasn’t just the fact that you kissed her. that you let her kiss you. 

it was you. and your lips. your mouth. how you touched her, like you weren’t totally sure what you were doing but trusted her to guide you through it anyway. how you leaned into her kiss, moaned against her mouth, desperate, like you wanted her to keep going but didn’t know how to ask. that moment played on a loop in her head. every time she tried to move on, her mind constantly dragged her back to it. and now, after tasting you—after finally having just a piece of what she’d wanted for so long—she couldn’t go back to pretending she was okay with being just friends.

and honestly, paige used to handle it fine. she’s been doing it for years. 

in the beginning, she thought it was just a little crush. nothing serious. just something that’ll go away eventually. 

and you were pretty. gorgeous. that was part was easy. she used to sit next to you on purpose, just close enough to smell whatever perfume you wore, and maybe ask you for a pen just so that you’d look at her and roll your eyes before digging through your back even though she already had a pen. 

so yeah, okay. maybe she stared too long sometimes. maybe she looked at your lips more than she should’ve. maybe she started thinking about you when she was supposed to be focused on film or practice or literally anything else.

but it was just a crush. right?

yeah, well… it didn’t go away.

and when you kissed her, everything she’d been trying to hold back all came rushing up. 

now, she needed more.

at practice, she was more distracted than she’d ever been. she thinks about you while she’s in the locker room, thinks about you while she zones out in team huddles, thinks about you while chewing her lip raw while coach ran down the plan during practice. 

but there are only three sentences in her mind that repeats over and over and over… i miss her. i need her. i want her again.

paige wanted to tell you how she felt. god, she wanted to so bad.

it sat in her mind, begging to come out every time she thought about you—which was all the time. but every time she even thought about texting you, calling you, seeing you again—she froze.

what would she even say? everything sounded stupid in her head. too much. she didn’t know if it was just a kiss for you. maybe just an experiment. a thank you, even.

and the thought of that—of it meaning less to you than it did to her—it made her sick.

because it meant everything to her.

͏✶

you didn’t think much of the dress you chose to wear for tonight. it was a simple summer dress, the kind of thing you forgot you even had until you started rifling through your closet in a panic. it’s pretty but you weren’t really trying to impress anyone. you just didn’t want to look like you rolled out of bed. you kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal—it’s just a movie—but still, you checked the mirror three times. adjusted the hem. made sure the zipper was up all the way. fixed your hair, then undid it and fixed it again.

you told yourself it wasn’t because you were nervous.

you told yourself it wasn’t because of paige.

matt had been texting you all day—mostly sweet stuff. he was nice. respectful. he asked about your favorite movie snacks, said he’d pick you up a little early because he didn’t want to miss the trailers, and even texted you about hitting some off-campus college after to spend more time together. 

you stared at that last message for a second longer than you meant to. you didn’t reply right away. you didn’t know why your stomach twisted when you imagined going.

but you forced a small smile at your reflection, smoothed the fabric over your hips, and told yourself again—it’s just a movie. you repeated it in your head while slipping on your heels.

you’d go, sit beside matt, eat some popcorn, maybe laugh at the cheesy previews, maybe chat during the slow parts. just hang out. just… watch a movie. maybe kiss him.

your chest tightened at the thought. and suddenly it wasn’t matt’s face you saw in the dark theater, leaning in beside you.

it was paige. 

you closed your eyes for a second, but it didn’t help. you could still feel her. you weren’t even touching her anymore, but your body remembered all of it. every detail.

then, you opened your eyes slowly, blinking hard at your reflection. 

just a movie, you whispered to yourself again.

your phone buzzed just as you grabbed your bag. you weren’t expecting anything—maybe matt, saying he was outside, maybe riley checking in. but when you glanced down at the screen, it felt like your heart stopped for a second.

paige: if matt says some dumb shit or makes you uncomfortable or whatever just call me or sumn.

you stared at it, fingers hovering over your screen, unsure what to even say back.

paige was thinking about you.

you lips curl into a soft smile, before replying back. 

you: i’ll call if i need you 

you put your phone away after you sent that message.

the air was cool as matt pulled up outside your dorm, his car parked just in front of the building as he waited. you grabbed your bag, smoothing your dress one last time before sliding into the passenger seat. he greeted you with a warm smile, eyes bright and a little nervous like he wanted everything to be perfect tonight.

throughout the ride, matt was respectful—more than you expected. he kept the conversation light, complimenting you.

“you look really pretty tonight,” he said once. or “that dress really suits you.”

you nodded, forcing a small smile, trying to match his charm, but inside you felt a bit awkward—like you were pretending to be someone who could just go on a date without a million thoughts swirling around your head. the care radio played softly in the back as you both talked about the movie and what you liked, what you were hoping to see, the snacks you planned to grab. matt was a good listener, genuinely interested, but you couldn’t help but feel… unsure. 

when you arrived at the theater, you both found your seats, getting comfortable in the dark. your hands folded neatly in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles, pretending to be at ease.

matt really was nice. thoughtful. his arm rested politely on the shared armrest, close but not touching. every now and then, he’d lean over to whisper something light and you’d smile, nod, let out a soft laugh. he was sweet. polite. exactly the kind of guy people said you should give a chance. he told you that you looked beautiful when he saw you, and he meant it. 

but still… was this really what you wanted?

you sat there beside him, staring ahead, and couldn’t shake the feeling blooming in your chest. like something was missing.

and about halfway through the movie, you felt it—a soft nudge against your hand. you blinked, glancing down. matt’s fingers brushed yours again, hesitant at first, then bolder, letting them settle lightly against the back of your hand like he was testing the waters.

you froze. not out of fear. not because you felt unsafe. but because something about it felt wrong. off.

you tried to stare ahead at the screen. and then, slowly, like it had been planned all night, matt leaned in. you felt his eyes on you. your profile, your mouth. your stomach flipped. not in the same way she made you feel. he was staring at your lips like he’d been waiting for the right moment, and this was it. he tilted his head slightly, and you turned toward him totally out of instinct—eyes wide, not knowing what to say, how to stop it, or if you even should—

and then his lips were on yours.

they were soft, warm, slightly chapped. not rough. not bad…

just… not right.

you kissed him back—barely. more like a twitch of habit than an actual effort. your mind blanked. your hands stayed frozen in your lap. your chest stayed still. 

no spark. no rush.

nothing.

it was awkward. 

and he was trying, being gentle, respectful, careful… but suddenly, your mind was somewhere else.

suddenly, you were back in paige’s dorm, with her fingers resting on the soft skin of your thigh, her mouth coaxing yours open like she’d dreamed about it a thousand times before.

you pulled back first, blinking fast, trying to smile as you reached for the popcorn again like nothing happened.

and matt gave a quiet laugh, sheepish. “sorry, was that okay?”

you nodded automatically.

nothing else happened after that. he didn’t try to kiss you again. he didn’t reach for your hand. he just sank back into his seat. you sat there in silence, eyes on the screen but mind anywhere else as your heart beat too loud in your chest. 

when the movie ended, matt stood up and stretched, put on half of a smile and you followed him out of the theater. 

he asked if you still wanted to head to the party. and you said yes, even though you weren’t sure why. the word left your mouth before you really thought it through, honestly. and he smiled, nodded, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like it was exactly what he hoped you’d say.

you told yourself maybe it’d be better—less awkward—with other people around. maybe being surrounded by music, chatter, and movement ease the tension. 

you trailed beside him through the lot, your heels clicking against the pavement, the cool air nipping at your arms. you were already dreading the moment it’d be just the two of you again, standing by his car or in the front of your dorm at the end of the night—bracing for the part where you’d have to let him down easy. tell him he’s a great guy. that you’re just not feeling it. that it wasn’t about him.

and no matter how nice matt was, no matter how well he treated you—he wasn’t the one you wanted to feel that way about.

͏✶

paige hadn’t even planned on going to the party.

she’d already half-decided on staying in, crawling into bed, watching grey’s anatomy for the millionth time, and maybe passing out before midnight if her mind would let her. it wasn’t like she didn’t want to be around people… it was just that everything felt kind of dull lately. muted. like no matter how loud the music or how packed the house would be, her brain would still be playing that same memory over and over.

you. your lips.

and she was trying. god, she was trying to get over it.

but now the whole team was going—just another athlete from uconn’s birthday party in one of those big houses just off campus. music, drinks, people from all over the university, the kind of party where no one ever really remembered who invited who.

at first, paige waved it off. said she was going to stay in when when azzi asked if she was going, and again when kk tried to bribe her with her tru fru in the fridge. 

but by the time she was alone in her room, the silence got too loud. and already just a minute alone, she was already thinking about you.

was it going well? were you still out with matt? did he kiss you? did you let him?

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath and sat up, rubbing her hands down her face. 

maybe a party wasn’t such a bad idea after all. at least there’d be noise. people. drinks. a distraction. anything to pull her out of her head for a couple hours. 

so she got dressed. nothing too much—some baggy pants, a clean black hoodie, her chain around her neck. she tied her hair up messily, threw on her sneakers, and left before she could change her mind.

the party was already alive when paige got there. music boomed from speakers too big for the living room, bodies packed wall to wall, red solo cups in every hand.

she stepped inside and felt it all hit her at once.

but she didn’t hesitate.

she spotted azzi and kk first—leaned up by the kitchen counter with aubrey and ice, already halfway into their second drinks, talking with some guys from the track team. azzi waved her over instantly, eyes lighting up as she yelled paige’s name through the noise.

“hey! you finally made it.”

paige grinned, playing it off like she wasn’t two seconds away from bailing earlier. 

“you thought i was gon’ let y’all have fun without me?” she said, slipping into the circle, dapping up ice and throwing her arm around kk’s shoulder.

“look at you tryna act like you weren’t just in your bed watchin’ greys,” ice teased, already laughing.

paige rolled her eyes, smirking. “first of all, grey’s anatomy is peak. put some respect on meredith’s name.”

they cracked up, and just like that, paige settled into room. she kept the energy up, laughing, talking shit, hyping up her girls, taking playful shots at aubrey’s outfit, nodding her head and doing the little shoulder bounce when a song she liked came on.

but no matter how much time she spent here, paige couldn’t stop checking her phone. she kept it in her pocket, fingers brushing against it every few minutes like muscle memory to pull it out and glance at the screen—just to see nothing. she shoves it back. tries to focus. laughs at something dumb kk said. nodding along to azzi’s story about some freshman trying to flirt with her after class.

but her hand always drifted back. she didn’t even realize how often she was doing it until aubrey gave her a look and nudged her playfully.

“you waiting on a text or something?”

paige forced a half-smile, eyes back on her screen. still nothing from you. just a couple random notifications—snapchat from someone she didn’t care about, an instagram tag, but nothing that made her excited the way your name would.

“nah,” she lied. “just checkin’ the time.”

but it was late now. later than she thought it’d get without hearing from you.

she just… wondered if you were okay.

if you were having fun. if he was being good to you. if he said something stupid, or tried to touch you, or kissed you when you didn’t want him to.

she hated how easily her brain jumped to those things. hated how it made her chest feel tight and itchy, like she had to dosomething even though she couldn’t.

you weren’t hers.

but thirty minutes later, just as paige was halfway through sipping a cup of shirley temple that azzi shoved into her hand, she saw you. 

you walked in through the front door with matt beside you, his hand sliding smooth around your waist and paige—she froze.

the cup hovered midair for a second before she blinked, slowly lowering it. her friends kept talking around her, but their voices blurred and faded away instantly the linger she looked at you. 

you hadn’t seen her yet. but she saw everything.

she saw the way you hesitated the moment you stepped further into the house, eyes darting around like you weren’t sure where to stand, or who to greet first. she saw the way matt leaned in to say something close to your ear, the way you tilted your head politely and nodded, but didn’t smile the way you normally did when something made you laugh.

but god—you looked so good.

paige couldn’t stop staring. she told herself to look away. just once. just for a second. but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

that sundress on you—fuck.

it was soft, a color that made your skin glow under the dim party lights, and it moved when you walked, swaying around your thighs. it hugged you in the right places, loose in others. your hair was done, your lip gloss shimmered under those tacky party lights, and your arms were crossed loosely in front of you. 

she had to drop her eyes for a second, tongue swiping over her bottom lip, jaw tight. she gripped the cup in her hand as if she could stop herself from imagining how your waist would feel in her hands.

because matt’s hand was there now. on you.

and it made her sick.

paige felt heat crawl up the back of her neck. jealousy wasn’t even the right word. it was something worse. something bitter. because matt wasn’t even doing anything wrong. not really. he was just… holding you like you were a trophy. like you were some prize he’d earned just by asking. like he knew every guy in the room would be looking and that was the whole point.

and you looked beautiful and uncomfortable all at the same time. paige saw it in the slight downturn of your mouth. the way you shifted in his hold, fingers fiddling with the strap of your bag.

she knew that face. she read you.

you weren’t having fun. you were pretending.

and then—you found her.

your eyes met hers and paige went still, all the bitterness on her face melted. completely gone. she straightened up slightly, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows to say hi silently.

then, she mouthed, “you okay?”

your mouth curled into the softest smile. not a big one, but paige saw it.

you nodded.

she returned it with a smaller smile.

then, paige watched matt lean in toward you as he said something near your ear. she saw the way your body tilted away slightly, your shoulder pulling back, your smile going a little stiff.

matt left you after that, saying something with a crooked smile before disappearing through the crowd, headed toward the kitchen. 

and unfortunately, that was where paige had already parked herself—leaned up against the counter with some of her teammates, her friends, trying her best to stay out the way, out the conversation, out of everything before she did something dumb.

she minded her business. she really did. sipped her drink, stared down at her phone, played it cool. 

until one of matt’s friends walked up next to him.

they dapped each other up and started talking sports, class, exams, who was pulling who this weekend—nothing she cared about.

she didn’t mean to hear the next part, but she did.

“yo,” one of his friends said, patting his back, “that girl you came with… she’s hot as fuck, man. you hit it yet?”

and matt—he fucking laughed. laughed like it was funny. like it was just a matter of time. 

he leaned his elbow onto the counter, lifted his drink to his lips, and said, “not yet… working on it, though. i think she likes all that romantic shit.”

like you were a job to finish. like you were just some easy bet.

paige didn’t even realize how fast her face dropped.

she stared at matt for a second, silent, clenching her jaw hard, her fingers curling tighter around her cup. she blinked once. then twice.

then she set her drink down on the counter and walked away.

her eyes scanned the room until she found you again. she found standing by group next to your friend riley, fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

you didn’t see her coming.

but paige was already pushing through the bodies, not even hearing her name when kk—was it kk? or azzi? or aubrey? she doesn’t know—called for her across the room. her hands were still shaking a little as she walked. she didn’t know what she was going to say. didn’t even care. she just needed to get to you. all she knew was that you didn’t deserve to be talked about like that. not by him. not by anybody.

you didn’t even seen her coming. 

one second, you were standing there half-listening to a conversation you weren’t really part of—and the next, paige was there, standing close.

you blinked, a little startled, heart skipping. then, paige leaned in, just enough that only you could hear her.

“can i talk to you for a sec?” she asked. 

her brows were slightly pulled together you felt your heartbeat tick up, and slowly, you nodded.

“… yeah,” you said, looking at her a little confused. 

paige didn’t smile. she just nodded once and gently reached for your wrist as she tilted her head toward the hallway.

and you followed without question.

paige led you down some hallway, away from the crowd. the hallway lights were dim, flickering slightly from a shitty bulb overhead, but she still looked nervous under it.

you leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, heart still fluttering as you looked at her. and paige just stood there for a second, hands stuffed into the front pocket of her hoodie, jaw clenched, staring at the floor before she finally spoke.

“i—” she started, but her voice cracked. she cleared her throat, looked up at you. “i saw matt in the kitchen. he was… he said—“

she stopped and looked at you. would this hurt your feelings if she told you?

your furrowed your brows together as you waited. but paige just swallowed the lump in your throat, shook her head a little like she was trying to talk herself down.

you blinked. “he what?”

“i don’t wanna piss you off,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “i just—i just wanted to check on you.”

you stared at her. “you pulled me aside for that?”

paige flinched a little at your tone. she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“you haven’t talked to me all week. this is the second time, paige,” you snapped at her, trying not to raise your voice. “i haven’t seen you, i barely even hear from you, and now you wanna show up and act like you care?”

“i do care.” paige winced and shook her head. “i wasn’t tryin to be like that, ma, i just—”

“then, why’d you disappear?”

paige couldn’t answer. she had it in her head, but saying it aloud was… different. she didn’t know how to say i’ve been losing my mind over you. or i want you so bad, it’s messing with my head.

she looked cornered. guilty. her lips parted, but the words didn’t come fast enough.

you shook your head, heart beating fast as you turned away. “forget it, paige.”

“wait—”

but you were already walking towards the door to the bathroom in the hallway and before paige could follow—the door shut right in her face.

she stood there, blinking. stunned.

then, she reached for the handle and tried to twist it open. locked. fuck.

“(y/n), open the door.”

she tried the handle again.

“c’mon… please.”

but you didn’t answer.

paige let out a long sigh and leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against the door. after a moment, she stepped backwards, dragging a hand down her face, then leaned her back against the wall across from the door… and waited.

she didn’t care who walked past, who saw her, who might start whispering about how bueckers looked all spaced out and weird in the hallway.

she was gonna wait.

her friends were probably wondering where she was by now. azzi had texted her a little while ago, but paige hadn’t checked her phone. she hadn’t even moved from the spot since you slammed the door. not one step.

ten minutes passed. at least, she thought it was ten. it felt longer. way longer.

her long legs stretched out in front of her and her fingers tugged at the strings of her hoodie over and over, just to keep herself busy. to keep from knocking again. she didn’t want to push. but god, she hated how long it was taking. not because she was impatient—but because she was scared that she’d really blown it.

but then, the door clicked softly, opening just a crack.

paige’s eyes snapped toward it. for a second, she didn’t move, unsure if she imagined it. but then the door eased open another inch, and she could finally see you. she stood up straighter instantly, her back pulling off the wall, her feet taking a few steps closer. 

you blinked at her, cheeks tinted pink as you murmured, “i… i need help with my zipper… it got stuck.”

paige stared for half a second longer, her brows raised in surprise, lips parting just slightly.

then she nodded, almost too quickly.

“y-yeah, yeah—i got you.”

she followed as you opened the door just enough for her to slip inside, stepping into the bathroom with you and quietly closing the door behind her. the bathroom was small. 

you stood in front of the mirror, not looking at her, just reaching up to gather your hair and move it to one side, exposing the line of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your spine.

the zipper sat halfway down your back, caught just where the fabric curved around your waist. your dress gaped slightly on your back, exposing the lace trim of your black bra underneath—

paige froze for half a second. she swallowed hard, eyes dragging up the length of your back, then back down again.

her fingers twitched at her sides.

“paige,” you said, bringing her back to reality. 

you watch her through the mirror. her eyes met yours through the reflection and you notice the way she clenches her jaw before stepping forward slowly. 

“sorry.”

her hand hovered for a second before she finally let her fingers graze the cool of the zipper. she let out a breath and brought her other hand up to steady the fabric, eyes focusing on your back, lips parted slightly as she tried to tug it gently. 

but her hands were shaking. just a little. 

paige tugged the zipper up slowly, and when it reached the top, she didn’t step away. she just stood there, eyes fixed on the back of your neck.

your hair was still swept to the side, skin exposed. her gaze lingered there for a moment, and then she looked up at the back of your head, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and then back down. to your dress. to the way it hugged your body.

her hand moved before she could stop herself, her fingers trailing down softly along the center of your back, following the shape of the zipper. she felt the curve of your spine beneath her fingertips.

and when her hand reached the small of your back, paige let it rest there for a second—her palm flat, sliding to hold your waist gently. 

“i like this,” she murmured.

you still didn’t turn around.

she could see your eyes in the mirror, a little wider now, a little softer. you blinked slowly, your lips parting like you were going to say something, but nothing came out.

paige was losing her goddamn mind.

she blinked, her thumb gently rubbing a circle into the dress, fully letting her large hands rest on your waist. she shouldn’t be touching you like this, not when she still didn’t know what you wanted, but she couldn’t help it. 

she couldn’t stop looking at you. 

then, she leaned in. just a little. and her voice dropped again, barely above a whisper.

“you look really good tonight.”

your breath hitched—paige almost didn’t notice. 

and then finally, you turned around slowly. and paige’s hand dropped to her side like it didn’t know what to do now. you looked up at her and she swallowed hard, trying to so hard to fight the urge to just… close the gap.

“…i’m sorry,” she said quietly, looking into your eyes. “for earlier. for this whole week.”

and for a second, you forgot where you were—forgot about the party still going on just outside the door, about matt, and everything else outside this room.

all you could focus on was her.

paige stood in front of you, taller by just enough that you had to tilt your head back a little to meet her eyes. and you always liked that. you always liked how tall she was. more than you probably should’ve.

“i missed you,” you tell her. 

paige licks her lips again, “me too.”

you stared at her, your eyes searching hers, trying to figure out what she was thinking. 

and then, you asked, “what did matt say?”

her breath caught in her throat, her shoulders tensed, and for a second, she looked like she might lie again. like she might protect you from it. but then she inhaled sharply, her eyes dropping to the floor, and she let out a breath through her nose, clearly frustrated.

she shook her head gently.

“he’s a douche bag,” she muttered finally, glancing away from you. 

the way her jaw clenched again said enough.

the way she didn’t want to look at you when she said it.

she wanted to say what he actually said. she wanted to say how she nearly lost it right there in the kitchen. she wanted to say she hated seeing you with him, hated the thought of his hands anywhere near you.

she furrows her eyebrows before looking directly into your eyes again.

“he doesn’t talk about you like he should,” she added. “like you’re some fuckin’ checkbox on a list.”

her stomach still twisted just saying that much. because it didn’t matter how polite matt was to your face. paige knew the second she heard him speak behind your back—he wasn’t worth one second of your time.

“i wasn’t gonna tell you. not like that. i didn’t… wanna make you feel like shit.”

another pause.

“but i also didn’t wanna let you stand there thinking he was some nice guy. you deserve better than that. way better.”

she was standing so close now, you didn’t even notice when she took a step closer.

“you deserve somebody who looks at you like…”

she stopped herself.

you could feel your heart thudding under your ribs, louder now. paige stared at you, throat moving as she swallowed.

“like i look at you,” she finally said, eyes darting down to your lips.

you stared at her.

then, to her surprise, your fingers found her hand, slipping between hers, intertwining your fingers. paige looked down and a slow smile tugs at the corners of her lips. 

“you’re an idiot, you know,” you say, shaking your head with a small smile, your eyes soft as you watch paige’s face.

she doesn’t miss a beat—she nods her head immediately, obediently and a little sheepish, her grin spreading wide enough to light up the whole room.

“i know,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your soft lips.

her fingers tighten around yours just a little as she takes one more final step closer to you, trapping you between her and the bathroom counter. 

paige’s eyes flickered back up to yours, before whispering, “did you kiss him tonight?”

you looked away for a moment, swallowing hard.

“yeah,” you admitted softly. “i did.”

you can clearly see paige clench her jaw when you said it, but she didn’t say anything else—just waited for you to keep going.

“but… it didn’t feel like—” the heat spread all over your cheeks, blushing hard as she stared at you. “it didn’t feel like when you kissed me.”

paige’s lips curved up even more. it was the kind of smirk that started in one corner of her mouth and made its way up like she couldn’t hold it back even if she tried. she was getting cocky. you could tell. the kind of cocky that came from hearing exactly what she wanted to hear.

“yeah?” she said, a little smug, eyes dropping again to your lips, then back up. “that right?”

you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your mouth. her free hand brushes gently against your hip. 

“could’ve told you that. ain’t no way he kiss you better than me.”

you smiled at how smug she was being. 

then, you noticed it before paige did—the way her face kept inching closer to yours, just a little bit at a time, with each passing second. and you could feel it. her soft breath on your lips. it sends a shiver down your spine. you could see it clear as day in her eyes—the way they darkened with want, the slight part of her lips. 

she wanted to kiss you. 

your eyes flicked up to hers, catching that glimpse of need swirling behind her gaze. the way her pupils dilated ever so slightly, the way she licked her her lips. the way her hand slides a little lower on your hip to pull you closer, pressing your front against hers.

paige was so close now. closer than she had any business being. 

you could tell she was trying to talk herself out of it—trying to be smart, respectful, hold back like she always did around you.

you feel her breath against your lips as she asks, “can i?”

her eyes didn’t leave yours. she didn’t lean in all the way. she waited. paige didn’t move. not even a twitch. she was frozen in that quiet anticipation, standing still like she was afraid the smallest shift might scare you off.

you saw it in the way she looked at you. how much she wanted you. how much she was trying not to take anything from you.

she wasn’t trying to rush into it, even though she wants to. as if kissing you again was a privilege. 

your throat felt tight, and you nodded before you even realized you were doing it.

“please…” you breathed.

paige’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching your face like she needed to make absolutely sure. 

she smiled. and then, slowly, she leaned in.

her forehead brushed yours first like she still couldn’t believe this was real. for a second, she just stayed there, nose nudging yours, her hand sliding up to the small of your back, holding you in place, your body pressing against hers. you could feel her breath fan across your lips, and when she finally tilted her head just enough for her mouth to meet yours—

she kissed you. 

and you melted into it.

paige kissed you slow. so slow it almost didn’t feel real at first. her lips barely brushed yours as if she was giving you the chance to change your mind. her mouth pressed into yours again, deeper this time. soft. deliberate. her other hand found your jaw, cradling your face gently, her thumb brushing your cheek.

and her lips… god. her lips were everything.

pillowy and warm and just the tiniest bit chapped like she’d been chewing on them nervously all night. they moved slowly with yours. her nose bumped yours a little, and then, she smiled into the kiss, just barely, smiling like she couldn’t believe she had you this close again.

your arms lifted until they wrapped loosely around her neck, fingers brushing the stray hairs at the nape of her neck, right beneath her bun, and her body reacted before her mind even caught up. her breath hitched. her hand gripped your waist tighter. she kissed you deeper then, her lips parting just a little more, her mouth moving against yours like she couldn’t hold back anymore.

you pulled back just a little—barely an inch—to catch your breath, lips parted, chest rising and falling as your fingers still rested gently behind paige’s neck.

and before you could even fully take a breath, paige was already chasing your mouth. 

her lips followed yours instinctively. desperately. her mouth brushed yours again, a little clumsy this time. her hand on your waist tightened just the slightest bit. 

her nose bumped yours as she whispered breathlessly, “mm-mm, don’t pull away, ma.”

your lips were barely apart when she kissed you again, but this time, she moved faster. needier. rougher. deeper. her mouth opened just slightly against yours, and her tongue slipped in, moaning softly as she tasted you. like she was afraid it might be the only chance she’d get. and you kissed her right back. didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. your lips opened for her like it was natural. like you’d been waiting for her to get brave enough to do it.

and when you moaned into her lips—paige feels like she’s losing her mind. 

your hands at the back of her neck gripped just a little tighter, pulling her in, and paige let out a breathy noise against your mouth. a sound she didn’t even mean to make.

she kissed you like she couldn’t stop. like she didn’t want to stop.

your lips were so damn warm, soft, and addictive in a way that made her head spin. every tilt of your head, every breathy sound you made, every slow drag of your lips over hers just pulled her in deeper.

then, you pulled away again, breathing hard, lips tingling and slick from the kiss. your eyes fluttered open, barely able to think, let alone speak—and before you could say anything, paige was already moving, leaning in slow, her breath grazing your cheek, and then you felt the soft press of her mouth against the line of your jaw.

one kiss. then another. then another, lower, just under your ear. 

her hand flattened at your waist as her body pressed closer until you could feel every inch of her against you, still trapping you between her body and the cool edge of the bathroom counter.

it made your knees feel weak.

outside the door, you could still hear the muffled music pounding through the walls, but it all felt far away. like none of it mattered. because paige’s lips were moving down your neck now, brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, her mouth open just enough to let her tongue flick gently against your skin.

you gasped, your hands clutching the fabric of her shirt, and she smiled against your throat, smug breath fanning across the wet spot she left behind.

“mm,” she hummed, “you smell so fuckin’ good.”

paige kept kissing your neck, her lips moving over the curve of your throat like she needed to taste every inch of you. your jaw dropped open as you breathed out, eyes fluttering shut, your head tilting just slightly to give her more space.

and paige felt it. the way your breath hitched.

the way your fingers dug into her shoulders, holding on to her. the way your chest rose against hers like you couldn’t get enough air. she groaned low against your neck just thinking about it. 

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath. 

and then, you felt her hand sliding down your side, past your waist, then back behind you, her fingers gripping fabric of your dress. you gasped when you felt her hand bunch it up, inch by inch, pulling the hem higher and higher. her palm smoothed over the back of your thigh, fingers spread wide, grazing the top curve of your ass and—

“paige,” you breathed out, voice soft but firm, your heart racing, “paige… wait—”

you pulled back just a little, your hands pressing gently to paige’s chest, and the second you did, she froze.

her lips hovered by your jaw, parted and flushed pink as her breath came out shaky. she looked at you, eyes half lidded, blinking slow like she was trying to process what was happening, her pupils blown, lips slick and swollen. she looked drunk on you. high on your skin. your taste. your breath. your lips.

paige let out the softest sound, a little whine, as her brows knit together, a little frustrated. her lips parted again like she wanted to argue, to beg you for just one more minute, one more kiss, one more second of being that close.

but she didn’t.

instead, she exhaled hard through her nose and dropped her forehead gently against your shoulder, her hands now resting at your waist, loosening her grip. 

