britt

You spent the better part of an hour enduring Jackie’s rant about girls like Natalie (with occasional side-eyes and apologies to Lottie), and how you “should’ve known better.” Eventually, you pacified her with a tight-lipped claim that all you did was smoke a little weed and kiss.

The lie tasted thin even as you said it, but it seemed to satiate her—for now.

Lottie lingered once Jackie stormed off to class, still muttering under her breath about “frat rats.” She reached out gently, catching your elbow before you could bolt to your room and die of embarrassment.

“Look, I’m not Jackie. I’m not gonna lecture you. Just… be careful, okay? Nat is… Nat,” Lottie said, voice softer, steadier. There was something about the way she said it—like someone who knew exactly what she was talking about. Someone who’d lived it.

“Lot, seriously. There’s nothing going on,” you said quickly, too quickly. Defensive. Which was dumb—because it was the truth. Mostly. You’d only done what any girl your age would’ve done in the face of someone like Natalie.

“No, yeah. I totally believe you,” Lottie deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “Look, you can let her rail you six ways to Sunday. I don’t care. Just… I’m pretty sure your heart lives in your vagina. And the only language Natalie speaks fluently is sex.”

You nearly choked, color rushing to your cheeks as you gaped at her. “Did you just quote Grey’s Anatomy at me?”

“Yes. You deserved it,” she said, easily. She didn’t give you a chance to respond, leaving you there sputtering as she slipped out of the door.

The weeks passed in a haze of half-finished assignments and stretched-out silences. Class felt quieter, or maybe you just noticed the silence more now that no one was kicking their boots up next to you or passing little folded-up notes with crude smiley faces. Not that you were looking for her. You weren’t.

Mostly, you kept to yourself. Head down. Pen moving, even if you weren’t really writing anything worth remembering. Lottie kept giving you looks—those knowing, nosy-best-friend stares that said more than words—but to her credit, she didn’t push.

Until one Friday night.

“Alright, get up,” she said, leaning against your doorframe, already wearing a leather jacket and her “don’t talk to me unless you’re hot” eyeliner. “We’re going out.”

You blinked at her from your bed, still in the oversized t-shirt you hadn’t changed out of all day. “I have an essay due Monday.”

“You’re typing the heading. You’ve been typing the heading for an hour and a half.”

“…Fair.”

Jackie appeared behind her, holding up two black tops like she was staging a fashion intervention. “You don’t even have to have fun. You just have to exist in a room that isn’t this one. Preferably in something tight.”

Lottie grinned. “Club’s already packed. We’re meeting Van and Shauna there. And I’m not above dragging your ass by your ponytail.”

It was easier to say yes than to argue. And if your stomach twisted a little on the walk over, if your eyes flicked across every room you passed, it didn’t mean anything. You were just trying to have a good time. Just like everyone else.

That was all.

Except, you weren’t exactly having a good time.

Parties were already a stretch for you—clubs were worse. The music was too loud, the drinks too strong, and the air thick with sweat and smoke. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, nursing something pink and overpriced just for something to do with your hands.

And it definitely didn’t help that she was here. Across the club, half-shrouded in neon light, a girl draped over her like she belonged there. Her lips were at Natalie’s neck, and Natalie—well, Natalie looked like she couldn’t care less. Like she hadn’t shattered your entire nervous system a month ago and vanished without a trace.

You weren’t staring.

You weren’t.

Except, yeah, you were. Every time you tried to focus on what Lottie was saying, your eyes found their way back across the room. Her laugh—fuck, was that her laugh?—cut through the bass like it was wired directly to your chest. And it was stupid. You knew it was stupid. But that didn’t stop your drink from suddenly tasting too sweet, too bitter, too much.

And still, you stood there. Like an idiot. Not staring.

Just… looking. Casually. Occasionally. Every two seconds.

Lottie’s voice finally cut through the fog of your thoughts, one hand circling your wrist to get your attention. “Okay. You’ve been staring into that drink like it insulted your mom. What’s going on?”

You blinked, startled, then forced a smile. “Nothing. Just… strong.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “Right. And I’m a virgin.”

You huffed a laugh, barely.

Lottie leaned in, her voice softer now, more careful. “You know you don’t have to prove anything by being here, right? I told Jackie this was a bad idea, dragging you out tonight. But she swore you needed to 'shake off the post-midterm blues' or whatever bullshit she called it.”

You tried to protest, but she squeezed your arm. “Just… look, if you wanna go home, say the word. I’ll make something up. Tell Jackie you got explosive diarrhea or something.”

That made you laugh for real, and Lottie smiled, pleased with herself.