“i like kissing you,” she murmured, her lips brushing your collarbone. 

the party was still loud outside. muffled bass thumped through the floor beneath your feet, and someone laughed down the hall. but all of that felt so far away.

she turned her head just slightly, nose brushing your neck again, “been thinkin’ about it since that night.”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still on your hips, thumbs brushing slow over the fabric before her eyes found yours. 

“can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” she said.

you reached up slowly, your hands trembling just a little as they cupped paige’s face, fingers settling along the sharp line of her jaw beneath your palms. your thumbs brushed over her cheeks, soft against the slight roughness of her skin. paige’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch as you held her face. 

“i’ve been thinking about you too.”

paige’s eyes slowly opened, dazed as she looked st you—like she couldn’t quite believe you were really there, really saying those words. god, she feels like she’s dreaming. fuck, she’s been dreaming about this for years. 

then, she let out a soft breath and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. her tongue darted out quickly to wet her bottom lip, that nervous little habit you’d come to recognize whenever she was trying to hold herself together. 

without breaking eye contact, her hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. then, her fingers slid lower, sliding over the curve of your hips before cupping your ass with her hands. you felt the breath hitch as paige’s hands gripped you tighter. her lips hovered near yours, her eyes drinking you in, wanting more, needing more. 

“my roommate’s… out of town this weekend,” you said. 

her eyes darted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, her fingers flexing slightly against you, not sure if she’d heard you right. 

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks and tried to glance down, away from her eyes, but her hand on your lower back pulled you gently forward again.

“yeah?” she asked.

you nodded. 

and paige smiled.

then, her forehead dropped to yours, breath brushing your lips.

“you tryna tell me somethin’, ma?” she murmured.

you nodded.

her thumb brushed along your waist and she leaned in to kiss you again—just once. and when she pulled back, barely, her voice dipped into a whisper again, lips brushing against yours. 

“you wanna get outta here?”

͏✶

the walk back to your dorm was a blur.

you don’t really remember most of it—just the way paige held your hand the entire time, her thumb brushing soft circles against your knuckles.

paige didn’t say anything when you fumbled for your keys, just stepped in close behind you as you reached for the door.

her breath was warm against your neck.

and then, her hands. they slid around your waist, pulling you back gently, and her mouth found your jaw before you even registered it, soft lips pressing open kisses along your skin, trailing toward your ear, your neck, to your jaw again and again and… 

you gasped, your keys trembling in your hand.

“p-paige—”

“shhh,” she mumbled into your skin, already kissing lower. “just keep goin’. i got you.”

you barely got the key in the door. your fingers shook from how close she was, how her body pressed firm and slow against your back, her hands smoothing over your hips like she needed to feel every inch of you.

you tried to unlock it. you really tried—

but paige kissed your neck again, a little harder this time, nipping your skin with her teeth, and you moaned before you could stop yourself.

“fuck,” she whispered, “i could listen to that all night.”

finally, the lock clicked. 

you pushed the door open and she followed you in, still kissing you, turning you around with her big hands to lean down and kiss your lips. you stumbled inside and she kicked the door closed with her foot. her mouth never left yours.

and soon, her hands were already at the hem of her hoodie, yanking it up over her head in one swift motion.

you broke the kiss for just a second, lips parted and dazed as you watched her—her chest rising fast beneath the tight black tank top clinging to her, her hair messily loosened from the bun it had been in, some strands sticking to her forehead.

she looked wrecked already.

and god, she hadn’t even started.

she dropped the hoodie to the floor and before you could say a word, she was on you again—her hands finding your waist, then your back, then your thighs, like she didn’t know where to touch first, just that she had to. you kissed her back just as hungrily, the momentum sending you backward until the backs of your knees hit your bed.

she pulled back just enough to breathe, her lips swollen and her eyes dragging over your face like she couldn’t believe that you were real. that she was hovering over you. kissing you. in your bed. 

“take this off for me, baby.”

paige’s hands were already moving, sliding around your waist, fingers dragging down your spine until they found the zipper for the second time tonight. you stood still in front of her, chest rising fast, lips parted from where she’d just kissed. and then you felt her pull the zipper down. inch by inch.

her fingertips grazed your bare skin as the fabric loosened around your body, and the way she touched you sent heat rushing up your neck.

her eyes never left you as she lowered it. the air feels cool across your skin as the dress gave way, sliding down your shoulders, slipping over your hips, and pooling silently at your feet.

paige froze when she looked at you. completely still.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you like it was the first time she’d ever really seen you.

she didn’t say anything for a second. just let her eyes trail down the curve of your neck, your chest, the lace of your bra, the lines of your waist, your thighs.

you loved how she looked at you. 

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” she stepped in close again, her palms finding your hips. 

your voice barely made it out. soft, breathy, your heart thudding so loud you swore she could hear it.

“paige, i… i don’t really know how to—”

paige leaned in, her hand coming up gently to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin so softly it made your stomach twist.

“i know, ma,” she murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth before you could say another word. then again, lower—your jaw. your neck.

she looked up at you as her thumb stroked your cheek.

“i’ll take care of you,” she says, smiling. “you don’t gotta worry about a thing.”

then she stepped even closer, her nose brushing yours, lips ghosting over your mouth.

“imma take my time. imma treat you real good. you trust me, right?”

you nod and she pecks your lips.

“tell me, mama.”

you reach up and wrap your arms loosely over her shoulders as she leans down, her hands still on your hips.

“i trust you.”

paige smiled again. 

her lips still trail over yours, then down your jaw. when she kissed the side of your neck this time, it was slower. less hungry. more… intentional.

“tell me if you wanna to stop,” she told you. “say the word, and i’ll stop. for real.”

you shake your head, “i want you, paige.”

you didn’t want her to stop.

so you leaned up just enough, your hand sliding into her hair, messy and a little loose, almost falling out of her bun. 

you kissed her first this time.

and paige melted into it.

for moment, she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face like she needed to  make sure you were sure again. and when she saw the way you were looking at her—her breath caught in her throat. 

she leaned down, kissed you slow once more, then gently guided you back, laying you down across your bed. she was gentle. like she was lucky just to touch you.

you sank into the mattress, heart pounding as paige hovered above you. her hand brushes lightly over your side, watching your eyes, then she sat up. 

without a word, she reached for the hem of her black tank top and pulled it over her head, revealing her sports bra, the muscles in her arms flexing as she did. she tossed the shirt aside, then brought her hands to the button of her jeans. 

you watched, barely breathing, as she popped it open. slid the zipper down. slowly. 

and eased the denim down her hips.

she watched your eyes as she undressed, making sure you were watching her. you see her smirk, a soft chuckle leaving her lips when she sees you roll your eyes at how smug she’s being right now. 

soon enough, she stepped out of them, now left in just her boxers and her bra.

god—she was beautiful. tall. lean. strong.

“still okay?” she asked. 

“yeah,” you nodded. barely a whisper. “i want you.”

and paige smiled softly, a little crooked, “aight then.”

she couldn’t help but stare for a moment. 

paige hovered above you, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, her hands planted on either side of your head like she was caging you in. 

she looked down at you—laid out beneath her in nothing but that fucking black lace, the same one she’d gotten a glimpse of in the bathroom, the one she hadn’t stopped thinking about since—fuck.

it was like the air had been knocked clean out of her chest.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you. the rise of your chest. the curve of your stomach. the way your thighs pressed together nervously, your fingers twitching against the sheets.

her mouth parted, lips still swollen and glistening.

“goddamn,” she whispered, voice barely there.

she ran a hand over her face and licked her lips, like she was trying to wake herself up.

her eyes dropped again, slowly tracing every detail—how the lace hugged your curves, the way your skin looked in the dim light of your room. 

how absolutely perfect you looked beneath her.

she shook her head like she couldn’t believe it.

“so gorgeous, baby,” she murmured, leaning down again, her lips dragging over your neck. “so fuckin’ fine.“

paige kissed lower—her mouth pressed soft, lingering kisses across your chest, your shoulders, the valley of your breasts, a hand coming up to cup them and squeezing softly before sliding down to your waist once more. her fingers traced along the side of your hips, thumb slipping just under the lace of your panties, and she groaned against your skin, her breath hot.

“this what you wore under that dress?” she asked. 

she kissed you again—even lower this time, just above your stomach. and you nodded, cheeks pink, and she grinned against your skin, her teeth catching your hipbone gently.

“you wore this for him?”

you opened your mouth to explain, to say no, but paige looked up at you then, eyes locked with yours. desperate. possessive.

she leaned up again, her hand sliding up your side, over the curve of your ribs until she reached your bra strap. she toyed with it a second, then whispered—

“nah. you wore this for me.”

you couldn’t even argue.

“right, baby?” she murmured, her thumbs playing with the waistband of your panties. “tell me who you wore it for.”

you could barely breathe, let alone speak.

your chest rose and fell under her, every inch of your skin burning where she touched, where she looked. her body was so close, heat radiating off of her like fire, and god, her voice was doing something to you you didn’t have words for. her hand stayed right there on your hip, fingers slipping under the lace edge again, teasing you. her eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting, mouth parted. 

“you.” you swallowed, lips barely moving when you whispered, “i wore this for you, paige.”

paige smiles, her cheeks burning more than ever as she moves to bury her face into your neck, hiding the blush fanning over her skin. 

when she lifts her head up, her lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time. her hand slid up your thigh, her body lowering to press more firmly against yours. 

you whimpered into her mouth, wrapping your legs loosely around her waist without thinking, pulling her in closer, needing more. she gasped at that, hips rolling slow against yours once, once, and her whole body stiffened like she couldn’t take it.

she kissed down your neck again, right against your skin. her hands a quick to pull that bra off of you, desperate to feel your tits in her hands. she squeezes them lightly, dragging her lips over the soft flesh, smiling at the feeling of your hard nipples under the pads of her thumbs. you whimper quietly as she gently wraps her lips around one of your nipples and sucks, licking them softly as her hand toys with the other. she switches when she felt like it, giving each nipple equal attention, kissing and marking your skin.

she kisses you down the valley of breasts again, giving each of your boobs a gentle squeeze, before making her way down to your stomach, where she meets the waistband of your lace panties again. paige does well to tease you, skipping the fabric and traveling lower. she kissed the inside of your thigh, slowly, savoring the way your body responded—how you tensed and softened at the same time. how your hand reached blindly for her shoulder. 

she kissed higher. then higher.

her breath hot. her lips soft and maddeningly slow.

her fingers spread along your thighs, thumbs brushing upward toward your hips. 

she wanted you to feel safe. wanted you to feel everything.

soon enough, paige finally pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere behind her. her eyes never moved away from your body, watching as you squeezed your thighs together, shyly looking at her, you eyes half-lidded. you laid there, bare, hair fanned out on the mattress, over the sheets of your bed, waiting for her…

paige’s knees nearly gives out. her cheeks burning as she stares, her hands absentmindedly reaching to put her hands on your thighs, gently nudging them open.

“spread your legs, mama,” she says, mouth parted, almost as if she was drooling. “lemme see you.”

“paige…” you whimper softly.

“swear, imma make feel you so good.”

there’s a soft shuffling of the sheets as paige urges your thighs apart with her big hands, settling herself onto the bed. with her head between your legs. mouth practically watering. big blue eyes locked onto that perfect pussy of yours. she smirks when she sees how wet you are. fuck, you drive her crazy. she slicks a finger between your folds and hums, leaning closer, nudging her nose against your clit. 

when her mouth finally met where you needed her most, your back arched. your and paige—god, she moaned when she tasted you. her tongue moved slow at first. learning you. she was taking her time. wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. like she just wanted to worship you. you whimpered, your hand flying to her blonde hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as her mouth moved against you, licking deeper, firmer, then softer again, teasing.

“p-paige, hah--!”

paige groaned into you, your moans only feeding her ambitions, gripping your thighs tighter, and when you gasped and your hips bucked gently, she held you down with one strong arm, never letting up. and you could barely think. she was relentless. so tender. so focused. like she’d been dreaming about this exact moment. she has been, actually. she’s dreamt about having you in her bed. legs spread open. body writhing. screaming her name. leaking all over her sheets. 

“you taste so fuckin’ good,” she whispered against you, her mouth still working between your legs. 

your eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the pillow, thighs shaking. and when paige covers your entire clit with her mouth and just sucks hard—you can’t help but moan her name out all over again. 

she fucks you slow, her mouth and tongue watering as she eats you out, absolutely obsessed with the way you roll your eyes back in pure ecstasy, your soft thighs closing in around your head, trapping her there. 

paige thinks she’s in heaven. fuck, she could die happy right now. her face buried and tongue buried deep into your pussy. sucking. slicking. slurping. you taste so fucking good. 

and you were already close--god, how long has it been? you could barely breathe. every sound slipping from your lips was soft. desperate. with your hips moving against her mouth without even realizing it. and paige groaned again. she loved that. every time you moaned, every twitch, every whimper—she needed more of it. she fucked you deeper, licked faster, her mouth dragging over your most sensitive spot in a way that made you cry out.

she wanted you to fall apart.

“you close, ma?” 

you only moaned in response. 

paige smiles. her eyes fluttered open for a second, catching your face twisted in pleasure, and she swore under her breath before closing them again, diving back in.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, baby,” she mumbled against your cunt. “just like that. lemme hear you.”

your legs tightened around her shoulders, your hands still tangled in her hair, and she didn’t stop—god, she didn’t even slow down. she licked you through every sound you gave her.

you were close. she could feel it. you could feel it.

and fuck—she was close, too. paige has never felt anything like this before. but, it’s so hot watching you come undone. her whines against your pussy turn into fervent moans and groans, absentmindedly grinding her hips into your bed as she continues to fuck you faster with her mouth. paige feels so fucking good. you taste so. fucking. good.

“f-fuck yes--(y/n)—“

and then you’re cumming right on her tongue.

but paige keeps her head buried between your thighs, her mouth relentless as she fucks you more through your orgasm. your hands flew to paige’s head without thinking—fingers tangling tight in her blonde hair, not sure if you wanted to push her away or pull her closer. you gasped, back arching off the bed as you let out a choked sound. your fingers tightened, tugging gently, but paige didn’t budge. she just groaned, moaning into your slick cunt, eyes half-lidded as she continued to eat you out. 

god, paige was practically drunk on you. as if this was more pleasure for her than it was for you.

“paige—fuck, paige—wait—” you gasped, trying to speak through the stimulation.

you moan her name again, already nearing your second orgasm. you can feel her strong, big hands clinging onto your thighs, keeping you open, pushing you down onto the bed in case you even think about trying to push her away. but she just slurps. and slurps. everything is just so sloppy. so lewd. she laps at your cunt, her hips needily grinding into the mattress at the mere thought of you cumming again. 

she held you through it, her mouth never leaving you, her arms never loosening, like she needed to feel every single second of you breaking apart in her hands.

she didn’t lift her head.

she didn’t even pretend to stop.

before you know it, you practically gush onto her face, crying her name out once again. 

and while you came on her tongue, her hips jolted forward on instinct, her boxers sticking damp against her skin, and then—

a low groan tore from her throat, muffled into your skin, her mouth still on you as she cums in her boxers, untouched. paige clung to your thighs, her fingers digging in slightly, her body rocking forward once, then twice.  she shakes slightly, resting her forehead against your lower stomach as she catches her breath. she could feel how wet and how hard she came. 

her face stayed pressed against your skin, breath shaky, heart pounding, teeth sinking into her lip as she tried to collect herself.

you were breathless. completely spent. your chest rising and falling fast. she didn’t say anything at first. with your body still buzzing, you blinked up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling slowly as you tried to breathe. 

“hah--fuck, i…” paige pants quietly. 

“paige,” you breathed, “d-did you just…”

her whole body stiffened.

you watched as her back rose with a deep breath and then stuttered when she exhaled. she turned her face slowly, pressing it into your stomach to hide, her arms tightening around you in embarrassment.

her voice came out muffled, “y-yeah.”

you blinked, your mouth parting slightly in awe. 

and then—god, she groaned into your skin, clearly mortified, clearly red as hell even if you couldn’t even see her full face.

“fuck, don’t make it a thing,” she mumbled shyly into your belly. “i didn’t mean to… i wasn’t—”

she stopped for a second.

“you just… sounded so fuckin’ good. i couldn’t help it.”

your heart fluttered. 

then you smiled and reached down, your fingers gently threading through her hair, feeling the damp warmth of her cheek against your stomach.

“paige…” you whispered.

her cheeks were so red. flushed all the way up to her ears, lips parted, her breathing still shallow like her body hadn’t come down yet. strands of her hair clung to her forehead, lips swollen, and her lashes fluttered as she finally met your eyes.

“come here.”

paige obeys immediately. 

she kisses you along the way, dragging her lips across your skin. she just kissed the inside of your thigh, soft and slow. then again. then she pressed her lips higher, just above your hipbone, her hand brushing gently up your side.  her mouth trailed along your stomach in a line of soft kisses,

she took her time.

soon, her lips found your ribs, the underside of your breast, your nipple, the dip beneath your collarbone. and when she finally reached your mouth again, she hovered for a second, her nose brushing yours. 

your eyes opened slowly, just enough to see her looking down at you like you. 

not a word left your lips as she watched you smile softly. 

you just leaned up and kissed her, slow, and she melted into it immediately, sighing into your mouth like she’d been waiting all her life for it.

and immediately, your breath hitched.

because you could taste it. yourself. on her. 

the heat in your cheeks spread quickly. you felt it the second your tongue slipped against hers. 

paige groaned quietly into the kiss when she felt your body react, her hand slipping to the side of your neck, holding you there gently. like she couldn’t stand the space between you. she kissed you deeper. slower. and you kissed her back. you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer, your fingers sliding over the tight muscles in her back, feeling her breath stutter against your lips as you parted your mouth for her again.

her lips were so soft. warm. still a little swollen. and the taste of you on her tongue was intoxicating. you whimpered softly without meaning to, and she pulled back just an inch, barely enough to speak, her forehead resting against yours.

then, without warning, she just… blurted it out. 

“can i take you out?” 

you blinked up at her. once. twice. before your brows lifted in surprise, heart skipping hard in your chest.

“what?” you whispered, almost laughing, partly stunned, like maybe you’d misheard.

like maybe she didn’t really just say that with her body still pressed to yours, both of you naked in your bed.

but she nodded. serious. face still flushed. 

“like… on a real date,” she said. “like dinner. or… whatever you want.”

she swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes scanning all over your face for any sign of doubt.

“you’re seriously asking me that… right now?”

“well… i’ve been wantin’ to ask. i just…” she smiled a little, sheepish. “kinda figured maybe i should do it after i made you cum first.”

your jaw dropped. 

and all you could manage, through the haze of disbelief and the tiredness through your body, was--

“you… are so annoying.”

paige blinked.

then grinned. wide. mischievous.

“c’mon,” she laughed, burying her face into your neck, her body shaking as she clung to you and laughed. “don’t play me like that—i was tryna be romantic.”

“that was romantic?” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“pretty sure,” she muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “i made you cum so hard you forgot how to say yes. that’s gotta count for something.”

you rolled your eyes, cheeks burning as you smacked her shoulder lightly.

“paige!”

“what?” she grinned, finally lifting her head, eyes shining, face flushed and soft with affection.

you rolled your eyes again, but your hand moved and stayed in her hair, your thumb idly brushing the edge of her ear. dazed at the feeling of your touch, paige leaned in again, pressing the gentlest kiss to your collarbone, then your shoulder, then the corner of your mouth.

“i meant it, though,” she said quietly. “about the date.”

“yeah, i know,” you say, smiling softly, noticing how nervous she’s gotten all of sudden. 

paige looked at you. really looked this time. it was dark in your room, but she could see your face clearly. her smile lingered, but it faltered slightly around the edges. and then her eyes dropped to your lips, then your collarbone, then back to your eyes again like she couldn’t settle.

“i really like you.”

she swallowed hard. like the words tasted too big in her mouth. like they’d been sitting there for years and this was the only way they’d come out. 

“i have for a long time,” she admitted. her voiced cracked the tiniest bit. she smiled again, but it was nervous. “i didn’t know how to say it before. or if i should. or if you’d wanna hear it. but… i do. i really… really like you.”

her thumb brushed your hip gently, her body still pressing against yours, scared you’d pull away.

you didn’t say anything at first.

you couldn’t. you just looked at the pink dusted across her cheeks, the way her lashes fluttere, the way her mouth twitched at the corners like she was trying to smile through the panic.

paige bueckers, who was usually so calm. so goofy. poised… looked terrified with you.

“paige,” you whispered, barely getting her name out.

her eyes moved up to meet yours, and for a second she looked like she regretted everything she just said. like she wanted to pull the words right out of the air and take them back.

you shook your head slowly, blinking back the sudden heat behind your eyes.

“why didn’t you ever tell me?”

she gave a weak, breathless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

“shit, i don’t know,” she said, shaking her head softly, eyes dropping again. “i honestly didn’t think you’d even consider me. and i didn’t wanna mess up what we had, too, so...”

she paused before speaking again. 

“but when i kissed you that night, i… fuck, i couldn’t stop thinkin about you.”

immediately, you reached for her slowly, cradling her face in your hands, thumbs brushing over her hot cheeks.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you either,” you admitted. 

paige’s lips curved up into a crooked smile. she let out a small huff through her nose, her forehead resting against yours. 

she couldn’t believe this was real.

then she pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a hand moving to your waist, her thumb brushing gently over your skin. she couldn’t stop touching you even if she tried.

“so…” she mumbled, lips twitching up into another grin. “you’ll go on that date with me?”

you roll your eyes first, but you could see it on her face that she was trying to play it cool, trying not to seem too eager, too in her feelings. but she was. she wanted this. wanted you. and not just like this.

she wanted more.

“yeah,” you nodded. “i’ll go on that date with you.”

paige beamed, practically glowing, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“bet.”

you barely had time to breathe before she kissed you again. gentle. smiling against your mouth like she couldn’t help it. in truth, she really felt like her heart was overflowing and kissing you was the only way to keep it from spilling out everywhere. you kissed her back, laughing a little through your nose when she nosed at your cheek afterward, all soft and affectionate, like her whole body had relaxed for the first time in weeks.

you though about the party. how you left matt without even saying goodbye to him. paige pulled you out of the door before you could even look at him. she didn’t want you to look. but she spotted him back in the kitchen as she walked you out. gave him a glare as she pulled you through the party, a hand low on your waist, pulling you close to her body, making sure he saw.

and god, did it make her feel good. 

“you really are annoying,” you mumbled again, your fingers sliding through her hair at the nape of her neck.

“mhm,” she murmured, mouth moving against your jaw. “you already said that.”

her lips traced a lazy path down your jaw, then dipped to your neck, pressing gentle kisses and licks that made your skin shiver. her mouth found your collarbone next, sucking softly, stealing your focus a little more as she marked up your neck with light bruises. 

“i meant it,” you said, suddenly shaky. 

“i know, baby.”

finally, breath hitching in your throat, you whispered, “paige…”

but she only hummed in response, her lips continuing to explore your delicate skin. her lips pressed against your skin again.

you tried again, little more desperate now, “p-paige…”

but she just smiled against your skin, humming like she was saying i hear you, even if she had no plans to stop.

her hands slid up your sides, warm palms trailing, fingers dragging lightly along your ribs, and your whole body shivered. you felt her nose brush your neck, and her mouth found the spot just below your ear.

another kiss. slower. then another. and another.

you tried to speak again. tried to say something, anything—but your breath stuttered again the moment her mouth opened just a little against your neck, her tongue tasting the edge of your pulse, where your skin was sensitive.

“paige,” you exhaled, almost scolding, but it came out as a whisper.

“mm?” she hummed. 

her lips never leave your skin. your fingers curled gripping her shoulders. you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say anymore. your head tilted back without even thinking, inviting her in, chasing the feeling of her mouth. she kept kissing you. lazily. hungrily. like she had all the time in the world and none at all. you felt her tongue graze your neck, felt her hand slide up the back of your thigh again. 

you felt dazed. as if she were kissing the thoughts right out of you. as if she’d made up her mind that she was going to kiss every single inch of you until you couldn’t think straight.

and fuck, it was working.

“i wanna fuck you again,” she confessed quietly against your neck. 

“please,” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear. “don’t stop.”

you feel her smile against your skin. 

and just like that—she was yours. and you were hers.

for real this time. no more pretending.

just… you. and her.

finally.

you love it here.

you love the way mist moves—fluid, unbothered, sharp at the edges. no wasted motion, no panic. just reads and counters and trust.

you also love that across the facility, breeze is running drills just as hard.

you can almost feel it. that invisible thread between courts, between colors yet kate had texted you an hour ago.

don’t let stewie bully you in practice.

you’d sent back: worry about your own team, martin.

she’d liked the message. then: drop 30 on them for me.

you’d rolled your eyes, smiling into your phone like an idiot before shoving it back into your bag.

it happens on a closeout, nothing dramatic.

veronica swings the ball to the corner. you see it early. you’re already moving before the pass leaves her hands. sprint. chop your steps. right foot plants to explode into the contest—and the world tilts.

your knee doesn’t buckle, it gives like something inside it just…slides out of place, there’s no loud pop just a wrongness that crawls up your spine.

you don’t even cry out at first. just a sharp inhale, and a confused blink then the floor rushes up.

the hardwood is cool against your palm. the ceiling lights blur. for half a second, practice keeps going. someone takes the shot. someone boxes out. then—“hold up—”

“yo, she’s down.” music cuts mid-beat, the bass dies. sneakers scrape toward you in frantic arcs.

arike is the first one there, crouching, eyes wide but steady. “don’t move,” she says quietly, like she’s afraid her voice might make it worse.

breanna’s hand finds your shoulder, grounding. “where?”you try to push up on your elbows.

the pain answers for you. it’s deep, blooming, wrong like pressure building under your kneecap.

“knee,” you whisper and that’s when the fear creeps in. not because of the pain but because you know this feeling.

you’ve felt instability before. you’ve felt that sickening glide that shouldn’t happen.

your throat tightens. allisha kneels in front of you, blocking out the rest of the gym. “look at me,” she says gently. “breathe.” you nod, you’re breathing but it just doesn’t feel like enough.

breeze is finishing a defensive shell drill when mist’s assistant coach rushes in.

paige is mid-sentence about something ridiculous, cameron arguing a screen angle with too much intensity for a random thursday. rickea is leaning against the wall pretending not to listen, smirk barely contained.

“kate.”

it slices through the gym, kate turns immediately. “yeah?”

“we need you.” she frowns, sweat darkening the collar of her practice tee. “for what?”

a pause.

“it’s y/n.” it doesn’t take more than that as her stomach drops before her brain catches up.

she doesn’t ask how bad, she doesn’t ask what happened, she’s already moving.

paige’s teasing grin fades. “i’ll tell coach,” she mutters, watching kate disappear through the doors.

you’re sitting up now, ice wrapped around your knee, trainers pressing gently along the joint. every touch makes you flinch.

you hate this, hate the circle of bodies, and hate the way your teammates are trying not to look scared.

arike is pacing, breanna has her arms crossed tight across her chest, veronica keeps glancing toward the door like she’s expecting someone then there’s a shift in the air.

not loud, not dramatic, just—her. “move,” kate says, and it’s not mean, not loud, just firm enough that people listen without thinking.

she drops to her knees in front of you like the hardwood doesn’t matter like nothing does.

her hands don’t go to your knee first.

they go to your face, as her warm palms bracketing your jaw. “hey,” she says softly and it breaks something in you because she looks terrified.

not annoyed, not inconvenienced, terrified. you try to smile. “hi.” her jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?”

“don’t pretend you’re fine.” your eyes sting before you can stop them. she slides one hand down, lacing her fingers with yours. squeezing once, grounding. 

her thumb brushes over your pulse like she’s checking you’re still here. “what did they say?” she asks the trainer, voice controlled, even, but tight at the edges.

“we need imaging. there’s instability.”

instability, the word lands heavy in your chest.

kate nods once, composed, captain-steady but her thumb keeps tracing slow circles over your knuckles like she’s trying to anchor you to the earth. “okay,” she murmurs. “we’ve got this.”

we.

not mist, not breeze.

we.

they bring the cart, you hate the cart yet it feels like surrender. “i can walk,” you insist, stubbornness rising up to mask the fear.

arike snorts softly. “no you cannot.” you try anyway as the second your weight shifts, your knee wobbles.

kate is on you instantly. one arm firm around your waist, the other braced under your forearm as her grip is strong, unshaking. “easy,” she whispers against your temple.

her breath is warm, steady. you lean into her without meaning to as the entire mist roster is watching.

you don’t care. she helps you onto the cart, hands lingering at your hips just a second longer than necessary, like she needs to feel you solid under her palms.

“look at me,” she says.

you do. her eyes are glassy, but she’s holding it together for you. “breathe with me.” in, out, in, out. the gym fades, it’s just her voice.

imaging is cold. sterile, you hate the hum of the machine. hate being still, hate not knowing.

kate isn’t allowed in the room as that’s the worst part for her. she paces the hallway in slides and practice shorts, hair still damp from drills.

paige tries to joke—something about mist sabotaging breeze before playoffs—but it dies halfway out of her mouth when she sees kate’s face.

rickea leans against the wall, quiet for once, cameron hands kate a water bottle she doesn’t open. “she’s tough,” paige says finally, softer now.

kate nods. “i know.” her voice cracks anyway because tough doesn’t mean untouchable and she knows exactly how fast everything can change.

when you come back out, drained and aching, brace secured tight around your knee, the first thing you see is her standing up too fast like she’d been coiled.

she’s still in practice gear, sweat dried at her collar, hair pushed back as her jaw is tight enough to hurt.

the second your eyes meet, something inside her loosens. “hey,” she says again.

always hey. you give her a tired smile. “miss me?”

her mouth twitches. “don’t.”

the doctor talks. swelling, possible ligament involvement, more tests tomorrow with no conclusions yet.

kate asks questions. return timeline, protocol, worst case, best case.

she doesn’t miss a detail, you just watch her the way she positions herself slightly in front of your chair like she could block bad news if it tried to reach you, like she could stand between you and anything that wants to take you off the court.

when they finally leave you alone for a minute, she crouches in front of you again in the same position, same eye level.

her hands rest carefully on your thighs, thumbs brushing just above the brace. not touching the injury, just close enough to remind you she’s there. “you scared me,” she admits.

it’s quiet, raw, no cameras, no teammates, and of course no rivalry just her. you swallow. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize for getting hurt,” she says immediately. “just—don’t ever do that again.”

you huff a weak laugh. “i’ll try scheduling it when you’re in the gym next time.”

her lips twitch there she is, as  she leans forward, pressing her forehead gently to yours careful, tender. “i hate that i wasn’t there,” she whispers.

you close your eyes. “you came,” you murmur back. she exhales, shaky. “of course i did.”

like it was never a question, like breeze bc could run practice without her, like mist bc could tease her later and like none of it matters if you’re the one hurting.

later, mist’s locker room is nearly empty.

showers off, music gone and just the low hum of ventilation and the ache in your knee. allisha squeezes your shoulder before she leaves. “text us.”

breanna presses a quick kiss to your hair, arike points at kate. “take care of her.”

kate nods once, serious. “always.” when she helps you stand, her hands are firm at your waist again. steady, warm, familiar.

you look up at her. “you know we’re still playing each other next week, right?”

her brow lifts slightly. “good,” she says. “gives you something to rehab for.”

“what if i’m out?” her jaw tightens. “then i’ll sit with you,” she says simply. “i’m not playing you if you’re not playing.” you blink. “kate—”

“i mean it.” there’s no bravado, no joke, just devotion.

outside, the evening air is cool.

she opens the passenger door to her car, one hand braced at the top so you don’t hit your head, the other steady at your back. she adjusts the seat so your knee can stretch out, buckles you in when your hands shake too much.

when she finally slides into the driver’s seat, she doesn’t start the engine right away. she just reaches across the console and takes your hand and holds it as you squeeze back, teams may split you on paper.

colors may divide the court, crowds may cheer when you guard each other full court but when it matters—when you’re down on hardwood and the world tilts wrong—there is no breeze.

there is no mist, there is only her hand wrapped around yours and the way she will always come when someone says your name.

she drives slower than usual. one hand on the wheel, the other still holding yours across the console like letting go might undo something fragile.

streetlights pass in soft intervals, washing the inside of the car in gold, then shadow, then gold again. your knee throbs in time with your heartbeat. every bump in the road feels amplified.

kate notices, she always notices. “tell me if it’s too much,” she says quietly.

“it’s fine.” she shoots you a look. you sigh. “it just hurts.” her jaw flexes. she adjusts her driving even more—careful over dips, slow over turns. “i’m sorry,” she murmurs. you turn your head toward her. “you didn’t twist my knee.”

“still.” she hates not being able to fix things, you know that about her. her apartment smells like clean laundry and whatever candle she left burning before practice. something soft, vanilla, maybe.

she helps you inside like you’re made of glass shoes off, bag dropped by the door. she lowers you onto the couch gently, crouching in front of you again, hands hovering over your brace. “does it need more ice?” you nod.

she disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a fresh pack wrapped in a towel. kneels. adjusts it carefully over your knee, fingers brushing skin with reverence.

you watch her, the way her brows knit together. the way she keeps swallowing like there’s something lodged in her throat. “kate.” she looks up immediately. “yeah?”

“i’m still here.” her eyes soften. “i know.”

but she leans forward anyway, pressing her forehead lightly to your thigh—just below the brace. her hands slide around your calves, careful, grounding for a second she just stays like that breathing.

you thread your fingers through her hair. “you don’t have to be scared,” you whisper, she lets out a humorless huff. “too late.”

later, when the pain meds start to blur the edges of everything, she carries you to her bedroom actually carries you. you protest weakly, she simply ignores you. “you’re not walking on it,” she says simply.

her arms are solid around you. secure. like she’s done this a thousand times before in some other life where injuries don’t exist and it’s just you and her and quiet.

she lays you down carefully. adjusts pillows under your leg. makes sure the brace isn’t pressing too hard then she sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. “what if it’s bad?” you ask softly.

she doesn’t look at you at first then she does and there’s that honesty again, raw and unfiltered. “then we handle it,” she says. “whatever it is.”

“even if i’m out for a while?” her expression flickers pain, determination.

“then i’m there for every rehab session,” she says. “i’ll drive you. i’ll sit in the corner and annoy the trainers. i’ll bring you food. i’ll make sure you don’t rush it.” your throat tightens. “you have your own season.”

“so do you,” she replies. “doesn’t change anything.” she reaches for your hand again, like it’s instinct now. like she needs the contact as much as you do.

“you think i care what jersey you’re wearing?” she murmurs. “mist. breeze. whatever. you’re mine before you’re any team’s.”

the words settle heavy and warm in your chest. you squeeze her fingers. “don’t get possessive on me, martin.” her lips curve faintly. “too late.” night falls slow and quiet, she refuses to sleep until you do.

sits beside you, thumb tracing lazy lines across your knuckles, listening to your breathing even out and when you finally drift off, she leans forward and presses the softest kiss to your temple like a promise, like a vow she never had to say out loud.

tomorrow there will be scans with results, decisions, rehab schedules, headlines, maybe but tonight—it’s just her hand wrapped around yours and the steady rhythm of her staying.

the room is dim except for the soft glow of the lamp she forgot to turn off.

your leg is propped carefully on pillows, brace snug, ice long since melted into a forgotten puddle in the towel on the nightstand. the pain is still there—dull now, less sharp—but it’s no longer the loudest thing in the room.

she is not in sound in presence.

kate shifts closer on the mattress, careful not to jostle you. one arm slides around your waist, slow and deliberate, like she’s mapping out safe territory. her palm spreads flat against your stomach, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt.

“does this hurt?” she murmurs against your shoulder. you shake your head. “no.” she exhales softly, relieved in a way she tries to hide.

her nose brushes the back of your neck. her breath is warm there. steady. she presses a small kiss just below your ear—nothing urgent, nothing heated, just reassurance.

you shift, turning carefully onto your side so you’re facing her. it takes a second, she’s already watching you always watching. you reach up, brushing a stray hair away from her forehead. “stop looking at me like that,” you whisper. “like what?”

“like i might disappear.” her jaw tightens. “i just—” she swallows. “i need to see you.”

so you let her, you let her trace the outline of your face with her thumb. let her memorize the slope of your cheek, the press of your lips, the way your eyes are heavy but still open. “i’m not going anywhere,” you say softly.

“good,” she replies immediately, like she’s been holding that word in all night, you smile faintly.

she slides her hand down your arm, lacing your fingers together again. instinct. automatic. her other hand drifts lower, resting carefully on your hip—close enough to feel your warmth, far enough from your knee to avoid any accidental pressure.

you tug her closer she comes without hesitation your foreheads touch. the rivalry is gone here. no mist, no breeze yet no film to watch or plays to memorize just the quiet hum of the apartment. just the slow rhythm of her breathing syncing with yours. “you know,” you murmur sleepily, “if i’m out for our game…”

“don’t,” she warns gently. “i’m just saying,” you continue, voice softer now, “you better not enjoy it too much.” her lips ghost over yours in the faintest kiss. not claiming. not demanding. just there.

“i don’t enjoy any game you’re not in,” she whispers. you hum, satisfied. your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, anchoring her like she anchored you earlier, she shifts again, carefully sliding one leg between yours—mindful of the brace—creating that familiar, tangled position you’ve both fallen asleep in more times than you can count.

her hand rubs slow circles against your back, over and over, steady yet grounding. you feel your body finally relax into the mattress. into her, into the certainty of being held. “get some sleep,” she murmurs.

you press your face into the hollow of her neck. “only if you stay.” her arms tighten slightly around you. “i’m not going anywhere,” she says again and this time, you believe it without needing proof.

outside, the city keeps moving, tomorrow will bring answers. timelines. maybe hard truths but tonight—it’s just her warmth wrapped around you.

- it all started with a knee sprain

- some vet that loved to play dirty wanted to foul but ended up pushing her on the ground and landing right on her leg

- so here's where you come in

- the first session was interesting to say the least

- it was just after the incident when she was urged back to the recovery rooms for examination

- you asked her the routine questions, watched the play back, developed a diagnosis

- all while she was practically drooling staring at you

- kid you not, this girl couldnt take her eyes off you

- you were icing her knee—focused and determined (as you should be)

- she spoke up, "you always this gentle with your patients or am i just special?"

- your expression remained unchanged, "i treat all flirts with ice"

- "you think i'm a flirt?" she smirked

- you rolled your eyes wordlessly and pulled the wrap tighter before walking away with a glare

- paige hissed, then smirked, "worth it."

- by the third session, she was fully hooked

- she was clearly healed enough to use resistance bands on her own, but she insisted that you have to help her

- she let the band snap out of place just so you would readjust it

- "my bad," she said for the second time in five minutes, "need you to fix it again...preferably while you tell me about your favorite first date spot."

- you exhaled sharply, "you're very committed to this act."

- "not an act," she insisted, eyes locked on you, "just gotta trust the process."

- day four:

- when she walked in, she grabbed a nearby massage gun and pretended it was a mic

- "so...what's it like working with someone as attractive and talented as paige bueckers?" she teased, holding the piece of equipment out to you for the bit

- "wouldn't know," you said simply, still focused on the paperwork in front of you, "she's never on my table. where she's supposed to be."

- "ouch, maybe i do need more ice."

- "you do need ice, but you know that's not why," you said unimpressed

- she followed behind as you walked over to one of the recovery beds, watching as you gathered your supplies

- she plopped onto the bed, eyes still on you, "seriously though...if i weren't your patient, would you say yes?"

- "it's unethical, bueckers," you said coolly. your tone was even as you began taping her knee

- "but it ain't in the rule book," she pointed out

- "like you read rules books."

- "for you i did," she said proudly, puffing her chest out dramatically, "that has to count for something, right? maybe a date this friday?"

- "please," you scoffed, "the only thing i've seen you willingly read was the flavor label on a gatorade bottle."

- later that night, your phone buzzed with a text from the girl

- "do i get less time in the ice bath if i think my pt is hot?"

- then a second text right after

- "kidding. kinda. but also not. coffee after friday's session?"

- you left her on read

- but you'd be lying if you said the texts didn't make you smile

- the next day held the next session: another opportunity for paige to shoot her shot

- you were checking her flexibility, guiding her through her recurring knee tensions

- "does this hurt?" you asked

- "only when you ignore my texts," she said with a small fake pout

- "you're getting more bold each session," you shook your head, "more delusional."

- "i'm recovering. mentally...physically...romantically," she droned on teasingly

- and then the next session...

- she missed the laundry bin. again.

- "you have two functioning legs, bueckers, use them," you glare at her as pick up her towel for the third time

- "but it's so much sexier when you do it," she smiles

- you throw the towel back at her, making her laugh lightly

- "okay, okay—but admit it, i'm growing on you."

- "like mold."

- "sexy mold," she wiggled her eyebrows jokingly

- "you're disgusting," you mutter as you walk back to your computer

- "okay i'm sorry, can i make it up to you? over fro-yo? this friday?"

- "still no," you called out

- "one day," paige declared, "i'm wearing you down!"

- finally: the friday morning session.

- she's rolling out her quads with the foam cylinder, groaning way too dramatically

- "this is torture. you enjoy this, don't you?"

- "a little," you admit with a small smile as you clean off a nearby table

- paige pauses her stretch, glancing at you from her mat, "you know what would really help with my recovery?"

- you stop your motions with a sigh, raising an eyebrow at the blonde

- "a fro-yo date. tonight. with my favorite pt," she says confidently

- you scoff with a humorless laugh

- she looks up at you, voice softer now, "no games. i like you. you make all this easier."

- there's a beat of silence. then your lips twitch into the smallest smile

- "...pick me up at six."

- she stands up too fast out of excitement. winces from the sharp pain, "worth it. so worth it."

THERE’S NOTHING WRONG with Lucas.

You tell yourself that a lot. Not because you don’t believe it, but because you do. You believe it so much, it almost feels rehearsed.

Lucas is easy to love. Easy to explain. He says what he means and he follows through. He’s the kind of person who brings you flowers on a random Tuesday and remembers your favorite kind without needing to be reminded. He holds the door open for you—not in the forced, performative way, but just because that’s the kind of person he is. Thoughtful. Steady. Soft around the edges in a way that makes other people relax just by being near him.

Your friends love him. Your mom keeps saying things like “he’s a keeper” and “baby, he is so in love with you” and it’s not like she’s wrong. He texts back. He listens. He laughs at your jokes, even when they’re not funny. He gets along with your dad. He plays video games with your little brother. He always smells like laundry detergent and cinnamon gum, and when he kisses you, he cups your cheek like he’s holding something precious.

You like that. You like him.

It’s good.

It’s normal.

It’s healthy.

And for the most part, you don’t think about anything else. Not really. You’ve been… training yourself not to. You’ve developed entire routines around the art of not thinking about her—deleting old playlists and creating new ones, watching different shows, changing your route to class, rewriting entire chapters of your day-to-day life just so you don’t trip and fall back into the places where she used to live.

And it’s worked. Mostly.

Until it doesn’t.

Because Lucas will be saying something—something sweet, something thoughtful, something that would’ve made you melt if this were your first relationship—and you’ll feel this tiny flicker of something you can’t name. Not sadness. Not longing. Just… something. A quiet, sinking realization that you should be feeling more than you are. That what he’s saying is right, and hood, and all the things you’ve ever been told to want—but it’s landing in your chest like a feather instead of a thunderstorm.

And that’s the thing. Lucas is feathers. Warm, light, gentle.

But Paige?

Paige was fucking weather.

Not sunshine or softness or stillness, but storms. Paige was thunder and static and lightning under your skin. Being with her felt like leaning too far out of a window just to see what would happen. Like running a red light or driving a hundred miles an hour. Reckless. Stupid. Exhilarating.

Not that you think about her. You don’t.

You don’t think about the way she used to kiss you like it was the last time, even when it wasn’t. You don’t think about the fights that started over nothing and ended with slammed doors and tear-streaked apologies. You don’t think about the 2 AM screaming matches in her car that would turn into the 2:07 AM make-outs that made your head spin and send heat to your core. You don’t think about how being with her made you feel like a live wire—shocking, wild, electric.

Lucas makes you feel like you’re being taken care of. Like your future has clean lines and soft landings. He respects your boundaries. He never raises his voice. He doesn’t make you wait three hours for a reply, only to show up at your window like he’s in a movie. He’s never left you crying in the rain. He’s never made you cry in the rain.

It’s easy, being with him. Comfortable.

And maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe that’s why you said yes when he asked you out, and why you kept saying yes after that. Maybe that’s why you’ve tried so hard to get used to all this normalcy. You wanted someone who didn’t make your heart feel like it was constantly trying to break out of your chest. You wanted someone calm, steady, safe.

Lucas is all of those things.

He doesn’t make you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t make you feel like you’re on fire.

There are no extremes. No chaos. No bruised egos or tearful apologies or scream-raw throats. He doesn’t make you second-guess yourself, and he never looks at you like he’s seconds away from either kissing you or shouting at you. He just looks at you with kindness, with a quiet sort of adoration, like you’re exactly who he hoped you would be.

And still—still—there are nights when you find yourself lying awake next to him, the glow of your phone lighting up the ceiling, and you feel something sharp and shapeless pressing at the back of your mind. Not a memory. Not a name. Just pressure. The kind you used to feel when things were about to go wrong. Or when things were too good to be true. Or when she was around.

You don’t let yourself go there.

You shut it down

Because it’s not fair to Lucas, and it’s not fair to you. You’ve moved on. You’re fine. Everything is fine.

And besides, you already tried loving like that.

You gave everything—everything. You screamed and sobbed and kissed like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into someone like Paige Bueckers and got spit back out with bruises you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t sustainable. It wasn’t good.

You remind yourself of that whenever your mind drifts.

Lucas doesn’t make you cry.

Lucas shows up.

Lucas texts back.

Lucas doesn’t run hot and cold. He doesn’t storm out of rooms. He doesn’t pull you into closets at parties and fuck you until your legs are shaking, only to pretend like nothing happened the next day. He doesn’t keep you guessing. He’s consistent. Warm. Soft.

You can trust him.

You just don’t burn for him.

And maybe that’s what growing up is. Learning to choose what’s good for you over what feels good in the moment. Learning to stay steady instead of chasing the highs and lows of a love that made you lose your mind.

So, no—you don’t miss Paige.

Or, at least, that’s what you’re currently telling yourself.

You’re at Ted’s. UConn’s beloved, grimy, too loud and far too small campus bar. It’s girl’s night out—no Lucas, no boyfriends, just you and your friends. The music is bad, the floor is sticky, and you’ve already had one too many drinks, but none of that is really the problem.

The problem is that she’s here.

Paige fucking Bueckers is here.

Of course she is. Of course she’d pick tonight to show up, like the universe just can’t let you have a single night off. She’s across the bar, flanked by her teammates, posted up like she owns the place. And she kind of does. She’s got that charm, that draw—the one that makes people want to be near her, even if they don’t know why. She doesn’t even have to try.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen her since the breakup—seven months, not that you’ve been counting—but that doesn’t make it easier. The sting hasn’t dulled. The ache hasn’t faded. Every time you see her, it feels like getting burned in the same exact spot over and over again. Your body should be numb to it by now, but somehow it never is.

And worst of all?

She looks good tonight. So good it makes your stomach twist and shrivel.

She’s wearing black cargo id that sit low on her hips and cling just enough to the right places. A white collared crop top, short-sleeved and perfectly fitted, which gives you a detailed fucking display of her biceps and abs—both of which are bigger, sharper, more defined than when you had her. She’s been hitting the weight room hard this summer. You know it. Everyone knows it. She must want that natty bad.

She probably wants it more than she ever wanted you.

You hate how bitter that thought tastes going down, but it’s not like it’s new. That feeling—that doubt—was there the whole time. The fights. The jealousy. The nights she didn’t text back. The way her phone would light up late at night and she’d just turn it face down and mumble something about it being nothing. You wanted to trust her. God, you tried. But it was always like walking a tightrope with her. One wrong move and you’d fall.

She was a fuckboy before you got together, and you’re sure she’s a fuckboy again now. Probably worse. Seven months is plenty of time for her to rediscover all her old habits. You can practically see it written all over her tonight—the loose body language, the flirtatious smile, the way her eyes scan the room like she’s picking her next fuck. She’ll take someone home tonight. You don’t even have to wonder.

Some girl—probably sweet, probably impressionable, probably someone who has no idea what it’s like to be wanted and discarded by Paige Bueckers—will follow her home. She’ll get to experience first hand what all the hype is about.

You try not to think about how that was once you. Try not to think about the way Paige would toss you onto her bed and kiss you like she needed it to breathe. Try not to think about the desperate way she’d strip you bare. Try not to think about the skill her hands and mouth and hips held. Try not to think about the way she used to look at you—like she couldn’t believe she got to have you.

You try not to think about any of it.

You stare at her, hating her and wanting her and hating that you want her. And her hair’s down tonight—down—long and straight and golden under the bar lights. She never wore it down when you were together unless you asked, unless she was feeling soft, unless you were the only one she wanted to impress. She’d preferred it up, out of the way in a bun or ponytail. But now it’s out and shining like a fucking halo or something.

She’s laughing at something KK said, her mouth open and easy and happy, and you hate how good it looks on her. How it makes her shoulders shake just slightly, how her head tilts back, how she glows. She’s got a Dirty Shirley in hand—of course she does—and a devil-may-care look in her eyes like she’s on top of the world. Like nothing, not even you, ever touched her deeply enough to leave a mark.

She doesn’t notice you staring.

Good.

You tear your eyes away with more force than necessary, like dragging a splinter out of your own skin. It leaves you raw. But you want let yourself look again. You won’t.

Your drink is almost gone. You need more. You need to blur this out, soften the corners of the room until her shape doesn’t stand out in it anymore.

You mutter something to your friends and slip away toward the bar. Your legs feel heavy. Your skin too warm. You feel her presence behind you like a heat lamp, burning a hole in your back even if she’s not looking.

You shove through a group of guys yelling about the Celtics and wedge yourself between a couple of juniors who are too busy taking selfies to notice you. The bartender glances at you once, uninterested. You order a shot.

Then another.

Then, one more with your friend who just walked over.

You were tipsy before—now you’re full-on drunk. It’s dangerous and smart for this situation. You needed it, but it could also make things catastrophically worse.

You glance back—just once, just to be sure—

And she’s looking right at you.

Her mouth is still curved in a half-smile from the joke someone made. But her blue eyes are locked into yours, and for a second, just a second, the noise of the bar fades.

And you remember everything.

Every fight. Every fuck. Every late-night apology. Every quiet morning. Every lie you swallowed. Every truth you ignored. Every time she held you like she’d never let go.

And then did.

You break eye contact first.

Not because you want to. Not because you’re strong enough to look away. But because the heat of her stare is too much—it crawls beneath your skin, presses against your throat, makes your chest ache in that way that only she ever could. And you’re too fucking drunk to pretend like it doesn’t affect you. Too fucking drunk to pretend it doesn’t burn.

So you look away.

Swallow hard.

And then you turn your back on her, like the coward you swore you wouldn’t be.

Your stomach twists as you push through the crowd, arms bumping shoulders, elbows knocking against glasses. You’re headed for the bar bathroom, and you don’t even care how pathetic it looks. You need a second. You need air. You need to not be near her.

You make it to the restroom, barely missing the girl stumbling out with her heels in her hand and lip gloss smeared against her chin. You shut the door, lean back against it, and exhale hard through your nose.

It’s a shitty little bathroom. One mirror. Flickering light that doesn’t help stop your intoxicated brain from spinning. Peeling poster on the wall advertising Tequila Tuesdays. You avoid your reflection because you already know what you’ll see: mascara slightly smudged, lips parted, that look in your eyes—like you’re unraveling. You can feel it. You’re slipping. The drunk is mixing with the memories now. You’re seeing her hands on your skin again, hearing her laugh against your neck. You’re remembering the way she used to back you into this same wall when the two of you would sneak off here together, tipsy and breathless and stupid in love.

You press your palms to your eyes and mutter, “Fuck,” under your breath.

You hate her.

You hate her so much.

Except… not really.

You swore you didn’t miss her. You swore you over it. You promised everyone, including yourself.

But underneath all the anger and the betrayal and the hurt you still carry in your ribcage like broken glass, you do fucking miss you. God, you miss her. The way she smelled. The way she’d look at you. The way her voice would soften when she said your name. You miss what it was like when it was good—when she let you in, when she chose you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to breathe.

Then—the handle jiggles.

Your eyes snap open.

The door creaks. You forgot to lock it all the way.

And there she is. She slips inside like a shadow and shuts the door behind her, slow and certain. Her eyes are already on you—the same icy blue. You can tell by the look in them that she’s just as drunk as you are. You want to scream at her. You want to melt into her arms.

“You were looking at me,” she says simply. But there’s a rasp to it that makes your skin tingle.

You swallow and straighten your, your reflexes all sharp and brittle. “No, I wasn’t,” you snap, defensive, even though your voice cracks halfway through it.

She steps closer—crowding you, closing the distance in two long strides. You stumble back, spine hitting the cool tile wall behind you, and she plants her palms on either side your head, caging you in.

Her gaze flickers—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again. She’s reading you like she used to. And then she’s leaning in, breath fanning against your face as she tells you, “Don’t lie.”

Your breath catches. You look up at her, feeling small beneath her height. She was always good at making you feel that way. She’s still staring at your lips. You try not to stare at hers. “Don’t,” you say, and your voice is small, too small.

But she already knows that “don’t” means “do.”

Her hands find your waist, hot and certain. You should push her away. You should tell her to leave. But you don’t. You can’t. Your fingers curl into the collar of her shirt instead, and then she’s kissing you, and it’s not gentle. It’s rushed and tough and months too late. Her lips crash into yours like she’s staring for you, and you let her take what she wants.

Because you want it, too.

Paige’s hands are everywhere and nowhere, gripping and slipping and dragging fire down your sides. You can feel her breath stutter every time your hips tilt forward just slightly, like your body is trying to remember hers on instinct alone.

You’re both far too drunk, you know that. Her balance is all fucked, her touch a little too eager, a little too messy to be calculated, but she’s trying to make it feel that way. She’s trying to keep control. Her arm is braced next to your head, her body angled so your only exit is through her. She always used to do that. Always made herself a wall. And now she’s doing it again, caging you in like she owns the right to.

And worse—you’re letting her.

You’re letting her and kissing her and grabbing at her like you never want her to leave. You’re cheating. You know that. You know that Lucas is probably asleep at home, completely unaware that you’re pressed up against a bar wall right now with your tongue in your ex-girlfriend’s mouth.

And you should care.

But you don’t.

All you can feel is Paige—her mouth, her tongue, her teeth. All you can taste is her Shirley and whatever shots she’s been drinking and your lip gloss that’s been smeared across both of your mouths.

And beneath that—deeper than the alcohol and the anger—is the hurt. Yours and hers, bleeding through your kisses like you’re both too stubborn to admit how much it still matters. You hate her. You fucking hate her for what she did, for how she made you feel, for the way she stopped calling and let everything rot in silence.

But you also want her.

Desperately. Viciously. Shamefully.

She kisses you harder, lips slotting with yours like she wants to devour you whole. One of her hands drags up your side, long fingers bunching in your tank top until it wrinkles under her grip. Her other hand finds your hip and squeezes hard—possessive, rough, like she’s trying to bruise herself back into you. And you don’t stop her. You tilt your head back when her lips begin to trail downward, dragging along your jaw, your neck.

She sucks there, open-mouthed, like she wants to leave a mark. You gasp. Your fingers tighten on her shirt. Your knees almost buckle, and you’re suddenly very grateful the wall is there.

She knows what she’s doing. Of course she does. She’s always known.

When she gets to your ear, she nips—just the edge, sharp and quick—and you inhale so hard your vision blurs.

Then her hands slide from your hips to your waist and she presses her mouth right against the shell of your ear, voice low and warm and dripping with something that feels way too much like the past.

“Come back to mine, mama,” she whispers, pinching your waist for emphasis. “Let’s leave.”

Your breath catches. Everything slows, just for a second. You hear the music pounding from the other side of the door, the sound of someone laughing in the hallway. You feel her breath fan across your neck, her body flush with yours, her large hands holding you with a firm grip.

And you want to say no. You should say no.

But you’re drunk. And this is Paige.

You lean your head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips brush your throat again.

“Okay,” you breathe, so quiet you’re not sure she heard it.

But she does.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and pink, face flushed. She doesn’t smile. She just lifts her hand, swipes her thumb across your lower lip and chin, wiping her spit away. And then she grabs your hand and pulls you toward the door.

You stumble out of the bathroom together, the door creaking wide and hitting the wall like a gunshot in the haze of noise and cheap bar lighting. Neither of you say anything—you just look at each other and then move in sync, turning toward the back entrance like it’s muscle memory.

It is muscle memory.

The same hallway, the same emergency exit sign buzzing slightly overhead. You’ve done this before—slipped out together, ducking before your friends could ask questions or try to convince you to stay, walking home in that stupid little bubble where it was just you and her and the fucked-up, magnetic thing that kept dragging you together. It feels like that again. Familiar. Dangerous.

You push the door open, and the rain hits you in the face like a slap. It sobers you up maybe half a percent, just enough to register how soaked the ground already is. You look up in disbelief. The sky is coming down heavy now, full-on pouring—of course. Of fucking course.

Paige lets out this short laugh, all breath and surprise, like she can’t even believe the timing either. “Jesus,” she mutters, throwing one arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer into her side. “We gotta walk.”

You just nod because you already knew that. Her apartment isn’t far—not that you’ve been to the new one, just that you know the building. It’s about ten minutes if you’re sober and walking with purpose. Which, neither of you are right now. You’re drunk. She’s drunk. You’re dressed for the bar, not a rainstorm. And you’re making the worst decision of your entire relationship history, possibly of your life.