But before you could decide whether to take the lifeline or not, Jackie reappeared, waving Lottie toward the dance floor with a look that said now or never. Lottie hesitated, looked between you and the crowd, then gave you one last squeeze.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” she warned, then grinned, teasing. “Unless it’s hot. In that case, tell me everything tomorrow.”

And just like that, they were gone. Swallowed by the lights and bodies and bass, leaving you standing there—alone, drink in hand, stomach twisted in knots as your gaze drifted right back across the room.

Back to her.

With your emotional support system officially gone, you turned your attention to burning holes into the melting ice in your glass.

By the time the song shifted, twice, there was still no sign of Lottie or Jackie. And worse, no sign of her. The crowd pulsed around you in waves of sequins and sweat, but the bar remained frustratingly out of reach. You’d been trying,and failing, to get the bartender’s attention for what felt like forever, elbow tucked in, voice swallowed by the bass thudding in your chest.

Your throat was dry. Your skin felt too warm. And your thoughts were a loop of why did she leave, why did she come back, and why now?

Just as you were about to raise your voice and wave dramatically across the bar like a desperate loser, you felt it.

A presence at your back, heat sliding in like it had always belonged there. Arms on either side of you, caging you in against the sticky bar top. The familiar warmth of her, so close you could feel the brush of her breath against your neck. Your whole body went rigid before you even saw her face.

And then—clink—a glass was slid in front of you.

The exact drink you’d been trying to order.

You didn’t have to turn around. You already knew.

She was right there, leaning in like no time had passed at all. Like she hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth. Her eyes were darker under the strobing club lights, a curl of smugness already playing at her lips.

“Miss me, princess?”

Her voice was lower than you remembered—syrup-thick, smug and slow, like a secret sliding into your ear. You hated how fast your stomach dropped. Hated even more how your pulse kicked up in response.

She smelled like cigarettes and expensive perfume and trouble. The kind of trouble you’d already tasted.

And clearly weren’t finished craving.

You huffed, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to breathless. It came out as a shaky exhale, barely holding weight.

“Didn’t even notice you were gone,” you said, too fast and too soft.

It was meant to be casual, dismissive. But the words caught at the edges, stuttering out at the end like a half-truth you couldn’t commit to. You could feel her smirk without even looking, pressed right against your neck like she already knew the game was over.

“Mmhmm. Let’s go with that,” she murmured, lips brushing lightly against your skin. Her voice was teasing, lazy, so confident it almost made you dizzy.

And then her hands moved—subtle and slow—from the bar to your thighs, fingertips skimming just beneath the hem of your skirt like she had all the time in the world. Your back straightened instinctively, your breath catching as the heat of her touch climbed higher.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t have to. She already had you unraveling, and she knew it.

“Missed these,” she whispered, fingers ghosting upward in a maddening path, “All warm and jumpy for me already?”

God, she was infuriating. And terrifying. And unfairly good at this.

And you were completely, hopelessly screwed.

“You gonna say thank you for the drink,” Natalie murmured, lips ghosting over your jaw, “or keep pretending you’re mad at me?”

Her mouth was hot and sloppy, trailing kisses that had no business being that good. One of her hands slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging slow and deliberate along the inside of your thigh. Each brush was maddening, electric, and with every second that passed, it got harder to remember why you were supposed to be angry. Harder to remember that this was a very public place.

“Christ,” you hissed, breath catching as your fingers wrapped around her wrist just before she could reach your underwear. “Natalie,” you warned, trying—failing—to inject some authority into your voice.

She only laughed, low and satisfied, and pressed one last sweltering kiss against your jaw before pulling back like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just turned you inside out in the span of thirty seconds.

She leaned beside you, elbows propped on the bar, eyes glinting with mischief and something else. Something softer, quieter. Dangerous in a different way.

“Come on, baby,” she said, voice teasing, but gentler now. “Forgive me.”

You stared at her, heart racing, thighs pressed together like it could stop the way your body responded to her. And God, that look in her eyes—it was unfair. Open, almost sweet, like she meant it. Like she wasn’t the same girl who vanished for weeks without a word.

What had Jackie said?

You’re smarter than this.

Yeah. Right.

You couldn’t help the dumb smile that crept across your face at her words, no matter how hard you tried to fight it. You twirled the straw in the drink she’d gotten you, pretending to be casual—cool, unbothered—as you took a sip to distract yourself from the way your heart was pounding.

“Fine,” you muttered, quieter than you should have with the bass pulsing through the room. “There’s nothing to forgive you for anyway.”