But you go anyway.

The two of you start moving down the sidewalk, feet slapping against puddles, your arm wrapped tight around her waist now, because fuck it, she’s warm and solid and familiar. Her shirt is clinging to her by the minute—white cotton soaked through and sticking to her torso, giving you a clearer outline of the muscle she’s been building all offseason. You glance at her abs, now shiny and wet with rain, and immediately look away again. Mistake. Everything about tonight is a fucking mistake.

Still, your body keeps walking.

The rain is cold and heavy, but your skin is buzzing and hot from the alcohol and the adrenaline and whatever this horrible, electric thing is between the two of you. It’s always been like this—heightened. Too much. Like your nervous system doesn’t know what to do around her except overload.

You try not to think. You try not to remember.

But you do.

You remember the last time it was late at night and raining and you were with Paige. Screaming in the middle of the street, voices cracking and soaked to the bone, fighting like it was the end of the goddamn world. And it kind of was. You ended up having angry sex in her car afterward, teeth and nails and hands clawing for something solid, something familiar, even if it hurt. You broke up the next morning.

You remember the heat of her skin, the sting of her words, the way she looked at you like she didn’t know whether to worship you or run from you.

But that’s how it always was.

You and Paige were never soft. You were sharp edges and blood-hot emotions and never knowing whether the night would end in a fight or a fuck. You both went a little insane because of the way you felt about each other—because neither of you ever knew how to not feel too much.

And now, you’re cheating on your boyfriend just to feel it again.

You shove the thought down as hard as you can. Focus instead on the way Paige’s fingers dig slightly into your waist every time you slip a little on the slick concrete. On the way her hair, long and straight and down for once, is starting to curl at the ends from the water. On how your teeth are starting to chatter even though the warmth from her body is leaking into yours, bit by bit.

And then, out of nowhere, Paige just stops walking.

You barely register it at first—your steps carry you half a beat too far until she tugs you back by the hand. You turn to ask what the hell she’s doing, but then she’s already kissing you.

Right there, in the middle of the fucking sidewalk in a downpour. No warning. No buildup. Just her mouth on yours like gravity snapped and she had no other choice. And maybe she didn’t; maybe neither of you do.

It makes sense.

When you were together and she was drunk, Paige always got like this. Clingy. Touch-starved. She’d pull you into her lap at parties, curl up behind you on the couch, mouth against your ear saying dumb little things that would make you blush. Always wanting to be near you, in you, around you, on you—like proximity made it easier to breathe.

That version of her is here now, kissing you like she’s trying to devour you. Her hands cup your face, holding you steady, but her mouth is anything but—urgent, greedy, moving over yours like she’s trying to memorize every part she’s been missing. Her lips are warm and insistent even through the cold, even through the rain that’s coming down heavy, pattering against the sidewalk, running down your neck, getting between your clothes and skin. It’s kind of miserable, but it also kind of doesn’t matter.

Because Paige is kissing you like she’s pissed off. Like she wants to make a point. Like she’s angry she still wants you, and the only way to get it out is kissing you hard enough to bruise.

And God, you feel it. Your body is lighting up from the inside, every part of you buzzing. You can taste the rain between her lips, the mix of it and her chapstick and the alcohol on both of your tongues. Her hands slide into your hair, tugging you toward her harder. It’s enough to coax a gasp out of you, and that only makes her groan and lick further into your mouth.

It’s clumsy and wet and messy, teeth knocking a little, breaths hitching, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for rational thought. And you let it happen. You lean into it. You want to punish her a little, too—want her to feel it like you do. So, you kiss her back just as angrily, like she’s not the only one with something to prove.

But then the chill starts to creep in. You’re soaked to the bone now, both of you only in tank tops, and the wind cuts sharp across your face as it whips through the street. As hot as you feel inside, you’re suddenly aware your body is freezing. Besides, you need to be somewhere inside to satisfy your real need—the one resting between your legs, pulsing and aching with want.

You pull back just a little—your lips slipping away from Paige’s, breath fogging between you—and try to catch your bearings. But Paige isn’t done. She follows you forward, mouth chasing yours like she can’t stand even the smallest bit of distance. Her nose bumps yours, big hands still gripping the sides of your face.

“Okay,” you mutter, voice breathless, dazed, trying to push her back with shaky hands on her chest. “Let’s go, c’mon.”

She stares at you, blue eyes wide and glossy under the streetlight glow, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

“Needa—apartment,” you stumble, the words coming out in fragments because your brian is still somewhere back in that kiss. “Like, now.”

Paige blinks like she finally remembers where the two of you are. She exhales slowly before nodding quicker, saying, “Yeah. Yeah.”

It doesn’t take much longer to get to her apartment. She’s in a different building now, not the same one she lived in when you were dating. You don’t even get a chance to look around before she’s telling you, a little breathless, “Jana and Allie are both staying at Azzi and Morgan’s tonight. We ain’t gotta worry ’bout none of that.”

You nod. “Good,” you reply, but it’s barely out of your mouth before she’s already closing the space between you once more.

Her mouth crashes into yours with this messy, impatient heat that catches you off guard even though you probably should’ve expected it. You gasp slightly, back hitting the wall with a dull thud as her hands find your hips and press in like she’s trying to fuse herself to you.

She kisses you hot and desperate, tasting like her Shirley and rainwater and you, like she’s been starved for too long and forgot what moderation is. Or maybe she never knew in the first place. Her breath is shallow against your cheek when she pulls back just barely, only to bite at your bottom lip, gentle at first and then not. Your knees buckle a little.

She starts walking you backwards eagerly, quickly. Your shoes squeak faintly against the hardwood floor, and every few steps, she pauses to kiss you again—at your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—each one a little sloppier than the last, like she’s trying to leave her mouth on every inch of your skin that’s currently available. You stop for a second to kick your shoes off, Paige doing the same, before her hands are right back on you.

You let her guide you, stumbling slightly but somehow never really tripping, your hands tugging at her shirt now without hesitation. Your fingers find the hem and you push upward, palms grazing the warm skin of her stomach, the firmness of her abs. She lifts her arms to help you, eyes fluttering shut for just a second as the tank top peels off her like a second skin, damp from the rain and sticking to her in places. You toss it aside without even looking where it lands.

She’s gorgeous like this—hair damp and sticking to her temples, broad shoulders gleaming slightly from the rain, eyes half-lidded and wild, white sports bra soaking into her skin. You pull her back in. She lets you, fingertips digging into your waist as she spins you slightly and then walks you back the rest of the way.

The door clicks shut behind you, Paige’s hand still on the lock as she flicks it closed without even looking. You only catch a blur of her bedroom before she’s pushing you, your back hitting her mattress with a dull thud. The bed’s soft, and it dips underneath you as Paige follows right after, crawling on top of you without a second thought.

She kisses you hard the moment she’s close enough. No pretense. Just mouth on mouth, rough and messy and hungry. Her knee slips in between your thighs like it belongs there, and suddenly she’s pressing forward, using the weight of her body to open you up, her hands already sliding up your sides, tugging at the hem of the tiny tank top you wore out tonight.

She’s always been like this—especially when drunk. She got clingy, reckless, possessive. All hands and teeth and sharp exhales against your throat. She never hesitated to take what she wanted. Clearly, nothing about that has changed.

You can barely think. Your brain is cotton. Static. Her mouth moves down along your jaw, biting just a little at your skin as her hands palm over your chest through the thin fabric, rough and eager, hardening your nipples. It’s overwhelming in the same way you remember. Like she’s trying to devour your whole. Like you’re the last drink of water on Earth and she’s been crawling through the desert.

You let her take. You’re not even sure if you could stop her if you tried.

“Paige,” you murmur, just her name because you don’t know what else to say. She hums against your neck, doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t slow down. Her mouth catches your collarbone bow, her teeth scraping skin, and you can feel your tank top sliding further up, her hands bunching it near your ribs.

You try not to think. About anything. Not about where you are. Not about who’s on top of you. Not about Lucas. Definitely not about that.

But your guilt creeps in, just for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

You’re cheating on your boyfriend.

You’re actively cheating on Lucas with your sort-of insane ex-girlfriend—who, to be fair, is currently kissing along your body like you’re something deserving of worship. Like she wants to go back to the night you broke up, grab it by the throat, and shake it until it gives you a different ending.

And the worst part is that you want her to.

You want all of this. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s messy. Even if tomorrow comes and you have to lie through your teeth about where you were tonight.

Thankfully, you’re pulled from your thoughts as Paige’s fingers hook into your tank top, pulling it up over your head in one smooth, urgent motion. It gets caught for a second, snagged under your arm, but she doesn’t even hesitate. Just lets out a breathy laugh and helps you lift your arms the rest of the way, tossing the top somewhere behind her.

She pauses when she sees you.

You’re bare from the waist up—unlike her, you didn’t bother with a bra tonight. The tank top was enough. You shiver slightly, skin still damp.

“Fuck, baby,” Paige mutters hoarsely. Her eyes roam across your chest like she’s recommitting your breasts to memory—which, she probably is.

And then she leans back in, mouth fast and greedy. Her lips graze across the swell of your chest, her tongue flicking out against one of your pert nipples. She sucks, cheekbones becoming prominent, as her hand stimulates the other bud. You arch into the touch, a quiet gasp escaping your lips, and Paige just groans in response.

She moves even lower, trailing wet kisses down your stomach like she’s trying to worship every inch of you in the fastest way possible. Her hair is still wet from the rain. It sticks to her forehead, her cheeks. You reach down without thinking and brush some strands behind her ear, and for a flicker of a second, her eyes spring up to meet yours.

There’s something in them—something messy and unspoken and so achingly familiar it almost knocks the breath out of you. She looks at you like she doesn’t know whether to say “I missed you” or “I’m gonna ruin you,” and honestly, it might be both.

You swallow hard as her fingers slide down your sides, wet palms skimming your hips. She shifts slightly above you, her knee pressing deeper between your thighs, and then she mutters, low and little slotted, “’M takin’ these off.”

It’s not a question, or a warning. Just a statement of fact, like she knows it’s already a done deal. Like she knows how much you want her. It pisses you off, but she’s right. You don’t bother trying to argue; you’re too impatient for that right now. Instead, you lift your hips, giving her room.

The denim peels off in slow, wet scrapes—Paige tugging your jeans down clumsily, muttering something under her breath about how soaked they are. Her hands fumble at your ankles, pulling the cuffs off before she throws the mess of fabric to the floor. Her hands are cold and your skin is goosebumped from the downpour, but somehow it just makes everything feel sharper, more alive.

You watch as her gaze returns to you before stilling. The grin sidles upon her face before she even says anything. Her lip quirks, slow and smug. She blinks once, then twice, like she’s confirming something.

“Well, would you look at that,” Paige murmurs, titling her head. Her voice is thick with amusement.

You frown. “What?”

She reaches out, brushes her fingers over the lace of your underwear before snapping the waistband against your stomach. “You wore these,” she replies matter-of-factly. The way she says it makes your face go hot.

You glance down, your stomach twisting the second you register. Lavender lace. The soft pair she got you when you were still dating, the one that belongs in the set with the bra. Purple is her favorite color. You hadn’t meant to wear them tonight. It just—happened. Bad luck. Or maybe subconscious salvatore. You’re not sure.

“Shut up,” you mumble quickly, but your voice is weak, defensive. You shift your hips slightly, trying to throw her off, but she doesn’t let up.

“Nah, nah,” she says, laughing. “You wore these. Tonight. These.” Her fingers curl just under the waistband once more like she’s framing the evidence. “These are my panties.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”

Paige just chuckles again—low and smug, the sound all warm breath against your thigh—and leans in. She presses her mouth to the inside of your leg, right above the lace, and bites. Not too hard, just enough to make you gasp, make your hips jerk. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you still as she drags her teeth across your skin again.

You feel her fingers trail up between your legs, teasing, lazy. She doesn’t even go for the waistband. Not yet. Just presses her fingers over the damp lace, at your clothed clit, where she knows you’re already pulsing for her. Her touch is light, maddeningly so. Just pressure, then a slow little circle, then nothing. Then again.

You exhale sharply, a little whimpering escaping before you can stop it.

“Yeah,” she breathes, all cocky and satisfied, rubbing at your pussy through your underwear—her underwear. “You want this, huh?”

You want to roll your eyes. You want to curse her out. You want to tell her to shut up again.

But you also want her hand between your legs, so.

“Obviously,” you mutter instead, shifting your hips closer to her fingers. “Jesus.”

She smirks. “Still so easy for me,” she murmurs, running her thumb in a slow, purposeful drag over your covered clit again. “Still so wet, even with these on. Shit.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way your body is reacting to her—how warm and staticky and shamefully good it feels, even after everything. Especially after everything. It’s fucked yo. It’s so deeply, stupidly fucked up. But the thing about Paige is that she’s always known exactly how to pull you apart, and tonight’s no different.

Her lips move up your thigh again, kisses slower now, mouth more deliberate. She’s still teasing you with her fingers, but at least she’s pressing harder now. Your legs twitch a little under her hands, breath coming faster.

You grab at her wrist. “Paige.”

She hums against your skin. “Mm?”

“Either take ’em off or don’t.”

Another smug little grin. “Bossy,” she mutters, but she finally starts to tug them down.

And you think she’s gonna rip them off just like the jeans and your tank top, quick and careless, like she can’t get them off fast enough. But she doesn’t. She goes slow with it. Real slow. The lace peels off your skin in soft, damp stretches, catching slightly on the curve of your hips, then your thighs, like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s careful with it, rolling them down past your knees, then over your ankles one at a time.

And then, instead of flinging them off to the side like the rest of your clothes, she hesitates.

She holds them, twisting the fabric around her fingers once. She looks at them for a second, like she’s remembering something. And then, without a word, she sets them down—right beside you on the bed, neat and deliberate like she’s placing something valuable. You roll your eyes; you know she’s trying to emphasize the fact that they’re “her” panties.

You watch as her blue eyes trail over you, before settling between your legs. She can see how soaked and slick you are. When she looks back up at you, that teasing edge in her expression is gone. Replaced by something darker. Heavier. Like the sight of you naked knocked the air right out of her.

“Fuck,” she breathes, more to herself than you.

And then she moves.

No more games. No more slow burn or smug comments or smartass remarks. Just Paige, leaning in with a newfound desperation.

The first thing you feel is her breath. Hot and shaky against your cunt, curling over you in waves that make your toes curl. Then her mouth—her lips, soft and plush and open, parting against you like a question she already knows the answer to.

Your hips buck involuntarily and she groans—low and satisfied and a little dizzy—like the taste of you hit her like a shot to the head. Her hands grip your thighs firmly, thumbs digging in just enough to hold you still as she licks a slow stripe between your folds.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Paige doesn’t say anything, but she hums like she’s pleased with herself, and the vibration makes you whimper. Her mouth works steadily, not frantic, not messy, just focused. Eager, but in control. She’s pacing herself like she knows exactly how long it’ll take to make you cum—and plans to stretch it out just enough to make you lose your mind before it.

You feel her shift, settling between your legs like she’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. One of her hands slides up, presses lightly over your stomach, while the other stays clamped around your thigh, keeping you open and spread for her. You’re breathing hard already, fingers fisting the sheets, head tilted back against the pillow.

But then she flicks her tongue just right—right there, straight on your clit, the perfect little spot she always used to find without trying—and your whole body goes tight.

“Fuck,” you choke out, hips twitching, hand flying to the back of Paige’s head without thinking. Your fingers tingle in her hair, damp and messy and soft, and she lets you, even leans into the pressure like it spurs her on.

“Mm,” she hums again, mouth still locked on you. Her eyes flick up for a second—just long enough for you to see the heat beneath them—and then she closes them again and gets back to work.

Her pace picks up, beginning to circle her tongue on your pussy with more pressure. Like she’s chasing something now. Like she’s chasing you. And when your hips roll up again, she moans softly like she loves that—like she needs it just as much as you do.

“Paige—” you stumble, her name coming out half-broken.

She pulls back for one second, breath ragged, lips slick and swollen, her nose a little wet too, and murmurs, “I gotchu, mama,” before ducking her head again.

And you know she does—in this position, she always does.

She sucks, lips around your bud, and your legs shake.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

Her fingers finally move—trail up your thigh again, then find their way between your legs. Her mouth moves down, tongue finding your entrance, thrusting inside. Her fingers, on the other hand, rub over your soaked clit in slow strokes.

You’re a mess now. Moaning soft and breathless, biting your lip, fucking Paige’s face. It’s too much and not enough.

Paige’s grip tightens. She keeps moving her tongue, rubs her fingers faster. The sounds emitting are obscene. Your whole body is trembling, your thighs clenching around her shoulders, your heart pounding so loud you can barely hear anything else.

You’re about to cum. You’re right fucking there. You know it, Paige knows it too.

And then: she stops.

Just for a second. Just long enough to make you want to scream.

Her mouth doesn’t move far. Her fingers don’t leave. She just slows everything down—lets her tongue go lazy, softens the pressure of her fingers into something more like a tease than an intention. Just enough to cool the fire without putting it out completely. Enough to keep you hovering in that frustrating, impossible space where you can feel your orgasm burning in your gut, but you can’t reach it.

You whimper, pathetic and desperate. “Paige,” you say. It doesn’t even sound like a protest—it’s too soft. Too needy.

And she just chuckles. Low and rough and stupidly smug. “Sweetheart, I know you ain’t think I was gon’ let you finish that fast,” she chastises.

She licks a lazy stripe up your center, just enough to make you shudder, then pulls back again to speak. “Uh-uh.” Her lips brush the inside of your thigh now. “Nah, baby. Not yet.”

You try to buck your hips, to chase the pressure, but her hand flattens against your stomach again, pinning you down.

“Be good,” she scolds.

It’s cruel. So cruel. But it’s not mean. She’s not doing it to punish you—there’s no spite in it. It’s worse than that. She’s doing it because she wants to. Because she likes this. The control, the way she can make your whole body lose itself with nothing but her mouth and a couple fingers.

She starts again. Slow. Gentle. Just lips and tongue at first—no fingers—circling softly, tasting you with this lazy rhythm that makes your whole body ache. It’s good. God, it’s so good. But it’s not enough.

Every time she gets you close—every time your thighs start to tremble and your hands fist in the sheets and your stomach starts to tighten like you’re gonna explode—she backs off again. Pulls away just enough go to keep you right there on the edge. And it happens again. And again. And again.

You lose count around the fourth time. Maybe the fifth.

Your entire body is flushed, sweat beading down your neck and across your chest, your breathing ragged and high in your throat. You’re begging now, pride gone. Just soft, broken pleads slipping from your lips.

“Please,” you whisper, over and over. “Paige, please.”

She hums like she’s thinking about it. “Please what?” she asks, voice all innocent like she doesn’t already know. “Whatchu want, baby?”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to cum. But mostly, you want her—her mouth, her fingers, her everything. The full weight of her attention. No more teasing. No more games.

“I want—” You can barely get the words out. Your voice is hoarse. “I want to cum. Please.”

She grins into your thigh, and you can feel it.

“Yeah?” she asks. “You want me to let you?”

You nod hard, nearly gasping. “Yes. God, yes, baby, please.”

She takes her time, still. Like she’s filing that away for later—your voice all cracked and pleading, your body practically shaking with want.

But then—finally—her mouth returns, this time with her fingers. Two of them, slow at first, just enough to ease inside, stretch you open at this perfect pace that makes your eyes roll back. And then her tongue follows—firm and fast and focused again.

She doesn’t let up this time.

Her fingers pump deep, curling just right with every thrust. Her mouth locks onto your clit, her tongue flicking and circling, and you feel it. You feel the difference. You feel her let you.

It builds so fast you almost don’t believe it’s happening—like your body can’t trust it yet, like it’s waiting for her to pull away again. But she doesn’t. She keeps going. Keeps fucking you with her fingers and sucking with just the right amount of pressure until you’re moaning like mad. Until your back arches clean off the bed.

And when you finally cum, you really cum.

It hits like a wave—full-body, all-consuming, a rush of heat and noise and sensation that floods your chest and curls your toes and makes your vision blur. You cry out, loud and unfiltered, Paige’s name breaking on your tongue as everything finally snaps.

She holds you through it. Keeps her fingers moving just enough to ride it out, keeps her mouth pressed against you like she doesn’t want to miss a single second of it. And when your thighs tremble and your hips jerk and you try to push her away, overstimulated, and breathless, she only pulls back slowly, letting you come down soft and dizzy and completely gone.

You collapse against the bed, boneless, the sheets twisted beneath you and your skin flushed everywhere. Your chest is rising and falling like you ran a marathon, your eyes fluttering shut, and your lips are parted like you forgot how to close them.

Paige crawls back up your body, slow and smug and glowing like she just won something. Her mouth is shiny, her chin wet, her eyes softer now. She leans in, kisses the inside of your knee, then your thigh, then your hip, then right between your ribs like she’s following a map only she can read.

And then she finally kisses you. You taste yourself on her tongue.

“Still alive?” she murmurs, pulling back just barely, her breath fanning over your lips.

You nod tiredly. She grins.

“Good,” she says, nudging your nose with hers. “’Cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

“Paige,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut. You can’t, you swear. After all the edging and teasing, you’re fucking spent.

“C’mon,” Paige breathes as her fingers trail back down, teasing light circles on your clit like she’s checking to see if you’re still there. Still dripping for her. Still a mess. You are.

But instead of going soft or gentle—instead of giving you a break—Paige just laughs, low and smug and annoying, leaning closer until her forehead brushes yours. She’s smiling down at you like she’s seen this movie a hundred times before and already knows how it ends.

“You can’t take anymore? Really?” she asks, faux innocent, like she didn’t just spent twenty minutes dragging you to the edge and yanking you back every time you even thought about finishing.

You shake your head, too wrecked to even be embarrassed. Your legs twitch under her, and your breath stutters when she dips her hand again, rubbing faster now, rougher. Quick circles.

Your eyes fly open. “Paige—!”

She’s right there, hovering, looking so calm it’s almost rude. Her voice drops low, warm and coaxing. “You got it,” she murmurs, then leans in, kissing you languidly. “I’mma strap you, ’kay? It’s gon’ feel good.”

You blink at her, heart stuttering. The words hit you like a wave of something—lust, maybe, or memory, or just plain old holy shit, it’s been a while type of adrenaline.

Because, with Paige, the strap is something different. And you remember.

You remember how it used to turn her into almost someone else entirely—more focused, more intense, like she stepped into a role made for her. All that cocky, athletic confidence of hers funneled into every thrust. It used to drive you insane. She’d smirk down at you, hold you steady by the hips, mutter stuff under her breath that made your brain go static. Always so good at knowing when to push, when to slow down, when to whisper something filthy in your ear like she owned you. And, back then, she kind of did.

So, if you already here, already ruined and half-gone and trembling in her bed—you might as well let her finish the job.

You nod, barely, and Paige’s smile shifts into something more serious. Still soft, but hungrier now. Like she knows this means something and she’s not gonna waste it.

“Okay,” she says, voice lower. “Don’t move.”

Then she kisses your cheek. Your jaw. Your collarbone. Her mouth is everywhere at once, moving down in quick little bursts of affection like she can’t stop touching you, even for a second.

You hear the drawer behind her open, the soft jingle of the harness. It takes her no time at all. She shimmies out of her cargos and boxers thickly, and fits the purple thing—same color as those panties she got you—to her hips with the same efficiency she’s got on the court.

She climbs back over you, eyes scanning your face like she’s checking in, making sure you’re okay—not just ready, but okay. Her hand slips under your thigh slowly, lifting it gently to drape over her waist.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just runs her fingers down your side again, resting them low on your hip as she settles between your legs. The silicone presses soft against your skin, and you twitch, already sensitive.

“Look at me,” she tells you, quieter now. Not demanding, more like a reminder. You do. You meet her eyes, and she gives you this look—tender, steady, locked in—that makes your stomach flip.

“You still want this?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.

You nod. “Yeah. Want you, P.”

Something flickers across her face when you say it. Then she leans down, kisses you once, deep and slow. Her hips roll forward just a bit, her strap dipping into your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” she mumbles.

Then she starts to move.

And—God.

You forgot how good she is at this. How well she reads you. How every stroke is meaningful—hips snapping forward in a rhythm that builds slow, steady, patient. She’s not fucking around anymore. She’s locked into this, onto you.

Your hands scrabble for purchase, fingers digging into her back, her shoulders, whatever you can hold. Your legs fall open wider around her hips, and the air goes thick between you—all breath and skin and sound.

She leans down, forearm braced beside your head, sweat already starting to gather along her hairline. Her voice is right against your ear now, rough and low, saying, “Fuck, missed this. Missed you.”

You gasp, nails digging into her skin.

She keeps going. Her hips rock into you steadily and your head tips back into the pillow. She’s so deep, so good, and your body is still humming from everything before—all that edging left you raw, still twitching and clenching down around nothing, and now she’s filling you. Driving into you with smooth, practiced thrusts.

She moves like she owns you—like this is hers, has always been hers, and you’re just finally getting back to what was supposed to be. You can barely catch your breath. The slick sounds between you, the pressure building low in your stomach, the quiet grunts coming out of her mouth every time she drives back—it’s a lot.

Paige’s body hovers over yours, strong and steady, blonde hair falling a little wild into her face—and yours—as she stares down at you. Her cross chain dangles above you as well. It makes you wet. Her eyes flick over your face like she’s tracking every breath, every twitch. Making sure she’s hitting the spot. Making sure you feel all of her.

You do.

Fuck, you really do.

Your fingers curl deeper into her shoulders, your voice slipping out in little gasps and stuttered moans.

“Shit,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” Paige says, breath warm against your mouth. She’s grinning again, cocky as ever. “That feel good?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “So good. Jesus—”

“Mmm,” she hums, and then she leans in again, nipping lightly at your jaw and throat. Her hips roll deeper, sharper, like she wants to remind you exactly who is doing this to you. “Don’t bring him into this. You know I’m the one that fucks you like this.”

You shudder—because yeah. She is.

And this shouldn’t be different. Theoretically. Mechanically. You’ve been having sex with a man for months now—Lucas, your boyfriend. He has a real dick and everything. And, with him, it’s been fine.

But this?

This isn’t fine. This is Paige. And what she’s doing to you—this focused, obsessive, filthy thing she’s doing with her strap and her body and her mouth and her fucking words—it’s not even in the same universe.

It’s better. So much better.

She’s in a whole different mode now. Not the teasing, soft, cocky Paige from earlier—not even the sweet, grinning, “let me make you feel good” Paige. This version of her? The one who puts the strap on and immediately goes a little feral? You almost forgot about this side of her. Or maybe you blocked it out because of how goddamn dangerous it is.

She moves harder, faster, her rhythm never faltering as she slips a hand under your thigh and pushes it up, opening you more, giving herself a better angle.

Her voice drops again, gravelly and low, lips brushing your ear. “You miss this dick, huh?”

You gasp. “Paige—”

She laughs, all breath and grit. “Yeah, you do. Don’t lie. You’ve been lettin’ him touch you, yeah? That boyfriend of yours.”

You blink yo at her, brain short-circuiting, and she moans when she sees it—the way you clench around her strap, the way your eyes roll just a little. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You let him fuck you?” she asks, still thrusting, her voice starting to get breathless. “Let him hear you make all those sounds you used to make for me?”

You shake your head—not because it didn’t happen, but because that’s not what matters right now. Not when Paige is here, inside you, her hand gripping your thigh tight and her hips snapping forward like she’s trying to make you forget everyone who isn’t her.

She leans down, pressing her forehead to yours, still talking through shallow breaths.

“He ever get you this wet? Huh?” she asks. “You ever beg him like this?”

You’re too far gone to answer. All you can do is whimper, grabbing at her shoulders, your legs shaking with every thrust. Your body—your cunt, mostly—feels like it’s on fire.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” she mutters, more to herself now. “You can let him date you, whatever. But you always come back to me for this. Don’t you?”

You nod. Or try to. Everything’s blurry now—pleasure curling in your spine, building too fast again. The way she’s thrusting, angled to brush against that gummy spot deep inside you every time, it’s criminal. And she knows it. She keeps her hand on your hip, guiding you into her rhythm, using your body like she built it herself.

“Paige,” you gasp. “I’m—fuck, baby, I’m close.”

Her eyes flash, and she slows just slightly, grinding instead of thrusting, pulling out a ragged moan from your chest. “Yeah?” she whispers. “You wanna cum for me?”

You nod fast, begging with your eyes now.

She leans in again, presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your lips.

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs. “Go ’head. I got you.”

She thrusts—so fucking deep—and your body goes completely out of your control. That pressure builds too fast, too tight, and your thighs shake. You clench around Paige, voice cracking into a high whimper. Your legs go stiff, whole body arching. Paige rides you through it, hips still moving, her mouth catching the sounds you can’t control.

You cum harder than you have in a long, long time. Even harder than the first one tonight.

And Paige—sweaty, wild-eyed, her strap glistening between you—just smirks down at you like she knows.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek again. “That’s my girl.”

She eases out of you slow, careful, knowing you’re tender, and even still, it makes you flinch a little. Your whole body’s buzzing—nerves fried, legs weak, brain a complete blur. And the second she’s out, that emptiness hits you like a gut punch. You sigh, deep and shaky, already missing the weight and heat of her even though she’s right there.

You’re still leaking, thighs sticky, body limp. You don’t move—can’t, really—so you just watch her through heavy-lidded eyes as she undoes the harness and slides it down her legs. She tosses it lazily toward the floor, not even looking where it lands, and then she crawls up beside you, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her pale skin is flushed and glistening. You feel the mattress dip as she pulls herself closer, wraps on long, sweaty arm behind your back, and drags to right on top of her like you weigh nothing.

You don’t resist. You just melt into her.

Her skin is damp and hot against yours, her abs tight beneath your belly, and she lets out a small, winded laugh as you settle in, tucking your face into her neck. Her other hand reaches up, pulls at the hem of the sports bra she’s still wearing. She shimmies it off with some difficulty, then flings it somewhere behind her with zero aim, sighing like she’s been dying to get it off for a while now.

You glance up at her, and she looks down at you, her mouth soft, a little swollen. Then, she leans in and kisses you again—slow this time. Not needy or rushes. Just warm.

You’re so lost in it that you barely notice the way she’s shifting—until her thigh hooks around yours and suddenly her cunt is pressed right against you’re. Skin to skin. Heat to heat. It sends a shockwave through you, makes your breath hitch in your throat and your hips jerk without thinking.

“One more, mama,” Paige murmurs against your lips. “Please.”

You almost say no. Almost.

Because your body is fried. You’ve cum twice—hard, both times. And you’re sore and wrung-out and still trembling in little aftershocks. But then she’s calling you mama in that voice again—sweet and wrecked and a little desperate—and you know exactly what she’s asking for.

She deserves at least once. She’s been so patient. So fucking good to you tonight. You don’t even think she cares about cumming, honestly—she’s always been the type to chase your pleasure more than hers—but still. You want to give her that. Want to watch her fall apart, too.

So, even though your body is screaming at you to rest, you give a little nod. And then another.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. One more.”

Paige kisses you hard this time, all teeth and tongue and gratitude, and then she’s adjusting your hips again, sliding one of her legs between yours and guiding your thigh up over hers. And then you’re there, pressed together, pussy to pussy, and fuck—it’s a lot. There’s no slow build. You’re already soaked and swollen, and so is she, and the friction is fast and immediate and sweltering.

She groans into your mouth as you grind your hips down into hers, and you can feel her grip tighten on your waist.

“God, baby,” she mumbles. “Fuck, you feel s’good.”

You whimper, already teetering on the edge again. “’M not gonna last,” you admit, breath catching. “I’m so—God, P—”

“I know,” she says, not missing a beat. “I know. Just wanna feel you. Wanna cum with you.”

She guides you with her hands, rocking your hips against hers, keeping the rhythm steady when your thighs start shaking.

“You’re so wet, holy fuck,” Paige breathes. “You’re makin’ a mess on me, mama. You hear that?”

You do. That obscene, slick sound where your pussies meet, the wetness mixing and sliding. It makes your cheeks burn, but it also pushes you closer.

You want to finish with her—you really do. You want to hold you, want to grind together until you both cum at the same time, messy and gasping. But your body has other plans. You’re too sensitive, too overstimulated, and it’s Paige. That combination doesn’t give you a lot of room to breathe.

So you finish first—again—your body seizing up on top of her. It’s not big like the others, but it’s sharp and sweet and hits you right behind your eyes, whitening your vision. You let out a breathy little moan and shudder all over Paige, your thighs twitching around her hips, your chest collapsing against hers.

“Fuck, baby, yeah,” Paige groans, feeling you cum against her, sliding along her own pussy. She doesn’t stop. She just keeps going, grinding up into you a little more insistently now, chasing her own orgasm.

Her grip on you tightens, essentially manhandling your hips now. She tilts up into you, breath catching, and you feel her tensing under you, her thighs locking around yours.

“God, I’mma cum—shit,” she yelps, one last grind of your pussy sending her over the edge.

Finally, you both go still, the air between you thick and humid and exhausted. You collapse fully on top of her now, cheek smushed against her collarbone, her arms wrapped loosely around your back, her heartbeat pounding under your ribs.

Neither of you talks for a minute. You just breathe.

And then Paige sighs, light and wrecked.

“Fuck,” she curses. “Are we gonna regret this tomorrow?”

You’re too tired to think about it. Too dazed to pretend like you have any clue what the hell any of this means.

───୨ৎ───

you weren’t supposed to be out tonight.

you had already said no twice when paige texted you earlier. come on, baby. just one drink. you told her you were tired, told her your boyfriend would be mad if he found out—he gets weird when you go out without him. controlling in ways you didn’t always catch until later. possessive, but never passionate.

but paige always knows how to push the right buttons. or maybe just yours.

so here you are, in a short little black dress you haven’t worn in a year, one she once said made her forget how to act. her words, not yours. her eyes say the same thing now when she sees you walk into the dimly lit bar, sliding into the seat beside her like it’s always belonged to you.

“bout time,” she murmurs, eyes raking over your legs, the curve of your hips, the gloss on your lips. “been waitin’ on you all night.”

you try to play it cool, brushing her off with a little scoff. “you said one drink.”

“then i guess we better make it count.”

one drink becomes two. then three. then she’s ordering you a shot with that cocky smirk you know too well. it’s the same one she gets when she scores a bucket, the same one she wears when she knows she’s already won.

you hate how good she looks tonight. in a black button-up rolled at the sleeves, gold chain peeking beneath the collar, blonde hair pulled back just enough to show off the sharp line of her jaw. she looks like trouble. like she knows it.

somewhere between drinks, the music gets louder, the lights dimmer. her thigh brushes yours under the table, deliberate and slow. you shift, pretending not to notice. pretending not to melt.

but she does it again.

“you’re doin’ that thing,” you murmur, lips pressed against the rim of your glass.

“what thing?”

“touching me like it doesn’t mean anything.”

paige tilts her head, face unreadable. “maybe it doesn’t.”

you give her a look.

she leans in, warm breath ghosting your cheek. “or maybe it means everything.”

your laugh comes out sharp. “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

she doesn’t deny it. “you have a boyfriend,” she says instead, almost like she’s trying to remind herself. then she shrugs. “but he doesn’t make you loud.”

you pause, frowning. “what?”

“you heard me.” her voice is low now, smooth and dangerous. “i hear how quiet you are when you talk about him. when you talk to him. like you’re always holding back.”

you hate that she’s right. you hate that she knows.

and then she says it—soft, slow, and devastating:

“let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

you look at her for a long time. “paige…”

she shrugs, like it’s nothing. like she didn’t just crack your whole world open with one sentence. “just saying. if he can’t make you loud, someone else should.”

you don’t remember saying yes.

or maybe you didn’t. maybe your silence was enough. maybe the way your body leaned into hers as you slid out of the booth, let her take your hand and guide you through the haze of lights and liquor, was answer enough.

the uber ride back to her apartment is quiet, tension thick enough to choke on. you watch the way her hand grips her thigh, how her jaw clenches every time your knee bumps hers. she doesn’t look at you, doesn’t speak. but you know she’s thinking about it.

you are, too.

you both know what’s coming.

paige was on you the second you stepped into her apartment.

her hands gripped your hips tight, her mouth crashing into yours as she kicked the door shut behind you.

your arms wrapped around her neck, clinging to her as she hoisted you up with ease. your legs locked around her waist as she stumbled a little, but still carried you down the hallway to her room like she’d been waiting her whole life to.

she tossed you onto the bed, and a soft giggle slipped from your lips before it turned into a gasp.

paige climbed over you, pressing hot kisses along your neck, sucking gentle and then harder, just enough to leave marks. she didn’t care if your boyfriend saw. in her mind, you were hers now—and she was going to make sure everyone knew it.

her hands pushed your dress up around your hips, fingers confidently hooking into your underwear and tugging them down in one motion. they hit the floor without a care.

you shivered as cool air kissed your skin, your walls clenching around nothing as her fingers grazed the inside of your thighs.

she leaned in, unzipping the back of your dress and helping you sit up just enough so she could slip it over your head, leaving you bare in front of her.

you pulled her shirt off in return, tossing it aside without looking.

“gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” she murmured, thumb finding your clit like it was muscle memory.

she started slow—just teasing soft circles that made your breath hitch and your legs twitch.

your whimpers were quiet at first, but paige heard them all. she smirked, dropping to her knees between your thighs, replacing her thumb with a long, deliberate lick up your folds.

you gasped at the contact, your hips jerking as her tongue moved in lazy, drawn-out strokes. she moaned into you, fingers spreading you open while circling your entrance.

“please…” you whimpered, barely able to form the word.

and who was she to deny you?

she slid two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them just right. she found the spot your boyfriend never even reached, let alone knew existed.

your whine turned into a breathless moan as her mouth wrapped around your clit, her tongue flicking in time with her fingers.

“look at you,” she murmured, voice rough against your skin. “so loud for me already.”

you glanced down, your hand tangled in her hair. her lips and chin were coated in you.

she pumped her fingers faster, curling them each time she pulled back. her tongue flicked over you relentlessly, your hips twitching with every movement.

you were so close.

“m’gonna come—paige!” you cried out, your hips lifting off the bed as she held you down.

“come for me, baby,” she breathed. “scream my name.”

and you did.

the orgasm ripped through you, thighs trembling, voice breaking as you moaned her name like a prayer.

she kept going, slow and gentle as you came down, only pulling away once your body stopped shaking.

she withdrew her fingers and sucked them clean with a smirk.

“better than him?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

your cheeks flushed. you didn’t even need to respond.

she leaned in and kissed you, tongue slipping past your lips so you could taste yourself.

her breath was warm against your cheek as she whispered, “i’m not done with you yet… need to feel you come around my dick.”

your eyes widened as she stood and walked to her closet. you heard a few clicks and snaps, and then she returned—an eight-inch strap harnessed low on her hips, her eyes dark with want.

your legs spread without thinking.

“don’t look so surprised, mama,” she teased. “told you i’d make it worth your while.”

she climbed back on the bed, grabbing your hips, your legs wrapping around her waist instinctively.

you watched as she spit into her hand and dragged it over the length of the strap, slicking it up.

she guided the tip through your folds, letting it glide through your wetness before slowly easing in.

you gasped, hands flying to her arms, nails digging into her skin as she bottomed out. the stretch burned, but god, it felt so good.

she gave you a moment to adjust, then began to move—slow and deep, dragging every inch on the way out, pressing it all back in.

“fuck,” you whispered, clenching around her.

“yeah, baby,” she murmured, “just like that. takin’ me so good.”

her thumb found your clit again, rubbing gentle circles as she rocked into you.

“more,” you whimpered. “please… i can take it.”

she smirked. “knew you could.”

her pace picked up, thighs slapping against yours, the wet sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room.

“oh my god, yes—right there, don’t stop,” you gasped, head falling back.

paige groaned softly as the base of the strap rubbed against her clit. she leaned down, her chest brushing yours, her lips pressing to your jawline.

“gonna come again?” she asked, voice deep in your ear. “go on. come all over my dick. let me feel it.”

you cried out, her name falling from your lips again and again.

your body tensed, back arching as you unraveled, your orgasm crashing through you. your fingers gripped the sheets, your head thrown back.

paige held you through it, her strokes slowing until your body stilled beneath her.

she carefully pulled out, unsnapping the harness and letting it drop to the floor.

“shhh… i’ve got you,” she whispered, pulling you into her chest.

she grabbed her shirt from the bed, slipped it over your head, and laid beside you, her arms firm around your waist.

you melted into her.

“you okay?” she murmured, brushing her nose against your hair.

you nodded, still catching your breath.

“was it good?” she asked, smirking.

“better than him,” you mumbled, smiling into her neck.

she kissed the top of your head and held you tighter, your body finally going still in her arms.

and just like that, you fell asleep—warm, full, and finally, finally loud.

you wake up tangled in her sheets.

your dress is on the floor. her shirt is still halfway off your body. the room smells like sweat, skin, and whatever perfume you wore last night.

paige is next to you—bare-chested, flushed, breathing soft. her arm draped across your waist like she’s been holding onto you in her sleep. like she didn’t want to let go even in her dreams.

and for a moment, you forget everything.

but then it hits you.

you cheated.

on your boyfriend.

you cheated.

you sit up slowly, heart pounding—not in guilt, but in adrenaline. like your body still remembers what it felt like to fall apart for someone who actually noticed when you did.

you pull the sheet around you, biting your lip, trying to make sense of how you should feel.

but the worst part is—

you don’t even feel bad.

you don’t feel anything.

except satisfied. and maybe a little free.

paige stirs beside you. “you okay?”

you glance down at her. her voice is rough with sleep, but her eyes are already studying you. always watching.

“i cheated on him,” you whisper.

she nods, slow. “i know.”

you wait for the guilt to crash down. but all you feel is the memory of her hands on your hips, the sound of your own voice breaking open in her mouth, and the unbearable truth that’s been building inside you for months now:

“he never made me feel like that.”

paige reaches up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i know,” she repeats, gentler this time. “you deserve better.”

you nod, voice barely above a breath. “was i that loud?”

she smirks, then. “girl, you screamed.”

you roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself—and then sigh, slumping against her chest as she pulls you back into her arms.

you should feel terrible.

but instead, you just feel home.

© bueckersworld

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

YOU DIDN’T EVEN MEAN TO KNOCK, you didn’t even mean to cry.

but your feet carried you there the second you saw that text. that picture. him. another girl. same shirt he wore last night when he kissed your cheek and told you “i love you.”

your breath was shaking when she opened the door. and Paige—cool, calm, always composed—looked at you like she already knew.

“he did it, didn’t he?”

you nodded, barely holding it together.

her jaw clenched. “come in.”

you stepped inside, and the second the door shut, her arms were around you. you pressed your face into her chest, breathing her in, fists clutching her hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you together.

“you’re okay,” she whispered into your hair. “you’re with me now.”

you didn’t mean to end up on her lap. didn’t mean to kiss her.

but it wasn’t like it came out of nowhere. you’d always looked at Paige too long. always listened too close when she spoke.

and she… she never told you to stop.

so when her hand slid up your thigh—when her lips brushed your jaw—you didn’t pull away. not even close.

you leaned into her. let her tilt your chin. let her kiss you slow, careful at first, like you might still change your mind.

but you didn’t. not when her tongue slid into your mouth. not when her hand slipped beneath your shirt.

“he was stupid,” she murmured, voice low and thick with want. you gasped when her thumb found your nipple. “he didn’t know what he had.”

you moaned softly, hips shifting against her thigh. “but… do you?”

Paige chuckled, low and dark. “i’m about to show you.”

she had you on your back in seconds.

shirt off. sweatpants peeled down. her fingers teasing over the hem of your panties while she kissed down your chest.

“this what you wore to see him?” she asked, pulling the lacy fabric to the side.

“was supposed to,” you whispered. “he was supposed to come over tonight.”

Paige paused. then—“guess i’m the one giving you the trick and treat now, huh?”

you gasped as two fingers slipped into you, slow and deep.

her eyes were locked on yours. you felt her smirk when your mouth dropped open, a soft moan tumbling out.

“paige—fuck—”

“yeah, baby? that feel good?”

you nodded helplessly, hips rolling against her hand, fingers clawing at the blanket under you.

her pace picked up. thumb on your clit. lips brushing your collarbone.

“he didn’t deserve you,” she growled. “but i do.”

you came with her name on your tongue, back arching, body trembling under her touch.

and when she kissed you after, all slow and soft and sure it felt like halloween really had come early.

because you got the treat. and the trick?

it was wednesday evening. 

wednesday evenings always meant paige. it was the one night a week–other than saturday, of course–where neither of you had morning practice the next morning and you had no classes the next day. which meant you could hang out with her as late as you wanted, and still be able to get enough rest before thursday afternoon practice. she, unfortunately, still had class, but it was just one that didn’t start until ten, so it didn’t feel as debilitating if you stayed later. 

it was routine–one that you had developed at the beginning of the semester. 

paige was sitting on the floor, back resting against the front of her bed with her playstation controller in her hands. her knees were bent with her feet planted on the floor, making her spine round toward the bottom in a way the felt more relieving than it probably should’ve given that it was technically considered poor posture. her eyes were fixed on the screen, tuned into her game of fortnite, but she was also managing to give some of her brain power to you. 

you were lying on your stomach on her bed facing her tv, chin rested in your palm as your thumb swiped back and forth on the screen. you had tinder pulled up to sort through the small pool of men that seemed to be available in storrs, connecticut. there were more left swipes than right, and you were admittedly growing more and more frustrated.

you found yourself doing this a lot lately: getting frustrated by your options. the ones you had already tested in your four years as a university of connecticut student all seemed to be the same–unable to please you. you couldn’t really figure out why, because you had so many friends that had men in their lives willing to give them an orgasm, but you just couldn’t get lucky enough to get the same treatment.

maybe it was because you weren’t committed to them, but you were much, much too busy to find time for a relationship to find that out. and besides, did you really want to start something with someone new now? as a senior in college? it seemed ridiculous when you had limited time left as a husky. 

you audibly groaned, throwing your phone down on the bed, “god, why is it so hard to find one guy that isn’t hard to look at?”

“i dunno. aren’t they all kinda hard to look at?” paige mumbled, not even trying to hide her disinterest in talking about men. 

you blew a sharp laugh out of your nose, “i mean, yeah, kinda.” 

your eyes fixed on her ceiling, thoughts swirling quickly in all kinds of directions. honestly, it was getting difficult to think clearly with how backed up you were. you weren’t even sure when the last time you had an orgasm that wasn’t by your own fingers–or realistically, if you ever actually had one because of someone else. 

paige, on the other hand, didn’t have these problems. she had no issues finding a girl–of course, she didn’t, she was paige bueckers. you knew how many girls thirsted over her, how many would do unspeakable things for the chance at getting in her pants. you’d seen the edits, the ones that were anything but cordial. you saw her dms, too. so you supposed that she wasn’t a great example of the dating pool for the normal people out there, because she could have whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and not have to ask twice.

though, you’d have to admit, you’d never really seen her take advantage of that. her mind always seemed to be set on basketball, and there was nothing pulling her focus from that no matter how hard it tugged.

if you were in her position, you knew you’d have a bad reputation. you’d be answering all of those dms, and too many girls would know what the inside of your apartment looked like. well, it would be guys in your dms, you suppose–but the technicalities didn’t matter. you just knew that you would never masturbate because if you were horny, you’d just open instagram. and if the one you fucked didn’t satisfy you, you’d just find a new one right there.

“how are you not a whore?” you suddenly blurted out without thinking. the provocative, invasive question didn’t really matter, though, not with paige. so you didn’t need to be embarrassed.

“uh, what?” she laughed, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“i mean, you got all these bitches in your phone,” you said it like it was obvious (well, it was), staring at the back of her head like you were about to burn holes into it. 

her freshly highlighted blonde hair was pulled into a low bun on the back of her head, tied together effortlessly messy like she had been messing with it in the mirror for hours to get it just right, but you knew her. she just threw it up without even looking or fixing it. that was one thing about paige–she didn’t even have to try to look good. 

“so?” 

“so,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’. “you have all these hot girls begging for your attention, but you never fuck any of them. like, what do you do when you’re horny?”

she sighed lightly, pressing the pause button on her game and setting her controller to the side so she could give you her full attention. she had to admit, the explicitness of your words was pulling her concentration into a mental image she shouldn’t be venturing into rather than the game. her body turned on the carpet, blue eyes meeting yours immediately. 

“i’on do anything,” she answered honestly. 

it wasn’t hard for you to guess that, though, because you honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had even mentioned anything about hooking up with a girl. it had to have been over a year ago, you think, but you could be misremembering. 

“you never just need an orgasm?” you asked in pure disbelief. “or too like, fuck a hot girl?”

“no,” her reply came quickly, yet even she could tell it wasn’t entirely convincing. but you decided to not point that out for her sake–to see how long she would insist that she didn’t.

because how was she supposed to admit that she didn’t want to fuck all those girls. that even if she did, she would just be picturing you the entire time, imagining you were the one giving her the orgasm she craved. 

she couldn’t, because you were her best friend. her straight best friend, who had never even hinted that you might be even a little attracted to girls in general, let alone her.

“when was the last time you had sex?” you asked with genuine curiosity. she just shrugged casually instead of offering a verbal response. “come on, you don’t remember? you don’t think about it?”

“i mean,” paige started, her eyes glancing up toward the ceiling for a moment like she was debating on the words she wanted to say, if she wanted to be truthful, “yeah, i do, but i don’t wanna fuckrandom people that i’on even know.”

you chewed your bottom lip, a lightbulb suddenly brightening in your mind and blinding your inhibitions. your eyes raked over her face, pausing on her pink lips that were caught between her front teeth from nervousness. you couldn’t imagine why this conversation would make her nervous, though. 

“you know me.”

the words seemed to ram into her chest with a force that was able to knock the wind out of her. on her brain’s list of possible things for you to say next, that was probably at the very, very bottom–if even on the list at all. her lips parted slightly in surprise, eyes searching yours for any sign of humor. but she didn’t find any.

she tried to get a grasp on her composure so she didn’t look so taken back, like she still had the confident smoothness that everyone knew so well. but honestly, she couldn’t remember how to think clearly anymore, and she wanted to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream that she would wake up disappointed from.

if this were any other time, your confidence would’ve faltered by now. you would’ve been sputtering awkward apologies and probably storming out of the room so she didn’t have to look at you try to gather yourself after a hard fumble. but fuck, you were so fucking horny that your mind couldn’t even stop to think about it. 

“what?” was all paige could muster to say. 

you pushed yourself up from your elbows, leaning back until you were sitting cross-legged in her bed rather than lying on it, “i think we could help each other.”

she cocked an eyebrow as she stared you. she could feel the heat creep from her neck up onto her cheeks, and she knew you could see it too. “for real?”

“you don’t wanna fuck strangers, but you know me. and i need an orgasm, or i’m gonna go crazy,” you shrugged, way too casual for the way paige’s heart was begging to break out of her ribcage. “i mean, if you don’t want to–”

“nah, nah,” she interrupted, maybe a little too hasty to be considered casual. “i want to.” 

you paused for a moment, then smiled, “okay.”

paige swallowed thickly, her nerves making it difficult to do smoothly, and it did nothing to relieve her suddenly uncomfortably dry mouth. she pressed her palms into the edge of the soft mattress to push herself up until she could place a knee on the bed, then slowly crawled over to you. she sat with her legs underneath her in front of you, her balled fists pressing into the blanket beside your own knees. 

you broke eye contact to shift your gaze to her lips–her full, bitten lips that were practically begging for you to kiss her right now. but you didn’t, not when you had already made the first move by even suggesting this. it was her turn to show that she wanted this just as badly as you now.

or maybe it was because you were nervous. this would be your first time kissing a girl–first time kissing paige. you had kissed many boys before, sure, but did you even know how to kiss a girl? it couldn’t be that different. it would be less prickly at least, but still.

“hey,” paige whispered to pull you back down to reality, seemingly recognizing that you were getting in your head about something. you felt her fingers slide across the skin of your neck so she could cup your cheek with her palm, her thumb stroking across your cheekbone comfortingly. 

she didn’t give you another moment to let any more thoughts in before she was leaning forward to press her lips against yours. it was hesitant and extremely slow to allow you to adjust to the fact that you were kissing a girl, and to let her adjust to the fact that she was kissing the girl she had dreamed about kissing for years.

her lips were soft, but slightly chapped too from her habit of chewing on them when she was thinking, and the contrast was an intoxicating feeling. it was so much different than kissing a boy in a way that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

paige pulled away for a moment, swiping the pad of her thumb over your top lip briefly before she was crashing her mouth into yours again. this time with passion that couldn’t be recognized as anything other than hungry. it was still a slow pace, slower than you were used to for sure, but her lips moved against yours like they had something to prove. 

she traced her freehand up your leg, then settled on your stomach to gently push you on your back so you were laying against her pillows. all without disconnect your lips. you subconsciously uncrossed your legs as you leaned back, instead stretching them straight out in front of you. honestly, you didn’t even really know what to do with them. 

but it didn’t seem to matter, because she settled her body between your legs like it was second nature. the hand that was resting on your face instead shifted until it was settled on the pillow beside your head, and her other hand was resting on your hip with her fingers splayed under your shirt against your warm skin. 

she didn’t lower her body down to press against yours, either because she didn’t want to frighten you or because she had other plans. but a noise grumbled in the back of her throat, a mix of a groan and a whimper, telling you that she wanted this–maybe even more than you did.

you didn’t have time to dwell on it though, because she was tightening her fingers on the pillow next to you until her hand was curled into a fist, parting her lips and slowing the rhythm of the kiss like she wanted to say something, but didn’t want to stop kissing you.

“please, lemme eat it,” paige breathlessly whined into your mouth in between kisses. “i’ll make it so good for you. just–let me show you, please.”

your brain was already feeling jumbled just from her fingers dipping down to begin rubbing your clit in circles through your sweatpants, so it almost felt like her words short-circuited it. not only that, but you had never had a guy pay this much attention to how you feel by immediately touching you before (nor have you had a guy beg to eat your pussy)–and she’s barely even touched you.

they usually would grab your hand to put it on their own crotch to chase their own pleasure.

not fully trusting that words you were thinking would come out of your mouth the way you intended, you settled on simply nodding your head as permission. you could feel the corners of her lips curve into a small smile against yours, but the feeling was short-lived before she was moving down your body. 

“imma get you right, promise."

her descent started with your neck, her mouth placing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on the warm skin near your pulse point. however, her hands paused their movements to lift your shirt up and expose your breasts as she did so. her mouth broke free for only a moment to pull it over your head and leave you in an old bralette you hadn’t gotten rid of from their 2016 popularity–you couldn’t help it, they were comfortable (and very flattering, but maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better).

she smiled for a moment, but clearly tried to cover up for your sake to keep the situation serious. her pussy clenched in anticipation too, growing wetter in her boxers by the second at the thought of getting to eat your pussy. 

honestly, you didn’t know what to do with your hands. well, you kind of did, but this wasn’t the same as any other hookup. this was a girl. this was paige, not some guy. so you hesitantly placed them on her shoulders to silence the overthinking flooding your mind. 

she didn’t seem to notice your internal battle, though, not when her lips were mouthing at the skin of your collarbones, like they were something sweet to savor. instead of touching your breast immediately now that it was exposed, she rested all of her weight on the hand that was flat on the bed beside you to hold her up. then, she cupped the back of your knee to pull it up just slightly, bending your leg in the air.

your eyebrows pinched together in confusion as you watched her body adjust to a new position, her legs straddling the one she had just bent as she dove back down to place kisses on one of your breasts while her hand slid up to knead the other. 

but you weren’t so confused anymore when she pressed her clothed pussy against the muscle of your leg and rolled her hips. you felt the vibration of a soft moan against your skin, and you couldn’t help but let out one of your own at the action. 

“this okay?” she practically panted, clearly holding back another thrust until you gave her the go-ahead. 

“fuck, yes. keep going,” you managed to choke out. 

paige happily did so by slowly rolling her hips against you again, this time while pulling your bralette up to fully reveal your bare breasts. her mouth practically watered when she got to see them fully–your hard, pink nipples tempting her. she didn’t do anything to fight the temptation, though, she just wrapped her lips around one of them to swirl her tongue. 

you pulled the bralette fully off your body while she did that, then settled a hand on the back of her head and sighed in content at the feeling of her warm mouth. you had always loved it when anyone you had sex with did this, but there was something about the way she did it that was different. you couldn’t put your finger on what, though. 

after a few seconds, she moved to do the same thing to your other nipple, and you could feel that you were already so fucking wet. your panties were clinging to your folds in an uncomfortable way from it collecting, and you tried to adjust your position slightly to relieve it. however, all it did was press your thigh harder against paige, making her groan against you. 

she leant back slightly to take in the sight of you shirtless below her. you tried not to feel self-conscious–tried not to cover yourself with your arms as her eyes worked over you. there was a smile on her lips, a fond one, one that didn’t read of anything platonic. you were almost certain there was a little glint of love, but you told yourself you were probably seeing things.

“god, i just–” she started, then cut herself off by shaking her head playfully, “i don’t get it.” you felt the warmth of her palms cupping your breasts, kneading them with fascination. “they don’t even know what they got.” 

you laughed nervously, letting your hands fall so they were laying above your head–a silent invitation for her to do whatever she wanted. she shifted her body so she was settled in between your legs, hands sliding from your breasts to your waist. 

she bent her body back down too, to place more slow, open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your abdomen. she let her tongue draw a horizontal line just above the waistband of your pants like a silent request for permission to enter. her eyes flicked up to yours too, going wide in such a delicious way that you couldn’t even stop your hips from twitching up. 

her fingers hooked around the fabric, slowly pulling them down like she was making a show out of it. her tongue followed the path too, making your abdomen flutter. you could feel your clit pulsing uncomfortably–begging for her to touch you already, but you tried not to make it obvious. 

paige clenched around nothing when her eyes set on the lavender panties hugging your hips. they weren’t necessarily sexy, just a cotton thong that were clearly aged, but they were her favorite color. god, she could feel the drool collecting in her mouth and threatening to drip from her lips.

it was an accident on your part. clearly, you hadn’t expected to fuck your best friend today, so you didn’t have it in the back of your mind that she might see them. now, though, you wanted to give yourself a pat on the back for it. 