“Atta girl,” Natalie smirked, all teeth and trouble as she leaned in close again, her shoulder brushing against yours. Her voice was velvet-slick when she added, “Now that that’s out of the way… do I get a kiss?”

Your eyes scanned the crowd on instinct, searching for any glimpse of Lottie or, God forbid, Jackie. The last thing you needed was your emotional support blonde launching herself across the bar to punch Natalie square in the face.

When the coast came up clear, you let out a slow breath and turned back toward her. Natalie was already watching you with that look—that lazy, smug, painfully attractive one that made your brain short-circuit.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

But then you leaned up on your tiptoes, and she was already there, meeting you halfway like she’d been waiting for it. Her hands found your waist with a practiced ease, tugging you closer like she knew she could.

And you let her.

Because of course you did.

Natalie kissed you like she’d missed you. Like she hadn’t ghosted you and let the rumors run wild while you lay awake at night wondering what the hell any of it meant.

Her lips were warm and coaxing, her hands still firm on your waist, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your top like she couldn’t help herself. And you hated how easily you melted into it. How easily you forgot your own name when her mouth was on yours.

The kiss didn’t last long—probably less than a few seconds—but it knocked the breath clean out of your lungs.

When you pulled back, your lips were tingling and your heart was somewhere near your throat. You blinked up at her, dazed, maybe a little drunk on the moment.

Natalie just grinned like she hadn’t done anything at all. Like she hadn’t just unraveled you in front of half the club.

“Still mad at me?” she asked, teasing, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip in a way that made your stomach twist.

You opened your mouth to respond, but your voice caught in your throat.

Because over Natalie’s shoulder, across the club and half-lit by the rotating strobe, stood Jackie.

Arms crossed. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked directly on you.

Your stomach dropped.

Natalie didn’t seem to notice right away. She was still watching you, still trailing lazy circles against your waist like she owned you. But you had frozen completely, your gaze rooted to Jackie’s, who was already elbowing Lottie and muttering something into her ear.

Lottie’s brows furrowed as she looked up—and then her face dropped too.

You took a sharp breath, already stepping back, the weight of reality crashing back over you like a cold drink down the spine.

Natalie’s hands slipped from your waist, and she finally followed your stare across the club. You watched her expression shift, only slightly, only for a flicker, and then that same smirk returned.

“Oops,” she murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face as you downed the rest of your drink in one go. That was starting to get a little too easy.

Natalie’s laughter curled around you, low and pleased. She made no effort to move away—if anything, she leaned in closer, her shoulder brushing yours, the heat of her body grounding and infuriating all at once.

You spotted Jackie across the club, still pushing her way through the crowd like a woman on a mission. Her glare was laser-focused on you, and if looks could kill, Natalie would’ve been six feet under.

“I think she might actually punch you,” you muttered under your breath, eyes flicking back to Natalie.

She just smiled—crooked and unhinged, but somehow still maddeningly genuine—before grabbing your hand without warning and tugging you toward the back of the club. “Don’t worry,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with a wink. “I know the owner.”

Of course she did.

Natalie had that air about her. The kind that turned heads, parted crowds, and demanded space without asking for it. She didn’t move through the world so much as she made it bend to her.

You followed her through the chaos—less a decision and more a gravitational pull—ducking around bodies and dodging the heavy bass that rattled through your chest. Jackie and Lottie disappeared behind you, swallowed by the crowd before either could intervene.

Natalie pulled you up a narrow staircase and into a surprisingly clean bathroom, far too nice for a bar like this, with tile that wasn’t sticky and a mirror that didn’t have someone’s number scrawled in eyeliner. You barely had time to catch your breath before the lock clicked shut behind you.

Natalie was still giggling somewhere behind you as you gripped the edge of the sink, the cold porcelain grounding you in a way nothing else could. You were so going to hear an earful about this later—from Jackie, from Lottie, from your own common sense. Not that Natalie seemed to care. Her giggles died out around you like smoke in the air.

You swatted at her, more reflex than retaliation. There was no real heat in it. Mostly, it was just an excuse to reach for her. To touch her.

Her eyes tracked the movement, lingering on your fingers like they were something delicate. Then they rose, slowly, until they landed on your face. There was always something in her gaze when she looked at you—something too intense, too focused. That was what had drawn you to her in the first place. That look. Like you were a puzzle she intended to solve. Or a meal she hadn’t quite finished.

"Y'know, you never called me," she said, circling you slowly. Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes didn’t match. There was a pout to her mouth, lips still kiss-flushed from earlier, and an edge to the softness that made your breath catch.