“shit,” she breathed. her gaze flicked up to yours to make sure you knew that she meant her words. “if you were mine, i’d eat this pussy every chance i got.”

her mouth continued to follow as she pulled your pants all the way off, leaving kisses to replace the warmth that was being pulled away. as she was coming back up, she merely let her bottom lip drag on your skin slowly. 

“yeah?” you squeaked out, trying to muster up some confidence. it didn’t work though, not when your best friend was acting feral between your legs like this and making you feel things you had never felt before. not even metaphorically either, you don’t think you have ever had sex with someone who was so focused on you.

“yeah,” she replied cockily, sucking a hickey into your inner thigh, “you’d have to beg me to stop.”

when you finally felt her warm breath fanning over your center, you let your eyes flutter closed. you honestly couldn’t believe you were actually doing this. that you were actually letting paige bueckers fuck you. it seemed crazy, like maybe you were dreaming. maybe you were. you would wake up in the morning and not be able to look her in the eyes anymore if that were the case.

and maybe it didn’t seem crazy to anyone else, because she had thousands of girls in her notifications who were begging to be in your position right now. but to you, she wasn’t paige bueckers, she was just paige. and just paige was your friend.

but shit didn’t look so friendly anymore.

“look at me,” she said gently. “want you to watch me make you come.” 

following her orders, you opened your eyes slowly to meet her gaze. the same gaze that held a new kind of emotion looking at you right now. there had been so many times that she had looked at you and you couldn’t decide what she was feeling, but you knew now. it was lust, like she could devour you and then devour you again. 

her pupils were blown wide, barely even showing any of that beautiful blue you knew so well, as she stared back. her fingertips were tracing over the band of your panties, seemingly waiting to see if there was any ounce of discomfort hidden in your features. to encourage her to continue, you reached down to place a hand on her head–which she seemed to take it that way. 

paige’s lips mouthed over your clit through the fabric once, then licked an agonizingly slow stripe from your entrance back up to your clit. it was almost like she was making a point that you were hers now, proven by those goddamn panties. 

“oh my god,” she whispered in fascination. “any of them ever get you wet like this?”

you exhaled, but shook your head instead of speaking. you didn’t entirely trust that your voice would be stable enough for her to understand any of the words that would hopelessly tumble from your mouth. 

“didn’t think so. gonna think about me every time someone else tries to touch you.”

the thought of that being the truth made butterflies erupt in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out why. anxiety? excitement? either way, it hit you harder than you would’ve expected it to. you tried to tell yourself that she was just dirty talking–that it wouldn’t matter when her head was clear from the arousal and she wouldn’t feel the same.

but it didn’t feel like it. her tone didn’t imply it. the words fell from her mouth like she was finally allowed to speak a truth she had been forced to hold back against her will, and the thought was terrifying. there was no going back now. your relationship would never be the same.

and maybe you should’ve thought about that a little more before you kissed her, but goddamn, you needed to come so bad.

she shook her head in disbelief, “i’d give you whatever you want. don’t matter when. too fuckin’ beautiful not to get it.” 

without much more hesitation, she roughly yanked your panties down your thighs like they had personally wronged her. well, they had. they were keeping her from eating your pussy. that was blasphemy, she swears.

she tossed them to the side haphazardly, not even breaking eye contact with you to see where the wet puddle of fabric landed. her hands settled on your hips too, with her thumbs lightly rubbing your lower stomach in an attempt to ground you–or maybe herself.

she broke eye contact to look down, eyes meeting your pussy. she let a gasp slip past her lips by accident, her mouth watering as she took in the sight that could’ve been hung in an art museum. or maybe not, because the thought of other people getting to witness you like this made fire build in her chest from the jealousy.

god, it was so fucking unfair that other people got to experience this before she did. 

“so pretty, baby,” she finally spoke with a gentle tone, instantly allowing relief to wash over you and take away the anxiety that the initial silence had caused. her lips placed a light kiss on your pelvic bone, just above where you wanted her the most, to reassure you. “so fucking pretty. gonna ruin you.”

her gaze flicked back up to your eyes, making sure you were watching her while she did this. her eyes were wide, and eyebrows tilted up, but you couldn’t tell why–excitement, fascination, both. there were a few possibilities, but all you knew was that she looked so fucking needy, and you didn’t want to wait any longer for her to fuck you.

finally, finally, she leaned forward to flick her tongue over your throbbing clit, just once. it was an experimental touch, something that would give you enough time to back out if you decided you didn't want to anymore–she desperately hoped you wouldn’t, though. she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act normal anymore after seeing you spread open in front of her, for her. after seeing the way you were dripping from her touch.

“paige,” you exhaled, curling your fingers in her blonde locks on the top of her head. it surely was messing with her bun, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care about anything except giving you an orgasm right now. 

that was her cue to wrap her lips around your clit and suck gently, pressing her tongue against it while she did so. when she released with a faint pop, she dragged her tongue through your folds slowly, like she was drawing a map for herself to remember for later. and she was, because she knew that this would be the only thing she would think about every time she closed her eyes to sleep from now until the rest of her life.

she couldn’t help but faintly moan against you at the taste, making you feel the vibration. it felt like it moved through your entire body from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, but that may have been because of the overwhelming feeling of finally getting some head when you have sex. and you didn’t even have to beg this time. no, she begged you. that was crazy in itself.

your nervous system felt like it was on fire from the sensation, and you could hardly keep your legs from shaking already. 

she probably noticed too, when she adjusted her position so that she was lying flat on her stomach. her arms moved so that your thighs were thrown over her shoulders, giving her more space to work. she didn’t comment if she noticed, but she was probably too occupied to even notice. 

she used her tongue to lap up all the arousal that had been building up near your entrance, plunging inside for a moment before running it back up through your folds to your clit. she couldn’t help but hum at the delicious taste, already wanting more and she hadn’t even finished her first meal yet.

that was when you felt a finger tracing a circle around your entrance, like it was asking for permission to enter. in what world would anyone say no? you weren’t sure, but fuck, even just the idea had you salivating. 

you bit your bottom lip to stifle any sounds threatening to come out, not wanting anyone to hear. not only that, but it was embarrassing.

when you finally felt the push of her middle finger slowly filling you, you couldn’t help but arch off the bed slightly, toes curling too. the pleasure was overwhelming, and you suddenly knew why sex wasn’t something you felt like you needed before this. after feeling the way paige could eat your pussy like she was an expert on your body, you weren’t sure you ever wanted her to stop–ever.

“talk t’ me, pretty girl,” she spoke into your folds, not even caring if her voice was muffled or if you were even paying attention. “lemme hear you. wanna hear how good i’m makin’ you feel.”

to try to please her, you let a quiet squeak sound from the back of your throat. you hadn’t ever made noise during sex before, so this was new, and no one had really talked to you either. no, they usually just grunted or panted or said something short, not full-on dirty talk. it was making the heat pool in your abdomen much faster than you expected. and your cheeks flush a deep pink.

well, everything she was doing was making the heat pool in your abdomen faster than you expected.

“it’s so much, paige. gonna come,” you choked out, trying your best to keep your hips still so you could chase it faster than if you started grinding your hips against her tongue. 

honestly, it was a lot all at once. not to mention the shock of actually feeling good for longer than a few seconds, and the comfort of it being from someone you trust. really, you couldn’t ask for anything better, even if you came embarrassingly fast.

“yeah?” she couldn’t even suppress the smug smile tugging at her mouth. “do it. give it to me.”

she increased the speed of her tongue flicking over your clit to push you over even more, thrusting her finger at a similar pace and humming to simulate a vibrating sensation. her fingertip would rub over the soft spot inside you every time, making you wonder how it seemed like she knew your body better than you did. 

when you came, you threw your head back against the mattress, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and your back arching toward the ceiling. your legs tensed too, toes curling hard from the intensity of the pleasure. it almost felt like you were peeing from how strong and hard it was, but you tried to shove that thought to the back of your mind. 

“that’s it, baby,” she cooed against you, slowing her movements to allow you to come down. “just like that.”

and paige works you through it slowly. surely prolonging it because you’ve never had an orgasm last longer than a few seconds in your life, not even with yourself, but you couldn’t complain. 

when she finally eased off you and sat back on her heels with her hands wrapped around your ankles to admire the mess she had made, you almost wanted to laugh at how silly she looked. her hair was sticking up just slightly on top of her head, making her bun look crazy, but the look in her eyes was distracting. there was a twinkle, one that read how happy and content she was to be between your legs like that. it was adorable, honestly, but it was also hot when you noticed her red, slick lips.

but when you shifted your legs, you couldn’t help but feel that she had left a puddle of your orgasm in between your legs instead of licking it up.

“leave it,” she said mischievously. 

you pinched your brows together in confusion at that, face contorting into a fitting expression. “why–”

“still gotta fuck you, don’t i?” she cut you off with a playful chuckle. 

you felt your breath catch in your throat at her words.

she leaned forward again. only this time, it was to press her lips against yours instead of to your pussy. it was just a small peck, and she pulled away to smile down at you.

“you thought you were just getting one?” she whispered, reaching behind her head to pull her t-shirt off her body by the neckline and throw it on the floor next to the bed. “pretty girl like you deserves to be taken care of.”

she didn’t give you time to reply before she was kissing you again. 

her lips moved effortlessly with yours like she had kissed you a hundred times, leading you with a slow rhythm that had every joint in your body feeling like jello. you felt one of her hands wrap around your throat, but not squeezing, and you knew that there was new arousal mixing with the orgasm between your legs. 

“you said you needed dick, and imma give it to you so good that you’ll never need nobody else,” she gave you one last bruising kiss before pulling away.

she stretched her body over you, toned abs suddenly very in your face. it wasn’t on purpose though, she was just reaching in her bedside drawer to find the toy that had started this entire thing. when she grabbed it, she sat back on her heels with it in her hands to reveal all six inches of its flesh-colored glory. her eyebrows raised in a silent plea for permission to use it.

“please, paige,” you said with wavering confidence–a weak attempt at displaying the same smoothness she was able to speak without even trying. you could feel your hands tremble from anxiety now that it was becoming real.

of course, she didn’t need much more convincing to continue. you had to bite back a gasp when she curled her thumbs in the waistband of her pants to pull them and her boxers off in one go, leaving her in just her nike sports bra. you don’t know why you were shocked by her taking her clothes off, honestly.

it was even more shocking when she dipped her hand in between her legs, but it wasn’t to touch herself. she swiped two fingers through her arousal, seemingly just trying to see how wet she was from this, by the way she began to buckle the harness without a second thought. she leant forward on one of her hands again to hover over you by placing it next to your head, and used the other to hold the dildo out of the way. 

her eyes quickly glanced between yours, “we can stop, y’know?”

you couldn’t resist playfully rolling your eyes and set your legs on her hips, “i know.”

“okay,” she nodded, “i just wanna make sure you’re not doin’ nothin’ you don’t want to. like, i don’t want you to feel like you have to for me.”

you placed a hand on her cheek as a comforting gesture, stroking your thumb over her cheekbone once. then, you smiled softly at her–loving even–to make her feel better. she visibly relaxed, her shoulders falling from their tense position. you used both hands to smooth over the hair on her head, too, to make sure it wasn’t sticking up anymore.

“it was my idea,” you argued playfully. 

“i know, but you ain’t ever been fucked like this so i gotta make sure you’re still w’ me–”

“paige,” you interrupted her with a groan in a mix of embarrassment and impatience. you covered your eyes with one hand too as you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“alright, alright,” she chuckled, pulling your hand off your face. after gently lacing your fingers together, she pressed your hand against the bed next to your head. “i’ll chill. just wanna make sure you won’t regret it.” 

“i won’t. i trust you,” the reassurance in your voice seemed to enough for her, because you felt the tip of the toy brush against your entrance. 

even though you were trying to act calm for paige’s sake, it was undeniable that you were suddenly experiencing a wave of anxiety come over you despite just having an orgasm on her tongue. your breathing was shallow and quick, but you closed your mouth to try to hide it. and your heart was racing. not just slightly, but you felt dizzy and light, but you wouldn’t dare ruin the moment for either of you. 

how embarrassing would that be to have a medical emergency right now? oh god, you couldn’t imagine how you would ever live that down. you’d never be able to show your face in front of her ever again. 

“don’t worry, baby. don’t have to do nothin’ but lay there and look pretty.”

she shifted her weight from her empty hand against the pillow to the one holding yours, sliding her now free hand down your body. you expected her to use it to grab the toy, and she did, but only for a moment to line it up. instead, she pressed the heel of her palm against your lower stomach, gentle enough that it didn’t hurt but merely added pressure.

“this okay?” she asked, her eyes searching yours. 

you simply nodded in reply and took your bottom lip in between her teeth as you watched her face at the feeling of the silicone nudging against you. after she nodded back in confirmation, her eyes didn’t stay on yours long. they shifted down to where her toy was pressing against your pussy like it was begging for permission to enter. because she was–silently. 

her hips rocked forward just slightly, letting the tip dip in about half an inch. she tried lion up at you and keep her eyes there, she really did, but they couldn’t help but drift down to where you were swallowing her. when she didn’t hear any protests, she let herself sink in deeper, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

it was a strange, but good, feeling. you were so wet, so fucking turned on, that it doesn’t even burn in the slightest to have her slide into you. usually, you would be wincing at the feeling, but this time, you just can’t help the moan that tries to slip past your closed lips. especially because her hand was pressing down on your abdomen, making sure you feel everything. 

she pushed out a sound that’s a mix of a whimper, a moan, and a harsh exhale all in one when she was halfway, dropping down to press her forehead against yours. you tried to catch her eye contact, but you quickly saw that her eyes were screwed shut in both pleasure and frustrated as she tried to breathe normally. 

her clit was pulsing uncomfortably, swollen with need at not just the sight of you finally under her like she had been dreaming of for so long, but from making you come, and she tried to ignore it. this was about you. and anyways, when she started moving, the harness would grind against her and give her the relief she desperately needed.

she pushed out another breath, one that was a borderline sob, “fuck.”

you dug your fingers of your freehand into her shoulders, leaving crescent indents that you hoped didn’t draw blood. maybe she would, though, if she even noticed the feeling (she didn’t). 

“oh, paige,” you shut your eyes and moaned as she plunged all the way inside, pressing your skin against the harness to make sure she was as deep as possible. and you felt it, you really did. you were so fucking full that your brain felt like mush. 

she let out another sound that sounded like a sob, which almost had you convinced she was crying. if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought she could really feel it–that she wasn’t fucking you with a silicone toy instead of the real thing. not like it mattered, though. there was a difference, but not enough of one to matter. not when she was focusing on your pleasure at the expense of her own. 

“don’t stop,” you cried, hopelessly clenching around the thick dildo threatening to brush against your cervix. 

of course, paige, desperate to please you, found some strength within herself to pull her hips back until the only thing left inside you was the tip. she slowly rolled her hips back in, adopting a slow, but deep rhythm to make sure you felt all of her. the hand on your abdomen was certainly helping with that, too. 

her head lolled to the side so her forehead was pressing against your temple, and you felt her beading sweat swipe against her skin at the motion. the gasps coming from her mouth were fanning over your cheek, making heat pool in your stomach. 

“fuck, you like that?” she grunted, or maybe whined–you couldn’t tell. you barely nodded your head in reply before she was answering herself anyway, “i know you fuckin’ do. can hear how much this pussy loves me.” 

and she wasn’t wrong. the wet noises as she slid back inside you were evident, and you weren’t sure you had ever had sex this loud, to be honest, in every possible way. as long as it was paige, though, you were sure that you could get used to this–but you couldn’t think of anything else in this moment. your mind was ringing paige, paige, paige like it was lyrics to a catchy song.

“faster, please,” you whimpered, your hand tightening on hers like you were trying to squeeze the life out of it. 

“whatever you want, mama,” she breathed. 

of course, she paused to stabilize herself, then picked up her speed just like you asked. she ignored the way her thighs were burning, pushing through the way they were trembling just to hear the quiet moans slipping past your lips without mercy. 

the pace allowed the harness to rub against her clit deliciously, damn near making her hips stutter from pleasure, but she tried to keep her composure. that is, until you opened your mouth to speak again. 

“shit, i’m yours,” you weren’t one to talk much during sex, so you weren’t really sure where it came from. but you thought briefly about testing the waters since she clearly liked it, then couldn’t stop the words from falling out of your mouth. 

similarly, she couldn’t stop the way her rhythm noticeably stuttered, and the loud moan that tumbled past her lips without permission. “oh fuck,” she whimpered. “oh fuck, oh fuck.” 

her mouth latched onto the skin of your neck, biting down just below your ear on the sensitive spot that had your hips bucking up into her rhythm. it was surely leaving a bruise that both of you would regret later, but you neither of you could bring yourselves to care. the hand she had on your stomach had drifted down so her thumb could slowly circle your clit bring you closer to the edge–mostly because she didn’t know how long she could last. 

she was hopelessly clenching around nothing, her orgasm building in her stomach faster than she was intending to. she could only hope that she could hold it off, because she wasn’t ready to stop fucking you yet. not that she necessarily had to, but she couldn’t imagine that it wouldn’t be hard enough to wipe her out for a few minutes before she could regain her stamina. 

“don’t say that shit to me unless you want me to come,” she managed to choke out, then lifted her head enough to press her lips against yours. though, it was uncoordinated, and sloppy, and mostly just panting in each other’s mouths. 

she tightened her fingers on yours at the feeling of your saliva coating her lips, having the sudden urge to ask you to spit in her mouth from the feeling because she was undeniably yours–a complete and utter fool for you. but she wasn’t sure how you would feel about that, and she wasn’t ready to scare you off the first time you had sex. 

maybe next time, she thought to herself. if there even is a next time. 

paige tried to push down the nagging feeling that there very well may not be a next time because she may have just ruined one of her longest friendships just to have an orgasm, but she reminds herself that it was already ruined anyway. it was ruined junior year of college in that goddamn hotel room after her acl surgery. after she had woken up from her drug-induced slumber and saw you lying next to her with a soft smile that didn’t make her feel broken. instead, it comforted her–gave her a sense of normalcy even when the waves were feeling too rough to continue.

and she knows that coming back from this would be terrible, because she’s already accepted that you didn't want her because you weren’t attracted to girls. so what was she supposed to tell herself now? how could she live with the possibility that you just didn’t like her?

paige physically shook her head to rid the thoughts from her brain. they were much too intrusive in this moment. they were keeping her from enjoying you being naked underneath her, and she needed to be present for that.

though, you being you, she should’ve known better thank to think you’d let it go unnoticed. “what?” 

“nothin’,” she shook her head again, this time almost imperceptibly, “just–look so beautiful taking all me like this. you fuckin’ belong on my dick.”

you allowed your fingers to curl into the hair at the nape of her neck, just below her bun, and pulled. it was hard enough that you pulled her neck back a little, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling.

the movement of her hips increased their speed as she subconsciously chased her own release, making your back arch up into her body from your own pleasure. your jaw fell slack against her mouth, so you couldn’t even pretend to want to kiss her back. not that she was even trying anything either, she was just letting her lips brush against yours every so often. 

suddenly, paige’s hand ripped away from yours and the other stopped its movements on her clit. she leant back slightly, her pace slowing just a little as her position changed. you almost wanted to ask her what she was doing, until she grabbed each of legs to throw them over her shoulders one by one. 

“oh, fuck, paige,” you moaned in anticipation for the feeling that was about to come. the sound was more high pitched than your previous moans, but you didn’t care to dwell on it. she did, though, because the sound of her name leaving your lips like that was music to her ears. 

she placed her hands on the sheets next to your head, dropping her body weight onto them so she could resume the faster pace. it caused a slight stretch in your hamstrings, but gave her a new, deeper angle to drill into you at. the skin on your legs was damp against her shoulders, and she couldn’t lie that she felt a rush a wetness when she felt your calves tense around her neck from the pleasure. the new position also brought the tremble in your hips to light, making your entire leg shake for a moment, but you quickly covered it by tensing the muscle. 

“right there,” you gasped. she was so fucking deep inside you, hitting an angle that made you damn near see stars, you swear. your hands instinctively shot out to grab her wrists next to your head, digging your nails into the skin like it was something keeping you on the ground in this moment. 

“yeah? feel good, don’t it?” she asked, a cocky smirk threatening to rise to her lips. her eyes were fixed on your pussy, watching the way the silicone was swallowed whole between your legs–watching the way it was shining with your slick. 

her own pussy was drenched between her legs and making a mess of her thighs, but she tried to ignore the way it was begging to be touched–begging for your fingers or your mouth, or maybe to grind against your pussy or even your leg. god, she fucking hoped this wouldn’t be the only time she got to have you spread open for her like this. there were so many things she could do to make you come, and she wanted to try every single one. 

hell, she wanted to know what it was like to be fucked by you. for you to buckle the harness around your hips and drill into her until she was fucked so dumb she could hardly remember her name, let alone anything else but whatever you would whisper in her ear as she was being filled by you. maybe she was getting ahead of herself with those thoughts, but fuck, she’s had so many dreams about it. so, so many dreams about you on top of her and making her do whatever you wanted.

“yes, yes, yes,” you practically chanted in time with every thrust, though your words eventually just turned into little whimpers that had paige’s mouth watering. oh fuck, the way you were becoming more vocal with the new position had her weak. and she’s glad it gave her bout of confidence, because otherwise she would’ve came already. 

well, she’s trying really hard not to, at least. her abdomen is clenched hard, showing off her abs with the accidental flex as she tries to keep it away.

“mhm,” she hummed absentmindedly, or maybe it was mix between a hum and a moan–she couldn’t really tell. her mind was focused on more important things. “i know, baby.”

you could feel the familiar heat pooling in your lower abdomen, the muscles twitching so much that you had no choice but to arch up into her. though, the movement was more of you arching into your own legs thrown over her body, but the idea was still there. 

“i’m so close, paige, shit,” you choked out. you flexed your legs around her shoulders successfully locking your ankles behind her head to cage her neck in. your abdomen was flexing and unflexing too, torn between staying tense for the oncoming orgasm or grinding it out. it caused your hips to grind just slightly in an attempt to match her rhythm since you couldn’t plant your feet and lift them up to chase it, but you didn’t mind. this almost felt better than that–easier, like it was right there instead of so far away. 

“keep sayin’ my name,” paige whined. she fixed her eyes on your face to watch your expressions, to watch the pleasure she was giving you manifest itself on your beautiful features. “tell me who this pussy belongs to. who got you feelin’ like this?”

“fuck. you, paige,” you moaned. “it’s yours. no one could ever fuck me as good as you.”

her jaw went slack in both surprise and pleasure from the words tumbling from your mouth, and maybe you were a little shocked too. but you couldn’t think, could barely register that you were even speaking in this moment. your words felt distant in your ears. not because you didn’t mean them, but because your brain was so melted from the intense pleasure that it didn’t feel real anymore.

you gasped when you felt her thumb circling your clit again in small circles at a faster pace than before. 

“yeah, that’s right,” she mumbled in concentration, because her own abdomen was tensing with a sudden, intense orgasm. 

maybe she should’ve been paying more attention to the signs so this didn’t happen, but all she could focus on was your face, and the way your pussy was dripping, so she threw herself on the back burner to prioritize what was more important. and she should’ve listened to what she had said to you earlier too–that possessive words would make her come. 

a loud sob ripped from the back of her throat as she flooded her inner thighs with slick, causing her hips to thrust wildly into you to ride out the feeling. her eyes were screwed shut so tightly that the darkness was becoming light again, but she honestly didn’t even realize they had closed until they were opening just slightly when her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

the sight of her coming on top of you was enough to send you over the edge too. you felt yourself gush onto her toy, clenching around it so hard that she physically felt the resistance from how tight you became. it made her hips stutter just once, and she slowed her pace slightly to help work you through it without overstimulating you. 

your legs tensed so hard that your ankles untangled and heels were digging into her shoulder blades. the pressure subconsciously pulled her closer to you, but she managed to lock her elbows so she could stay up. your toes were curled hard enough that you almost felt a cramp brewing in your left foot, abdomen tight enough to show your own abs, and hands locked tight enough around her wrist that there would surely be red rings around them when you released. your jaw was clenched too, rather than slack, teeth pressing together so hard that your molars were aching. 

it was the most intense feeling your body had ever felt, and it damn near didn’t even know what to do with it. 

“fuck,” she cried finally, though there were no tears slipping onto her cheeks. her thumb paused its movements to let you come down, eyes blinking open to watch your body relax under her. her hips snapped forward accidentally, hard enough to make your body move, but she didn’t apologize for it. 

her thigh muscles and hip flexors were burning and shaking from the exertion, but she didn’t stop her slow thrusts to help you work through your orgasm. and again, just like before, she was definitely prolonging it with her movements, but you could hardly complain. 

your body was twitching beneath her, abdomen clenching every few seconds and making her hips turn up. your head felt light and airy, and your lips seemed to find it hard to find words. though, you parted them in a weak attempt to catch your breath as you tried to draw them deep from your diaphragm. 

“okay?” she weakly asked through her own hard breaths. her chest was visibly heaving harder than she had ever experienced in her life. not during a 40-minute straight game, not after running suicides, not even after sprinting a 400 on a track. 

you simply nodded, not fully trusting your brain to make coherent sentences. your hands released their grip on her wrists to let your arms fall onto your head, forearms covering the light from your eyes. luckily, she accepted it as an answer as she nodded back, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. she swiped her tongue over her top lip to lick some off her top lip, too. 

paige slowly moved your legs off her shoulders. she tried her hardest to resist the smirk threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth when they immediately started helplessly shaking from your ankle all the way up to your hip, setting them down gently on the bed next to her so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. 

but you couldn’t even pretend to care about it. you were still catching your breath, eyes shut underneath your forearms as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that you just fucked your best friend and it was the best sex you had ever had in your entire life. and not only that, because you would definitely do it again. in fact, she was right. you don’t know if you’d ever be able to touch someone else because your mind would always wander back here. 

not just to the way paige, your best friend, expertly touched you like she knew your body better than you you did, or the way she pounded into you like she didn’t care about anything other than making you come. or the way she ate your pussy like she was starving and it was favorite meal. your mind would travel back to the way she spoke to you like she was yours, like she needed you to know how much she needed you–how everything she did revolved around your pleasure. 

and she was so fucking dedicated to it that you weren’t sure if she was speaking from the heat of the moment or if her words went deeper than that. if her words were coming from a place of hidden truths rather than pleasure so blinding, she would say whatever came to mind. 

you winced at the sudden emptiness of her sliding the toy out of you slowly, but your legs stayed limp against the sheets. she unbuckled the harness carefully through her trembling fingers, leaning over the side of the bed to carefully set the soaked toy on the floor. she made sure that it was propped so it didn’t touch anything other than the carpet for easy cleanup, but she would worry about that later. 

when she sat up again, she gently laid a palm on your ribs and the other on your outer thigh. her chest wasn’t heaving anymore, but she was still breathing too quickly to be considered normal. and her heart was pounding in her chest too, though she couldn’t tell if it was her lingering tiredness from the exertion or from nervousness. 

you didn’t open your eyes at the contact despite the way it had your skin buzzing, still trying to catch your own breath and normalize your own heartbeat after that, but you could feel her gaze burning into you. 

“still with me?” she asked softly. her tone was quiet and careful, trying to gauge how to proceed from here. 

“yeah,” you breathed with a nod. 

after a few moments of listening to each other breathe, you cracked an eye open to see what she was doing. all you were met with was her eyes fixed on your face, lips parted to allow more air in. her eyes were glassy and had a new sparkle that you couldn’t quite put a name to, lips red and covered in salvia from her tongue swiping over them, cheeks flushed pink in the most adorable way, and hair messy in her bun that was still barely hanging on. the corners of her mouth curved slightly into a smile, but her expression was mostly unreadable. it made your heart rate kick back up in a way that was from anxiety. 

this is the part where they would ask you to leave, or make an excuse about being busy as a way to subtly ask you to leave, or get up, or something. your skin crawled uncomfortably, and the feeling that it was about to happen right now too was uncomfortably crawling up on your spine. or maybe that was sweat dripping down–either way, you knew you’d rather beat her to it than face the embarrassment. 

“i should probably think about heading,” you said quietly, trying to beat her to the punch, shoulders tensing as you braced for impact. the impact of her agreeing, you mean, of the reality that you had just had a one night stand with the person you care about the most. and even though she could make you feel good in ways that you didn’t think was possible, that she was still like the rest of them at the end of the day.  

“what?” paige’s tone was dripping in disbelief, and sadness, maybe offense? she tilted her head to the side slightly like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing–like the role was reversed and you had just become the very thing that you were afraid of her being. there was a slight smile on her lips, but it was anything but amused. 

your eyes widened in embarrassment, and you lifted your arms so they were resting on your forehead instead so she could see that, “sorry, i just–i figured you’d–” you sighed to buy yourself time to collect your thoughts to actually utter a coherent sentence, “i dunno. i assumed you’d want me to leave.” 

she chuckled, this time from gentle amusement, the kind that was fond rather and didn’t make you think she was laughing at you, then gently stroked your ribs with her thumb. “why would i want that?” 

instead of replying verbally, you just shrugged. the intense humiliation was burning hot in your chest and cheeks, and you felt stupid for even suggesting something like that now. but you’d never had anyone pay this much attention to you when your clothes off, and truly care how you felt. 

okay, well, maybe a few have tried their best, but it was never like this. never fully putting themselves to the side to make sure you were taken care of first–physically and emotionally. 

“i don’t know,” you mumbled. 

paige sighed, then finally moved so she was laying on top of you. her cheek pressed into your collarbone, one hand on your collarbone on the other side with her thumb gently resting on the skin of your neck, her leg bent so her thigh was gently resting over your hip, and the other leg pressed against your outer thigh so she wasn’t touching your center while you were sensitive. 

her breathing had evened out, and you just hoped she couldn’t feel the way your heart was still racing beneath your skin. if she did, she didn’t bring attention to it, and you were grateful for that. she tensed her body like she was pulling you closer, then fully relaxed so you could feel her entire weight–almost like a weighted blanket.

“i wouldn’t do that to you,” she whispered out of reassurance. then, she took a breath of courage to gather up the strength for her own confessions, “i thought you wanted to leave.”

your breath caught in your throat slightly at the vulnerable tone. “i wouldn’t do that to you,” you echoed quickly. the words left your mouth at a speed that showed you meant it, and weren’t just saying to make her feel better. 

you couldn’t ignore the way her body was trembling against your skin, showing just how much of a toll you’d really taken on her. you figured it was from how much effort she put in though, from how she basically did all the work–not even considering that it was from her unusually intense orgasm, and that it was so intense because she was fucking you. 

because that was the truth. it wasn’t from the speed of her hips, or how long she held that speed for, or how long she was holding herself up. the intensity stemmed from how her body–her mind–reacted to you. she could’ve forced herself to go for hours without a break if that’s what you needed. 

you timidly lifted an arm to drop around her back, fingertips dragging lightly over her skin. she hoped you couldn’t hear how her breath hitched–couldn’t feel how her heart rate increased at the action. of course you did, and the sudden shift of anxious energy filling the air made it obvious, but you chose not to acknowledge it. instead, you ran your fingers up and down her spine lightly, trying to calm her nervous system that was definitely sent into overdrive. 

her body physically relaxed at the contact, which only made her feel heavier against you, but you weren’t going to complain. you could support her weight, you knew that, and if you couldn’t, you would pretend you could for her sake. this was your attempt at forgoing any possible miscommunication that could mess this moment up–like it almost already did. 

“thank you,” you said quietly. you meant it genuinely, but damn, you could’ve slapped yourself after it left your mouth. not because you didn’t want to say it, but because it felt stupid coming from your mouth. thank you for fucking me and giving me an orgasm after i literally asked you to because the men here suck and can’t do it for me, you’re such a good friend! god, what is wrong with you?

still, she laughed lightly and nuzzled her nose into the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, placing a light kiss there. you thought maybe she would say something else, but she didn’t. she let her physical reply speak for itself instead, but you, surprisingly, didn’t feel any ounce of insecurity about it. 

even though she seemed collected outwardly, her mind was running a thousand miles per minute. there were so many thoughts swirling in her head that she couldn’t pick just one to stress on–just one to freak out about. because this was you, her best friend since freshman year of high school when you joined the basketball team as an off-season sport. 

the same you that she knew she was in deep with, that she couldn’t deny the flutter that erupted in her chest every time you smiled, or laughed, or talked, or breathed. 

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You and Paige had been the kind of college couple people whispered about even before anyone knew you were dating. It was the chemistry on court, the way you could read each other without speaking, the quiet gravity that always seemed to pull you into the same space. Teammates noticed first. Coaches, eventually. Fans never quite proved it, but the rumors were there.

You started dating in 2022, two young athletes who thought love could fit neatly between practices, recovery sessions, classes, and a national spotlight. It didn’t take long for you to realize you were in over your heads.

You were already UConn’s golden girl and every glance you shared with anyone was analyzed. Paige was rising too quickly, a talented, physical, ruthless player who was catching national attention. Hiding a relationship from cameras, from boosters, from reporters who never stopped digging… it ate at the both of you. You were immature and prideful, trying to keep something fragile alive in an environment built to break anything soft.

Then Paige tore her ACL, and everything changed in ways neither of you had the emotional vocabulary to articulate.

She hated being sidelined, hated the helplessness. She lived in the shadows of rehab sessions and ice baths while you took command of the court again, effortlessly stepping into the leadership role everyone assumed you would be sharing with her until you both graduated.

The team needed you. The fans adored you. The national conversation shifted toward you.

Paige tried to be proud, but jealousy and insecurity crept in. She watched you carry the program she loved and felt herself becoming unnecessary. Not just to the team, but to the future she’d imagined for herself. To you.

You tried to be patient—honestly. You supported her through recovery, tried to reassure her, tried to keep your relationship steady. But every win became a bruise she couldn’t ignore, and she began withdrawing, lashing out in small, sharp ways she never apologized for. Your communication fell apart. Every conversation became a fight, every silence became an accusation until you’d started to resent the girl you once admired so deeply.

You broke up in the spring of 2023, right before summer break. No dramatic blow up, no final betrayal—just two people exhausted by the weight of what they couldn’t say to each other.

Leaving for the WNBA after a heartbreaking loss in the Final Four felt like relief you hated admitting. Being drafted first overall to the New York Liberty felt like escape. You loved UConn and the life and family you’d built there, but you couldn’t stay another season playing next to Paige, pretending your relationship hadn’t fallen apart in front of the entire program.

New York felt like paradise in comparison. You shined. You led the team. You won Rookie of the Year. You carried them through the playoffs and won a championship that had eluded the franchise for decades, taking the Finals MVP in the process. It was everything you’d dreamed of and more.

And still, you couldn’t help but hold onto that grudge towards Paige. Like somewhere along the way, she’d stopped believing in you as much as you’d believed in her.

Unrivaled was never supposed to be personal.

You became a minority co-founder alongside Breanna Stewart and Napheesa Collier because you believed in the idea—an offseason league built by players, for players. You had the résumé, the resources, and the leverage to make it happen, and when the opportunity came, you joined without hesitation.

What you didn’t expect was how quickly business would blur into something so much messier.

The Mist, the team you’d originally been assigned to, failed to make the playoffs in their inaugural season. Under league rules, each team could only protect one player ahead of expansion, if their team didn’t make said playoffs. The decision was easy and unanimous. Breanna Stewart, team captain, franchise cornerstone.

That left you unprotected.

With two new teams being added to the league, the front office decided it made the most sense to place you where you were needed most. You weren’t just a co-owner—you were a proven leader and someone who could anchor a locker room without needing any titles.

So they named you captain of one of Breeze BC. And as said captain, you’d help shape the team. Set the tone and lead by example. It was nothing new to you, to be honest. What you wouldn’t do was draft the roster. That responsibility belonged solely to the head coach. Breeze BC, by virtue of expansion rules and luck, held the first overall pick.

You knew who it would be the second the order was announced.

And when her name was called, you kept your face neutral, hands folded neatly in your lap, the way you’d learned to do in rooms where reactions were currency, even though you were in your apartment. Applause filled the space, cameras flashed, and your friend clapped you on the shoulder like this was a gift.

You hadn’t been consulted. You hadn’t been asked. You hadn’t even been warned.

The rest of the draft unfolded quickly after that—Cameron Brink, Rickea Jackson, Kate Martin, Dominique Malonga—each selection another reminder that Breeze was being built around you in every way except the one that mattered most.

By the time training camp was scheduled and rosters were finalized, the reality had settled in. You were a co-owner, you were the captain, and you were about to spend most of your offseason sharing a locker room with the one person you’d never truly learned how to leave behind, as much as you thought you did.

Unrivaled media day was designed to feel effortless. Bright lights bounced off polished floors, music played softly from someone’s speaker, and the room buzzed with overlapping conversations as the Breeze players rotated through hair and makeup. Stylists moved with practiced efficiency, curling irons hissing, makeup brushes tapping against palettes. Everyone looked relaxed, already slipping into the version of themselves they knew the cameras wanted.

You walked in late, shoulders tense, a weight pressing low in your chest that had nothing to do with travel or scheduling. Your eyes swept the room instinctively, cataloguing faces and uniforms and familiar silhouettes. You registered quickly that every seat was filled, every player already settled, and that you were the last one to arrive. You didn’t feel guilty. Media day wasn’t practice and you hadn’t missed anything that couldn’t wait a few minutes.

That didn’t stop her.

“Nice of you to finally join us, captain,” Paige’s voice carried easily across the room, light and sharp all at once. She sat in front of one of the mirrors with a curling iron paused near her shoulder, eyes flicking toward you through the reflection. There was a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the kind she used when she wanted to provoke without looking like the aggressor. “Almost thought you join us today.”

You froze for half a second, just long enough for the words to land, before forcing yourself to keep moving. You crossed the room and dropped into an empty chair without looking in her direction, already feeling the hair and makeup team close in around you. A stylist adjusted your chair, their chatter filling the space you refused to give Paige. “Well,” you said calmly, eyes forward and voice even, “here I am.”

You focused on the mirror in front of you, on your own reflection, on the deliberate stillness of your expression. You refused to let her pull anything from you this early, refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. You were not here to rehash the past, and you were definitely not here to make amends. You were the captain of Breeze BC nowand you had no intention of letting a bad breakup and two years of unspoken resentment interfere with the responsibility placed on your shoulders.

Still, you could feel her eyes on you.

It was a familiar sensation, that quiet awareness of being watched, of being measured. You didn’t turn your head, but you knew the look she was giving you, the sideways glance sharp with challenge and something darker underneath. To her, it probably looked like distance. Like authority. Like you had already decided she would be first to feel the weight of your expectations once practice began.

And maybe she wasn’t wrong.

Paige watched you in the mirror as the stylists worked around you, her fingers curling slowly against the arm of the chair. You looked the same and completely different all at once, posture straight, expression unreadable, like you had learned how to exist behind glass. It irritated her how easily you slipped into the role, how natural the authority looked on you, how little effort it seemed to take.

She told herself she had only spoken up because someone had to. Because captains showed up on time. Because it would have been awkward if no one acknowledged it, but none of those explanations quite stuck.

What unsettled her most was how calm you were. No bite. No edge. No familiar spark of irritation she could latch onto and turn into something simpler, something she understood. You had answered her like she was any other teammate, and that hurt more than if you had snapped back.

Paige swallowed and forced her attention back to the mirror, jaw tightening as the curling iron brushed her shoulder. If this was how you were going to play it, distant and untouchable, then fine. She could play that game too.

She just wasn’t sure how long she could pretend she didn’t still feel the pull.

Practices started the way all practices did, with controlled chaos and unspoken expectations filling the air. The gym was louder than you expected, sneakers squeaking sharply against the hardwood as players jogged through warmups and assistants called out rotations. Music played faintly from the speakersX, but most of it was drowned out by bouncing balls and overlapping voices. It felt familiar in a way that made your chest tighten.

You took your place at the edge of the court, stretching slowly, watching the team move through drills. Noelle ran the practice with calm authority, her voice cutting through the noise when it needed to, letting the flow settle when it didn’t. You listened more than you spoke, taking in how people communicated, who gravitated toward who, how the pieces might fit once the season started.

When scrimmage drills began, you stepped in naturally, calling out switches, pointing out spacing when it broke down. It wasn’t about control. It was about clarity. You spoke to everyone the same way, steady and direct, offering quick encouragement when things clicked and quiet reminders when they didn’t.

Except with Paige.

She was sharp, quick off the catch, confident in a way that made the drills hum when she was involved. You noticed it immediately, the way the offense flowed through her without effort, the way she demanded attention without asking for it. You also noticed the half second delays, the moments where she trusted instinct over structure, where she played like she was still used to being the axis everything turned on.

“Again,” you said calmly after one rep, barely raising your voice. “Timing was late.”

Paige glanced at you, just once, before nodding and jogging back to the line. The next rep was cleaner, the cut sharper, the pass delivered on time. You didn’t praise it. You just moved on.

The pattern repeated itself. Paige made a tough read and you pointed out the missed option. She hit a difficult shot and you reminded her about spacing on the weak side. It wasn’t criticism so much as precision, but it landed heavier than anything you said to anyone else. You could feel the shift in her body language, the way her shoulders tightened, the way her jaw set.

During water breaks, you stayed where you were, towel draped around your neck, listening to Noelle talk through the next segment. Paige lingered near the sideline, eyes flicking toward you and then away again. You didn’t meet her gaze. You didn’t need to. You could feel it all the same.

When the scrimmage picked up pace, you found yourself guarding her without anyone assigning it. It just happened, the way magnets found each other without asking permission. You knew her tendencies too well, cut off the angles she liked, stepped into passing lanes before she fully committed. Each time, she adjusted, pushed harder, drove stronger, played like she was trying to prove something to you specifically.

You stopped calling her name when you needed a switch. You used hand signals instead, brief and efficient. She caught them every time, but the hesitation was there, the fraction of uncertainty that never used to exist between you. It slowed her just enough to be noticeable.

Still, when things broke down, she covered for her teammates without hesitation. She hustled back on defense, talked through screens, encouraged rookies after missed shots. You noticed that too. You always noticed more than you let on.

At the end of practice, as players cooled down and assistants gathered balls, the gym felt heavier than when you’d started. Not louder, not tenser in any obvious way, just dense with things unsaid. You wiped sweat from your forehead and took a breath, grounding yourself in the role you had chosen.

You weren’t there to punish her. You weren’t there to prove a point. You were there to lead.

Even if leadership meant standing firm in the space where history kept trying to pull you backward.

The gym was quiet in the way only empty courts ever were, the kind of silence that pressed in on your ears instead of offering relief. You stood at the free throw line, the ball cool and familiar in your hands, the echo of your last shot still ringing faintly through the space. You exhaled slowly, bounced the ball once, and let muscle memory take over.

You didn’t hear her come in at first. You were already setting up for the next shot when footsteps echoed behind you, unhurried, deliberate. The sound alone made your shoulders tense. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to.

“Don’t,” you said flatly, before she could speak. “Whatever this is, don’t.”

Paige stopped a few feet behind you. You could feel her there, like gravity shifting in the room. “You don’t get to decide that,” she said. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it wasn’t gentle either. “You don’t get to act like this isn’t personal.”

You finally turned, the ball tucked tight against your hip. “It isn’t,” you said, even as the lie scraped your throat on the way out.

She laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “That’s bullshit. You look at me like I’m something you have to survive. You talk to me like I’m a problem. You don’t get to hide behind leadership and pretend that’s not what you’re doing.”

Your grip tightened. “And you don’t get to play victim just because I won’t tiptoe around you anymore.”

Paige stepped closer, her hands flexing at her sides. “You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it every time you look past me like I’m nothing?”

“Nothing?” The word came out harsher than you meant it to, but you didn’t pull it back. “You’ve never been nothing. That was the problem.”

She scoffed, stepping even closer. “Oh, really?” Her eyes searched your face like she was looking for something familiar and coming up empty. “You freeze me out, you talk around me, and you act like that’s leadership. You don’t think I notice?”

“You think I don’t notice you pushing back on everything I say?” you shot back. “You think I don’t feel you challenging me every chance you get?”

“Because you never let me in,” Paige snapped. “You took over and shut me out like I was already gone. You stopped asking for my input. You stopped treating me like I mattered.” Her voice broke, just slightly. “I was injured, isolated, and watching the team move on without me. And you let it happen. It’s like I was useless.”

The words landed hard. Your chest tightened. “I didn’t shut you out and you weren’t fucking useless,” your brows furrowed, though even to your own ears, your words sounded defensive. “I was trying to keep things together. Someone had to.”

“And you decided it couldn’t be me,” she said bitterly. “You decided I was too much to deal with.”

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.” Your voice almost shook, but you held it together. Even if it felt like a slap to the face. You took a step toward her, anger flaring. “I was scared of you,” you admitted. “Of your temper. Of the way you snapped at me when I tried to help. Of how every bad day turned into something I had to survive.”

Paige’s expression faltered, hurt flickering across her face before she masked it with anger. “So you pulled away,” she said. “You canceled on me. You stopped coming by rehab. You stopped choosing me when I needed you the most.”

“You keep acting like you’re the only one that was in pain.” Tears began to sting your eyes, chest burning and jaw tightening so they wouldn’t fall.

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding softly like she was bracing for impact. For a moment she looked like she might turn away, like she might choose silence instead. Then her shoulders squared, and she met your eyes head-on.

“Then say it,” she demanded, voice tight. “Say whatever it is you’ve been holding in.”

Something in your chest cracked open, sharp and sudden, like a fault line finally giving way. The anger rushed up first, hot and blinding, but underneath it was grief you’d never learned how to name. “You want the truth?” you shot back, the words coming faster now, reckless. “Fine. I carried that team while you iced your knee and pretended you were happy for me. I carried it while you sat there watching every win turn into something you couldn’t stand to look at.”

Paige’s face tightened immediately, her expression hardening like she’d thrown up a wall on instinct. Her eyes flashed, hurt and fury tangling together. “I was injured,” she snapped. “I was trying to survive losing everything I thought I was.”

“And you took it out on me!” Your voice shook despite your effort to keep it steady, anger bleeding into something rawer and more exposed. You gestured helplessly between the two of you, like the space itself was proof. “You resented me for stepping up, even though it wasn’t my decision. For being good. For not shrinking when you needed the world to slow down for you.”

“That’s not fair,” she fired back, taking a step forward like she could physically push the words away. “You don’t know what it felt like—”

“I know exactly what it felt like,” you cut in, not letting her finish, the words ripping out of you before you could soften them. “Because you made sure I felt it too. Every cold shoulder. Every sharp comment. Every time you made me feel like my success was something I should apologize for.”

Paige’s breath hitched. The fight drained from her posture in visible increments, shoulders dropping, hands curling loosely at her sides. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, brittle around the edges. “I was hurting.”

“And so was I,” you countered immediately, the admission tearing at your throat. Your chest felt too tight, like the air had thinned without warning. “But I didn’t start treating the person I loved like shit because of it. That injury didn’t give you a free pass to underestimate me.”

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Even the distant hum of the lights seemed too loud. Paige stared at the floor for a long moment, jaw working as if she were chewing on something painful.

She swallowed, hard. When she looked back up, her eyes were glassy, anger replaced by something unsteady and frightened. “I never underestimated you.”

A short, broken laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. It tasted bitter. “You did,” you said quietly. “You just didn’t realize it.” You shook your head, breath uneven, hands trembling at your sides. “It was killing you, wasn’t it? That for once, things didn’t revolve around you. That your jealousy overshadowed any type of love you may have had for me by a lot.”

Her face crumpled for just a second, like the mask she’d been wearing finally slipped. It wasn’t dramatic. It was worse than that. Subtle and human. “That’s not—” she started, then stopped, the rest of the sentence dissolving before it could take shape. When she tried again, her voice came out quieter, stripped bare. “I loved you.”

The words landed softly and still managed to hurt more than anything else she’d said. You nodded, slow and deliberate, like you were acknowledging a truth you’d carried alone for too long. “I know,” you said gently. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The air between you thickened, heavy with everything neither of you had said when it mattered. Paige stepped closer without thinking, drawn by habit and memory, close enough that you could feel the heat of her body, the familiarity of her presence tugging at something dangerous inside you. For a split second, it felt like the past might swallow you whole.

You moved first.

You shoved past her, your shoulder colliding with hers. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to mean something. Hard enough to leave no room for misunderstanding. “I can’t do this,” you said, voice breaking as you turned away. “Not again.”

Your footsteps echoed sharply against the hardwood as you left, each step carrying you farther from the version of yourself that had once stayed. The door swung shut behind you with a hollow finality.

Paige stayed where she was, alone on the court, the truth finally spoken and nowhere left to put it.

The rooftop had been transformed into something almost unreal. Warm string lights were woven along the glass railings and wrapped around metal beams, casting a soft glow over clusters of players, staff, and league executives. A small bar had been set up near the center with two bartenders moving efficiently through orders, music thumping just loud enough to keep the energy high without drowning out conversation.

Laughter carried easily in the open air, blending with the hum of the city below, and for once the entire league felt united by something lighter than pressure and expectation. Everyone seemed eager to leave the year behind and step into the next one together.

You stood near the edge of the rooftop with Stewie and Phee, the three of you half tucked against the glass railing as you talked shop like you always did. Conversations slipped easily between co-owner responsibilities and on court observations, first practice impressions bleeding into long-term vision for the league. You listened more than you spoke, nodding along, occasionally chiming in with something thoughtful or sharp. From the outside, you looked composed, confident, completely in your element. Inside, you felt like you were barely holding everything together.

Paige lingered further back, close to one of the high-top tables, a drink in her hand as she talked with Cameron and Aaliyah. She laughed at something Cameron said, her shoulders relaxing in a way they rarely did these days, but her eyes betrayed her every time.

No matter how engaged she seemed, her gaze kept drifting back to you, drawn in by muscle memory and unfinished business. She watched the way you spoke with your hands, the way your head tilted when you listened, the way Stewie leaned in toward you like you were still her rookie. Each glance felt like a spark against dry kindling.

The stress had been sitting heavy in your chest all night, an ache you had grown used to carrying. Two weeks into training camp and the weight of being captain already felt relentless, pressing in from every direction.

You knew you were being harder on yourself than anyone else ever could be, holding yourself to standards that left little room to breathe.

Rest had been a luxury you never quite caught up on after the WNBA season, and your calendar stayed full with interviews, photoshoots, sponsorship obligations, and appearances that blurred together. Now you were here, surrounded by teammates, celebrating the new year while standing only a few dozen feet away from the one person who still had the power to unravel you.

One drink turned into another without you fully noticing. The tension in your shoulders loosened slightly, the constant buzz in your head dimming just enough to make space for laughter.

By the time the third glass was in your hand, you were pleasantly warm, steady on your feet, and just tipsy enough to stop overthinking every breath you took. You were still aware, still in control, still very much yourself. You felt lighter, but not careless.

Paige matched your pace without trying to. A couple drinks in, her edges softened, though the ache in her chest only grew sharper. Every time she looked over and saw you laughing with someone else, leaning into a conversation, touching someone’s arm in a way that felt natural and easy, something twisted inside her. You looked free with everyone but her, like she existed behind a wall you had built and refused to let her climb. She could not remember the last time you had smiled at her like that, genuinely and without restraint. She knew it had been long before the breakup, back when love still came easily and silence had not yet learned how to hurt.

The night pressed on around you, full of noise and motion and anticipation, but the space between you and Paige felt charged, heavy with everything left unsaid.

You laughed, joked, hugged teammates, toasted to the future, all while carefully avoiding her eyes. She watched you anyway, unable to stop, feeling the familiar pull tighten with every passing minute. Somewhere between the music and the lights and the alcohol, it became clear that the new year was going to start with unfinished business, whether either of you were ready for it or not.

Paige approached like she was doing it on accident, drifting closer while pretending to stay engaged in the conversation she had been half listening to. By the time you noticed her, she was already beside you, shoulder brushing yours just enough to feel intentional. You stiffened for half a second before forcing yourself to relax, eyes fixed on the city lights beyond the glass railing. The alcohol softened your reflexes but not your instincts. You could feel her there, warm and familiar and impossible to ignore.

“Didn’t think you’d come out tonight,” she said, voice casual in a way that did not quite land. She lifted her glass slightly, like this was just another harmless interaction. “You’ve been allergic to fun lately.”

You glanced at her, slow and unimpressed. “Well, I’m literally here,” you replied, tone dry. “Not sure what else you want from me.”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re here, yeah. But you’re not really here.” Her eyes flicked to the group you had just stepped away from, then back to your face. “You still got this thing where you act like you’re above it all. Like you’re above everyone.”

You turned toward her fully now, brows knitting together despite yourself. “That’s really rich, coming from you, Bueckers.”

She raised an eyebrow. “See? That. You’re always ready to snap.”

“And you’re always ready to poke. You just said some mean shit,” you shot back, the words coming easier than they should have. The alcohol loosened your tongue just enough to stop filtering the edge. “If you’re trying to start something with me, just say that. This shit is so childish.”

Paige’s jaw tightened a little, but she did not back off. “I’m not trying to start anything. I just don’t get why you’re acting like I don’t exist.”

You laughed under your breath, soft and humorless. “Can you blame me? You’re a pain in my ass.”

Before you could stop yourself, you turned away, intent on putting space between you and her before the conversation tipped somewhere dangerous. She caught your wrist gently but firmly, her grip grounding and infuriating all at once. You looked down at her hand, then back up at her face, irritation flaring hot in your chest.

“Can we talk somewhere else,” she said quietly, leaning in just enough that only you could hear her. Her tone had shifted, less defensive, more urgent. “Please.”

You hesitated, the noise of the party swelling around your head, eyes on the familiar lines of her face. Against your better judgment, you let her guide you away, weaving through clusters of people until the music dulled a little and the lights softened. She stopped near a recessed corner by a structural column, partially shielded from view, the city stretching out behind you like a held breath as you leaned your back against it.

The silence that settled between you felt heavier than the bickering ever had. Paige ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly like she was trying to steady herself. “You don’t have to hate me like this,” she said finally, voice low and strained.

You crossed your arms, heart thudding too loudly in your ears as the decent amount of alcohol flowed through you. “I don’t hate you.”

She scoffed softly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your gaze softened despite yourself, exhaustion seeping through the cracks in your anger. “I don’t know how to be around you without being mad at you,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could stop it. “And I don’t have the fucking energy for that right now.”

Paige took a step closer, careful this time, eyes searching yours like she was afraid of what she might find. “You think I do?” she asked. “Because every time you look right through me, it feels like right back where you left me. Like I didn’t matter enough.”

The words landed harder than you expected, knocking the breath from your lungs. You opened your mouth to respond, then closed it, unsure which version of the truth would do the least damage. The space between you felt electric and charged with things neither of you were brave enough to say out loud.

Somewhere behind you, laughter erupted and a new song started, the night inching closer to midnight. But in that quiet corner, time felt suspended, the tension between you stretched thin and trembling, one wrong word away from snapping entirely.

The shift in the atmosphere happened gradually, then all at once. Voices grew louder, laughter spilling over itself as people leaned closer, drinks raised higher, anticipation buzzing through the air.

A few fireworks cracked in the distance, sharp and bright against the night sky, like the city itself was testing the moment before committing to it. Cheers rippled across the rooftop, arms wrapping around shoulders, strangers and teammates alike already celebrating something that had not quite arrived yet. And somehow, in the middle of all that movement, it felt like you and Paige were standing completely still.

You barely registered it at first, too caught up in the weight of her presence in front of you. Excitement bled into the air like static, prickling against your skin, making your nerves hum. Somewhere behind Paige, a small group started shouting prematurely, laughter breaking through as phones were lifted to capture the moment before it even happened.

The music swelled, bass thudding through your chest, but it all felt distant, muffled by the way your focus narrowed to the space between you.

Paige’s gaze flicked past you for just a second, drawn by the noise, and when she looked back at you something had shifted. Her expression tightened, not with anger or defensiveness, but with something more vulnerable, more exposed. There was a tension in her eyes that made your stomach twist, like she was bracing herself for something she had already decided to face head on.

“It’s almost twelve,” she said quietly, her voice soft enough that it felt like it was meant only for you.

Neither of you looked away. The world seemed to shrink down to the two of you, eyes locked, breaths shallow and uneven. You were painfully aware of how close she was, of how easy it would be to step back if you wanted to. The space existed, thin but undeniable, hovering between restraint and surrender.

It felt like a test you were failing on purpose, every instinct screaming that you should move while every other part of you refused to listen. The alcohol warming your veins did nothing to help, loosening your resolve just enough to let the moment stretch.

Behind you, the countdown began, hesitant at first, then louder as more voices joined in. Numbers overlapped, laughter bleeding into the rhythm, the entire rooftop slowly syncing together in anticipation. And still, neither of you could focus on anything but each other. Your chest burned, your pulse loud in your ears, the noise around you blurring into something distant and unreal. Your gaze dropped to her lips without meaning to, memory filling in the gaps, recalling the familiar pressure of her mouth against yours, a feeling that had never fully faded no matter how much time had passed.

She stepped closer, close enough that you could feel her breath when she exhaled, warm against your cheek, steady despite everything. Her hands found your waist, resting there without moving further, grounding and tentative all at once. It felt deliberate, like she was giving you the space to decide, like she was waiting for permission you were not brave enough to give or deny.

Your breath hitched, the contact sending heat straight through you, lighting something that had been dormant for far too long.

“Three!” someone shouted nearby.

Your heart beat faster, each second stretching impossibly long. Her hands on you felt like fire now, her gaze darker, warmer, searching your face like she was memorizing it. The world pressed in from all sides, noise and light and anticipation colliding, but Paige’s voice cut through it all.

“Tell me to stop,” she murmured, quiet but clear, meant only for you.

You should have. You knew that. You should have created space, taken a step back, reminded yourself of everything that could go wrong. It would have been the smart thing to do, the responsible thing to do. Instead, your head shook almost imperceptibly, the decision made before your mind could catch up.

“Two!”

Both of your breaths caught, the air suddenly too thin. Paige leaned in a fraction closer, so close you could almost feel her forehead brush against yours. Your hands lifted without thought, fingers curling into the fabric at her shoulders, anchoring yourself to her like you might float away otherwise.

“One!”

Fireworks exploded overhead, light flooding the rooftop in bursts of pink, red, blue, and gold. The noise was deafening, cheers erupting around you, the world celebrating loudly and without restraint. And in the middle of it all, Paige kissed you.

It felt like the world had already ended and this was what remained. The kiss was not rushed or desperate, but grounding, steady, like finding solid footing after years of standing on unstable ground. Her lips moved against yours with a familiarity that made your chest ache, like they had never truly been apart despite everything that had happened between you. Your grip tightened at her shoulders as if to confirm she was real, as if to keep her there, the fireworks still echoing above you while time seemed to stand completely still.

It felt unreal how easily you slipped away from the rooftop, swallowed by the chaos of fireworks and cheers as midnight continued to erupt above the city.

No one noticed the way your fingers stayed laced with Paige’s, the two of you moving through hallways and elevators like you were twenty again, sneaking off from a party you were never supposed to leave together. Your heart was still racing by the time you reached her floor, adrenaline mixing with alcohol and something far more dangerous. The door to her apartment loomed in front of you, the quiet of the hallway a sharp contrast to the noise you had just escaped.

You barely had time to register the click of the lock before she turned, pressing you back against the wall beside her door.

The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, her mouth crashing into yours with a hunger that felt almost feral. Her lips moved against yours with desperation, like she was afraid you might disappear if she loosened her grip for even a second.

Her hands were everywhere at once, sliding along your waist, gripping your hips, settling possessively against you as if to anchor herself. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t careful. It was messy and urgent and full of things neither of you had resolved.

Your arms wound around her neck without hesitation, fingers tangling in her hair as you pulled her closer. You kissed her back just as hard, giving in to the pull of her while still carrying the anger and hurt that had not fully left your chest. The alcohol dulled the sharpest edges, softened the ache just enough to make this possible, but it did not erase the history between you. The kiss was heated enough to almost hurt, teeth grazing lips, breaths uneven and stolen between movements. It felt like you were both trying to say something without words, trying to prove something to yourselves more than to each other.

A quiet sound slipped from you before you could stop it, a soft sigh that turned into something closer to a whimper as her hands tightened at your hips. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, leaning into her touch, holding onto her like she was the only solid thing in the world.

Paige stilled just enough to murmur against your mouth, her voice low and rough. “Fuck, you still do that.”

Her words sent a shiver straight through you, settling deep and warm in your stomach. She squeezed your hips again, grounding and claiming all at once, as if confirming what you both already knew. You didn’t respond, couldn’t, too caught up in the way her presence filled every sense, the way being this close to her still felt like coming undone. The hallway was silent except for your breathing, the door still closed, the night holding its breath while the two of you stood there, tangled up in want and unfinished business.

Paige barely gave you a second to catch your breath before her hand tapped firmly against your hip, a silent question you answered without hesitation.

You jumped into her arms easily, muscle memory taking over as your legs wrapped around her waist and your hands tightened at her shoulders. She caught you without effort, palms settling securely beneath you as if this was something she had done a hundred times before. The closeness stole the air from your lungs, your lips still on hers as she turned and carried you down the short hallway.

The bedroom came into view in a blur, the forgotten lights low and curtains half drawn, the distant echo of fireworks still rumbling outside. She tossed you onto the bed with controlled force, rough enough to make your pulse spike but careful enough not to hurt. The mattress dipped beneath you and you let out a small, startled gasp, the sound escaping before you could stop it. You barely had time to adjust before her hands were on you again, tugging you into place, grounding you, claiming space like she needed to make sure you were still there.

She hovered over you, one arm braced beside your head as the other slid back to your waist, fingers warm and steady. Her mouth found yours again, slower this time but no less desperate, like she was savoring something she had been denied for far too long. The kiss trailed along your jaw, her lips lingering before moving down to your neck, where she pressed soft kisses that quickly turned more insistent. Her breath was hot against your skin, her mouth leaving deliberate marks that made your hands curl into the sheets beneath you.

A quiet sound slipped from you as she worked lower, your head tipping back without permission. “If you leave any hickeys, I’m gonna kill you,” you breathed, your voice steady enough to pass as teasing even though your body was betraying you completely.

She shifted slightly, her knee settling between yours to steady herself as she leaned over you, one elbow digging into the mattress while her free hand slid under your shirt. Her touch was confident, familiar, like she remembered exactly where to place it to undo you. “I can live with that, mama,” she rasped against your neck, the words sending a shock through you that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

A surprised laugh bubbled up from your chest, soft and breathless, more disbelief than humor. Even now, even like this, she still knew how to catch you off guard, how to pull reactions from you that you pretended no longer existed. Her mouth lingered at your neck as if she heard it, as if she felt the way your body responded anyway. The night pressed in around you, the bed warm beneath your back, the weight of her anchoring you in place while everything else faded into noise.

Her knee shifted closer between your legs, the pressure deliberate and slow, enough to make your breath stutter without fully giving you what you wanted. It was teasing in the cruelest way, her body clearly aware of how sensitive you already were. Her hand tightened at your waist, thumb pressing into your skin like she was grounding herself as much as she was holding you in place. The combination made your chest rise faster, every nerve suddenly awake and waiting.

Her mouth left your neck gradually, kisses trailing downward like she was mapping you out again. She lingered at your collarbones, lips warm and unhurried, then dipped lower where your shirt had shifted just enough to reveal skin she clearly remembered. Your breath hitched despite yourself, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach even as you tried to steady it. Soft sounds slipped out of you anyway, quiet and involuntary, your body betraying how deeply she was getting under your skin.

Your hand slid to the back of her head, fingers brushing against her hair as she kissed and licked your skin with focused intent. The hair tie loosened beneath your touch, elastic slipping free as her hair fell down around her face and shoulders. The sight made something in your chest ache in a way that felt almost unfair. That was how you had always liked it, how you had always seen her at her softest, even when everything else between you was sharp.

She caught your wrist gently, redirecting your hand as her own fingers pushed your shirt higher instead. Cool air kissed newly exposed skin, her touch warm in contrast as she took advantage of every inch she revealed. Her lips followed, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your stomach, each one purposeful, unhurried, like she was reminding herself you were real.

“I missed this,” she murmured quietly, more to herself than to you, her voice rough with something dangerously close to honesty.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets as her mouth lingered, refusing to rush. She moved like she had nowhere else to be, like the world outside the room did not exist anymore. It felt less like hunger and more like need, like she was trying to make up for lost time without saying it out loud. And as she stayed there, touching you like this, it became painfully clear that she was not interested in half measures. She wanted all of you, and she was taking her time proving it.

Paige’s mouth continued its slow descent, kisses trailing lower until her lips brushed the waistband of your jeans. Her fingers hooked into the denim with casual familiarity, tugging it down just enough to expose skin she lingered over, kissing there like it mattered.

The gesture alone sent a shiver through you, anticipation tightening in your chest as your body reacted faster than your thoughts could catch up. She paused there on purpose, letting the tension stretch until it felt almost unbearable.

When she finally looked back up at you, the sight stole the breath from your lungs. Her blue eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide with want, her expression open in a way that made your stomach flip.

“Can I take this off?” she asked softly, the question clear and intentional despite the roughness creeping into her voice.

All you could do was nod, tongue darting out to wet your lips without thinking. “Do whatever you want” You breathed out, surprised at how steady the words sounded even as your pulse thundered through you.

She didn’t respond verbally. A small smirk tugged at her mouth, quick and knowing, before her focus shifted back to you. Her hands moved with purpose, unbuttoning your jeans, tugging the zipper down, sliding them off you with a carelessness that betrayed just how impatient she was becoming. The cool air against newly bared skin made you inhale sharply, your fingers curling into the sheets as she settled herself between your legs.

She nudged your knees apart gently but firmly, positioning you exactly where she wanted you, one arm hooking beneath your leg to keep you there. “Been thinking about doing this almost every day for the past two years.” she murmured, her voice low and honest in a way that made your chest ache.

The words alone sent heat rushing through you, only worsening the flood between your legs. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but whatever thought you had disappeared the moment she leaned back in, her lips finding you again. You bit down on your lip to keep quiet, breath coming uneven as her mouth traced slow, calculated paths along your inner thighs, unhurried and intentional. She kissed and lingered wherever she pleased, close enough to make your nerves scream, far enough to keep you wanting.

“Is this necessary?” you breathed, the question half a tease and half a plea, fingers tightening in the fabric beneath you.

She hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “Fuck yeah it is,” she muttered, unmistakable satisfaction in her voice, like she was enjoying every second of dragging it out.

It kept going like that, Paige deliberately drawing it out, her teasing slow and cruel in a way that made your head feel light and your patience burn. Even she seemed to reach her limit eventually, the tension snapping after a few long moments, and then her lips were finally exactly where you had been silently begging for them to be. They pressed against you through the lace of your panties, thin and almost useless, close enough that you could feel the heat of her mouth anyway.

It barely felt like a barrier at all, and still, you couldn’t stop the quiet whine that slipped out of you, breathy and helpless.

She pulled back just enough to smirk, clearly pleased with herself. “You’re still just as impatient, you know that?” she murmured, her voice calm and smug in a way that made it worse.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep it light, even as your breathing stayed uneven and broken. You dragged in a shaky breath before answering, annoyance and need tangled together. “And you’re still fucking irritating.”

Paige hummed in response, that smirk still there like she was agreeing with you, or maybe just enjoying the fact that you were right. Her tongue darted out a second later, dragging slowly over the white lace, and the material felt a little rough under the movement. The sound it pulled from you was soft and wrecked, a whimper you couldn’t stop, and it made the whole thing feel unbearably intense. She followed it with open mouthed kisses, lingering and unhurried, wetting your panties with her mouth as if it wasn’t already soaked.

“You’re already soaked and I haven’t even done anything yet,” Paige said with a low chuckle, her voice pressed right against you. The vibration of it sent a shiver straight up your spine, your body reacting before you could think.

“Man, shut up,” you breathed back, a weak attempt at matching her tone. It came out sounding almost like her chuckle, except nowhere near as steady or controlled, your head still spinning and your frustration bleeding through every word.

Her mouth worked through the lace slowly, deliberately, licking and sucking like she had been starved for this exact moment. It felt practiced and desperate all at once, like muscle memory kicking in after being denied for far too long. And the truth was, she had been craving this for years, even if she would never say it out loud. Every late night thought that crept in when she was alone, every dream where you were still hers, every fantasy she shut down the second it surfaced was unfolding right in front of her again. She had missed this more than she would ever admit, missed you in a way that sat heavy and unresolved in her chest.

She paused just long enough to look up at you, lips still close, eyes dark and knowing. “You want ’em gone, mama?” she asked softly, like she wasn’t already aware of the answer, like she didn’t know exactly how much control she had right now. Her gaze alone stole the air from your lungs, and the fact that she was pretending not to notice only made it worse. Not feeling her tongue on you without anything in the way was driving you completely insane, and she knew it.

“If you don’t take this shit off, I’m gonna find someone else to do it, okay?” you replied, your voice low and deceptively soft. The words themselves were sharp, deliberate, meant to sting, even as your body betrayed you entirely.

Paige stilled instantly, her mouth no longer moving as she looked up at you from where she was. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, daring you to keep going, daring you to say it again. She could feel the challenge in your tone, could hear exactly what you were trying to do, and it only fed into the fire building behind her ribs. You wanted her angry. You wanted to push her, and she wasn’t about to back down.

“You think anyone could fuck you half as good as I do?” she asked, her voice low and challenging, but still light with confidence. It wasn’t a question she expected an answer to. She already knew what she believed, and she had never doubted it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, eyes dropping to her with something almost gentle for half a second before you forced yourself to straighten. You couldn’t afford to soften now. “I do, yeah.” you said, steady enough to sound convincing.

And those three words were what finally set her off. They lit something reckless and relentless in her, something that refused to be denied, something that fueled the next few hours with a stamina that came straight from anger, longing, and everything she had been holding back for far too long

Two of her fingers hooked into the material of your panties and tugged them to the side just enough to give her all the access she needed, the action confident and impatient.

This time, both of her arms slid under your thighs, and before you could react, she pulled you closer to her, closing whatever space had been left between you. The sudden shift made your breath catch, and then her tongue darted out again, dragging a long, flat stripe over your folds that made your entire body tense at once. Her mouth worked you relentlessly. Licking at you, lips wrapping around your throbbing clit and sucking while you squirmed beneath her, soft, broken whimpers slipping out as your hands twisted into the bed sheets, gripping hard just to keep yourself grounded.

“Tastes so fucking good.” she mumbled against your skin as if talking to herself, the words barely formed as she went right back to licking and sucking with purpose. There was desperation in it now, something heated and driven, like she had something to prove and refused to lose. And she did prove it, easily, making you swallow every sharp word you’d thrown at her earlier without even trying.

Your breathing grew heavier by the second, each inhale hitching in your throat before breaking apart into uneven sounds you couldn’t control. The room felt too warm, your head spinning as the sensation built higher and higher, stealing any remaining composure you had left.

“Fuck, baby. Please,” you breathed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The sound of it only fed her confidence, and you could feel the way she leaned into it, encouraged by how undone you already were.

Your hand drifted back almost without thought, fingers sliding into her hair and curling there. You stroked it once before tightening your grip, pushing her head down just enough to make it clear you wanted her right where she was—needed her there.

“You wanna cum, baby? Think you deserve it?” Her voice came out low and teasing, before flicking her tongue rapidly against your soaked pussy.

you nodded your head desperately, humming a ‘yes’ in response.

It didn’t take long after that for the release to start creeping up on you, sharp and overwhelming, hitting harder than anything you had felt in the last two years. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you shaking and completely at her mercy.

You were still coming down from the high, eyes closed, chest rising and falling hard like you had just run a marathon. Your body felt heavy and loose all at once, overstimulated and slow to catch up, and you barely registered Paige moving away from you. You didn’t notice her slipping out from between your legs, didn’t notice the drawer opening or the quiet sounds of her pulling out her strap and securing it around her hips and thighs while you lay there trying to breathe.

You only came back to yourself when the world shifted suddenly, your body being flipped over onto your stomach before you had time to react. Her hands were firm as they slid beneath your pelvis, lifting and positioning you, pulling your hips up into an arch that made your breath catch all over again. The movement was practiced and confident, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your lungs seized when you felt something press from behind, and even before your mind fully caught up, your body already knew exactly what it was. Anticipation curled tight in your stomach, sharp and dizzying after everything you had just felt.

“You thought I was done with you?” Paige chuckled lowly, sounding almost amused, like this was inevitable. “Nah, Ima get you right, mama. See if anyone can fuck you like this, yeah?”

You didn’t protest or answer her, not even a sound slipping out in response. If anything, you leaned into it, impatience taking over as you pushed your hips back just slightly, wordlessly encouraging her even though she clearly didn’t need it.

And when her strap finally slid in with effortless ease, the relief hit you instantly. A muffled moan spilled out into the mattress beneath you, your body relaxing into the sensation as the aftershocks of your earlier release mixed with something new, leaving you breathless all over again.

Her hands curled firmly around your hips, grounding both herself and you as her own hips began to move in a steady back and forth rhythm. With every motion, your thighs met hers, your body rocking with the movement as your ass lifted and followed her lead without thought. The physical connection felt consuming, like she was anchoring herself to you just as much as she was holding you in place.

You were already sensitive, every nerve still buzzing, but that only made it better instead of overwhelming. It didn’t stop you from enjoying every second of it, from gripping the bedsheets like you were holding on for dear life, knuckles whitening as you found yourself wanting more and more of her. The need felt endless, like it kept building instead of settling.

The only sounds filling her bedroom were the unmistakable ones of skin slapping against skin, the rhythm unbroken. Your moans grew louder and less restrained, slipping out between shaky breaths, mixing with her own pants and low sighs as she moved with purpose behind you.

Paige swore she could feel everything, every reaction, everytime you clenched around her, as if what was secured around her was simply an extension of herself. The way you responded made it feel real in a way she hadn’t expected, like her body recognized yours instinctively.

“Can feel you gripping my shit, mama. So warm and wet for me. I know you love this.” She rasped between breaths, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. One of her hands gripped the waistband of the fabric, fingers tight with restraint, while the other stayed firm on your hips, guiding you back and forth when she felt you falter.

You nodded rapidly, too far gone to form words, let alone gather yourself enough to look back at her. The response was instinctive and desperate, but it wasn’t enough for Paige. Her hand left your hip only to come back down sharply against the softness of your ass, the smack loud enough to cut through the haze and pull a quiet squeal of surprise from you.

“I can’t fucking hear you,” she said, her voice loud and commanding, sharp enough to snap you out of the trance you were slipping into. There was no mistaking it, if you didn’t use your words, she would find another way to push you further. “Is it mine, baby?”

Her pace slowed then, deliberately and cruelly so, each movement drawn out just enough to make it unbearable. She knew exactly what she was doing, knew that slowing down like this would force an answer out of you.

You nodded again at first, breath shaky, but then forced the words out when she didn’t move. “Yes. Yours. All yours,” you breathed, barely aware of yourself anymore. “This pussy loves you, daddy.” The words spilled out without thought, unfiltered and desperate.

It was like that alone was enough to fuel her further. Her other hand left your ass and grabbed the opposite side of the waistband, tearing your panties in half and ripping it off of you with ease, the suddenness making your breath hitch.

The next thing you knew, she was hauling you up with her, your back pressed firmly against her front. Your shirt was bunched up messily, one of her hands wrapping around your throat to keep you steady while the other braced cupped your tit, holding you upright as she moved. The position made everything feel more intense, more consuming.

“Just creaming on this dick, hm?”

Her pace turned relentless, each movement driving the sensation deeper and stealing whatever composure you had left. “Fuck, oh my god,” you barely managed to breath out with her hand around your throat, the knot inside you tightening fast as your body started to give in again. “So fucking close, baby, please.”

“You can cum for me, mama. I gotchu.” Paige placed a kiss on your temple.

You nodded once more, mouth falling open as the orgasm overtook you completely. When it finally hit, no words came at all, only high pitched, broken sounds as your body shook and everything crashed over you at once.

Paige’s hand came up suddenly, fingers firm as they grabbed your face and turned it toward hers. Before you could catch your breath, her lips crashed against yours, the kiss desperate and aggressive, like she was pouring everything she had left into it. Her mouth moved messily against yours, all tongue and urgency, the kiss sloppy and consuming while she was still inside you, refusing to give you even a second to recover.

When she finally pulled out, the loss hit immediately. A soft, disappointed whine slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your body already craving the feeling again, still aching and overstimulated.

“Get up,” she ordered, her voice quiet but her tone firm enough that it left no room for hesitation.

You didn’t question it. You didn’t know if she had something else planned or if this was the moment she was going to tell you to get dressed and leave, and the uncertainty made your stomach twist as you stood.

“On your knees.”

Your breath caught sharply in your throat, the instruction not at all what you had expected. Still, you held her gaze as you stood in front of her, heart pounding. Her hands reached for you again, cupping your face like she couldn’t help herself, pulling you into another deep, heated kiss. Her fingers found the hem of your bunched up shirt, tugging it up and over your head, stripping you naked without breaking the moment.

She didn’t hesitate after that, pushing you down by the shoulders until your knees met the floor. Once again, you didn’t protest. You just looked up at her, eyes wide and needy, the same look that had always driven her insane no matter how much time had passed.

Paige cursed internally, jaw tightening as she looked down at you.

“Want you cleaning yourself off of me,” she said softly, her hand sliding to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair with intention. “Fix the mess you made.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your tongue slipped out instinctively, kitty licking the tip before pressing a soft kiss there, determined to keep eye contact the entire time. Your tongue dragged a slow, flat stripe from the base to the tip, purposeful and unbroken as you cleaned yourself off of her. Paige’s hand came up to your face, stroking your cheek gently, her gaze heavy with hunger as she watched you.

“You’re so fucking perfect, mama,” she sighed, the words clear enough to cut through the haze between you.

You were still looking up at her when it hit the back of your throat, your tongue flattened against the bottom of the silicone as you adjusted. You began to move, bobbing your head slowly, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you pushed yourself to take it. You loved doing this for her, loved the way she watched you so closely, the way her face scrunched like she could feel every movement right along with you.

It wasn’t long before Paige started to grow impatient, the tension finally tipping over into something sharper. She nudged your head away gently but firmly, and a thick string of saliva stretched between your lips and the toy before breaking. Your lashes were damp with tears, your lips swollen and glossy, your breathing still uneven as you blinked up at her.

You rose slowly back onto your feet, unsteady for a second before finding your balance, standing in front of her once more. Your hands went to the harness without hesitation, fingers working at the clasps as you removed it while she watched, that satisfied smirk settling comfortably on her face like she had all the time in the world. She didn’t stop you or rush you, just let you take it off her piece by piece.

It didn’t take long for your hands to move higher, finding the hem of her shirt. You unbuttoned it quickly and tugged it off, then did the same with her sports bra, movements hurried and a little fidgety but unmistakably familiar. Her pants and boxers followed soon after, discarded without ceremony. Paige didn’t lift a finger to help, only watched you with quiet intensity, letting it all happen. The way you undressed her was rushed but practiced, like muscle memory taking over, like you had never spent time apart at all.

You pushed her back then, guiding her until the backs of her knees hit the bed frame and she sat down. Your palms rested on her thighs as you lowered yourself in front of her again, lifting one leg and then the other to drape them over your shoulders, eyes fixated on her glistening cunt.

You looked up at her from there, taking in the way her chest rose and fell as she watched you, the way she braced herself on her palms behind her, the way her tongue swept over her lips like she was holding herself back from devouring you.

And when you finally let the mix of yourself and your spit slip slowly down between her legs, the reaction was instant. Paige cursed under her breath and threw her head back at the sight, the sound sharp and unfiltered, her body responding before she could stop it.

Looking back down at her, you started slowly, pressing a few soft kisses around her core, letting them trail over her inner thighs before finally landing exactly where she needed you most. Your lips were already wet by the time you reached folds, slick with her, and you didn’t bother holding back. Unlike her earlier, you didn’t tease or draw it out. You devoured her like you had been waiting to do it all night, like the restraint had finally snapped. Your nails dug into her thigh as your tongue worked over her cunt quickly, urgently, taking everything you could into your mouth with no hesitation.

After all the teasing and waiting that had led up to this, it didn’t take long to feel her starting to give. Her body reacted fast, tension building in her legs, breath growing heavier as you pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

The tip of your tongue circled her entrance slowly at first, deliberate and precise, before dipping in as deep as you could manage. You moved in and out, repeating it again and again, pulling sounds out of her that you hadn’t heard in far too long. In a strange way, they felt unfamiliar. What used to be soft moans and shy whimpers had turned into heavy breathing, low curses, and rough grunts that filled the room.

“You sound different,” you murmured against her, briefly lifting your gaze to look up at her with a teasing glint. “Miss your lil whimpers and shy moans.”

Paige only rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, her hand coming down to push your head back into place to shut you up. You didn’t complain. If anything, it only encouraged you.

“Fuck, you eat it so good, mama,” she breathed out, her hand tangled deep in your hair as she watched you closely. She held your gaze, eyes dark and focused, following every movement you made. “Gonna make a mess on that perfect face.”

Her words were filthier than the noises she was making, but you didn’t mind at all. You leaned back into it, unfazed, and when you pulled her back into your mouth again, it was enough to finally send her over. The reaction hit her all at once, louder moans spilling out as she rode out her high on your face, her grip tightening as her body gave in completely.

You let her come down slowly, watching the aftermath ripple through her—her chest rising and falling too fast, her arms trembling faintly as the weight of herself finally settled back into the bed. You didn’t rush her. You liked this part. The quiet seconds where everything still felt charged, where the air itself seemed to hum.

While she caught her breath, you turned away, fingers drifting through the clutter of her drawer with lazy curiosity. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for—just something indulgent, something unnecessary. Something fun.

And then you saw it.

Long, purple and double ended.

Your hand stilled. A slow grin tugged at your mouth before you could stop it. You held it up between your fingers, letting it sway slightly as you turned back toward her, deliberately teasing. “I’m praying to God this hasn’t been used on anyone else.”

Paige laughed, breathless and soft, finally letting herself sink fully into the mattress. She shook her head. “Nah,” she said easily. “It’s brand new.”

“Perfect.”

You didn’t hurry. You climbed back onto the bed with intent, closing the space between you inch by inch. You kissed her—once, twice and again—slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world. Then you shifted, guiding both of you into a position that felt more intimate in a way that made your stomach tighten.

Your legs tangled naturally, one hooked over hers, the other caught between. A pillow beneath your hips tilted everything just right, your pussy facing hers, breath. You could see her clearly like this—the way her eyes tracked every movement, the way her jaw flexed as she watched you.

You started with her, taking your time, tracing slow, almost absent minded circles around her entrance until her breath caught again, until her hand found your wrist on instinct. Until you finally pushed it in, watching it stretch her pussy out with focus. Only then did you mirror the motion for yourself, syncing the rhythm without needing to say a word.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You both just breathed through it, eyes half lidded, getting used to the girth and size, to the intrusion and how deep it was. letting it build.

You were the first to roll your hips forward, tentative at first. Paige followed your lead, steadying things, watching you with an intensity that made heat curl low in your stomach. When her movements matched yours, it felt inevitable, like you’d fallen into step without ever meaning to.

You two watched the space between you, lips parting as you took it in. The way it slid in and out, coated with your wetness. The shared rhythm. The way it blurred the line between where one half ended and the other began. It was overwhelming in the best way, messy and consuming and impossible to look away from.

The room filled with sound—quiet squelching, then louder and less controlled. Breaths turned uneven. Moans slipped out before either of you could stop them.

You couldn’t form words anymore. Too entranced by the sight of it all. he way your body responded without asking permission.

Paige, however, had no such problem.

“This is the sexiest shit I've ever seen.” She panted with a quiet chuckle, still moving her hips. “Watching your cum mix with mine, looking at your pretty face. I love fucking it into to you while i have yours inside me.”

Her voice was low, purposeful, and devastating—cut through you. It was nothing short of absolutely filthy and it made your head spin. Every word was chosen carefully, spoken like she knew exactly what it would do to you. And it worked. Your head tipped back, a broken sound leaving you as your hips moved faster, chasing something you could feel building again.

She watched you fall apart with open focus, eyes dark, intent, following every thrust. Watching it go in and out of your cunt and hitting the perfect spot that would surely break you. Pulling the most perfect sounds she’d ever heard out of you.

It didn’t take long after that.

The rhythm unraveled, movements turning sloppy and desperate, both of you clinging to the edge until it finally tipped you over together.

It gushed out of you both at the same time, hard and unexpected, soaking each other and Paige’s bedsheets.

You collapsed into the mattress, breathless and spent, the sheets tangled beneath you. warm, rumpled, and undeniably ruined.

For a while, neither of you moved.

You stayed tangled in the aftermath—sheets twisted, limbs loose and heavy, skin still dripping and warm. Their breathing slowly evened out, chests rising and falling in sync. Somewhere outside, the world had begun to wake up, but inside her room everything felt suspended, like time had decided to pause just for them.

You were the first to laugh. It slipped out quietly, a little breathless, almost disbelieving.

Paige hummed beneath you, the sound vibrating faintly against your chest. “What?” she asked, already smiling before she even opened her eyes.

You lifted your head just enough to look at her properly. Her hair was a mess, her eyes still glassy, her expression softened in a way that always caught you off guard. “This was actually insane.” you said, still smiling, still catching your breath.

That made her laugh—open and unguarded, the kind that shook her chest and pulled a laugh out of you just from hearing it. “Yeah,” she said. “But good.”

You shifted, rolling onto your side so you were facing each other. Your knees brushed. Your foreheads nearly touched. You were close enough to feel her breath, close enough to trace the faint rise and fall beneath your palm when you rested it against her ribs.

Outside the window, the sky had begun to lighten, soft blues bleeding into pale gold. You glanced at it, then back at her.

“There’s no way it’s not like at least five or six in the morning,” you murmured.

Paige followed your gaze, squinting before letting out a quiet groan. “The sun’s coming up,” she said. Then, after a beat, her mouth curved into a slow smile. “That’s kind of insane too.”

You hummed, your thumb tracing idle shapes along her arm. “Worth it, though.”

Her eyes returned to you and stayed there. “We’re not done, by the way.” She said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Something in your chest fluttered.

“I know,” you agreed just as easily. “Definitely not.”

The shift between you wasn’t rushed or frantic. just intentional.

Paige moved first, gently rolling you onto your back and settling over you like she belonged there. Your hands found her without thinking, resting at her waist, then her back. She leaned down, noses brushing, her breath warm against your lips.

The kiss was slow and intimate. Nothing urgent about it. Just soft mouths fitting together, like they had all the time in the world. Your fingers curled lightly into her hair as you melted into it, the promise of more hanging unspoken between you.

The sun continued to rise.