"You didn’t exactly stick around long enough for me to know if I should,” you muttered, doing your best to keep your voice even.

She hummed at that—low, almost thoughtful—and stepped in close. So close the toes of your shoes touched. Her hand came up slowly, almost tender, but when her fingers caught your chin, there was nothing soft in the grip. Just control.

“Didn’t realize you expected me to,” she murmured, head tilting slightly, eyes scanning your face like they could read the things you didn’t dare say.

If she hadn’t been holding your chin, you might’ve turned away. Might’ve tried to hide the blush creeping up your neck. You hadn’t expected her to stay.

You just didn’t know what to do when she didn’t.

You cleared your throat, the moment threatening to swallow you whole. “Who was the girl earlier?” you asked, aiming for casual, even though it came out more like a deflection. A lifeline.

Natalie just smiled, slow and amused—like she knew exactly what you were doing.

She stared at you for a moment, in that infuriating way, like she could see straight through you, before her hands dropped from your chin to your waist, like they belonged there. Like she had the right to touch you however she pleased.

She leaned in close, her breath brushing over your lips, thick with hunger. “Nobody important,” she murmured. “Just a way to… pass the time.”

A quiet inhale left you as she bumped your nose with hers. So close, you could feel the shape of her smirk on your mouth.

“She seemed pretty interested in you,” you said, trying to sound unaffected.

Natalie hummed again. It felt mocking, like she could smell the lie on your breath. Her lips grazed yours, soft and fleeting, pulling back before it became a real kiss.

“Yeah, well,” she drawled, her fingers sliding down your hips and curling around your thighs. “I was a little too busy imagining these,” her hands squeezed lightly for emphasis, “wrapped around my face.”

You swallowed hard.

“I think she got the hint after that.”

She shrugged, nonchalant—like she hadn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire.

You hated the way your knees nearly gave out at her words. Hated more that she noticed, because of course she did. Her grin deepened, cocky and slow, like she could see every thought running wild in your head.

“Don’t,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t even know what you were asking. Don’t touch me like that. Don’t look at me like you want to ruin me. Don’t make this harder than it already is.

But she didn’t stop.

Instead, she stepped in closer, closing the tiny sliver of space left between you, her thigh slipping between yours like it had every right to be there. “You sure?” she asked, low, almost tender—like she was giving you an out she knew you wouldn’t take.

Your breath caught. You wanted to be strong. You wanted to pretend like you weren’t already leaning into her warmth, chasing that familiar scent of smoke and peppermint on her collar. But your body betrayed you before your mouth even could.

“Natalie…” It was meant to be a warning, but it sounded a lot more like a plea.

She tilted her head. “What?” she asked, all faux innocence. “I’m not doing anything.”

Her hands settled on your hips again, thumbs brushing over the skin just beneath your shirt. “You’re the one letting me,” she murmured, voice silk-wrapped sin.

And she wasn’t wrong. God, she wasn’t wrong.

You could feel it building—the part of you that still wanted to care, wanted to be mad. But it was no match for the heat curling low in your belly, the way she was looking at you like she already knew she’d won.

Maybe she had.

Because when she leaned in again—lips brushing just barely against your jaw, breath warm against your ear—you didn’t stop her.

You didn’t even try.

Her lips dragged along your jaw, slow and unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. Like she enjoyed the way your breath hitched every time her mouth skimmed your skin.

“You don’t even sound mad,” she whispered, tongue darting out to trace just beneath your earlobe. “You just sound…” her teeth grazed the sensitive spot under your ear, “…needy.”

A whimper slipped from your lips before you could bite it back. She grinned against your skin, and her hands roamed lower again, finding the hem of your skirt and slipping underneath with practiced ease.

Your fingers clutched the edge of the sink behind you like a lifeline. This was insane. You were in a bar bathroom. Your best friend wanted to commit a felony on Natalie’s face. And yet…

You didn’t move.

Her fingers found the soft skin of your inner thigh and paused, just barely brushing against the edge of your underwear. “Still pretending you’re mad?” she murmured, voice thick and low as her mouth finally met yours.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was hot and heavy and desperate, the kind of kiss that knocked thoughts out of your head and left nothing but feeling behind. Her hand gripped your waist while the other pushed higher between your thighs, teasing the edge of your underwear like a question she already knew the answer to.

You gasped into her mouth, your hips betraying you, rocking into her touch without thinking.

“There she is,” Natalie growled, her voice smug and hungry. “Knew you missed me.”

You could’ve cursed her. You should’ve. But the only sound that came out of your mouth was a needy whimper as her fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finally touching you like she owned you. Like she’d never left.

And honestly? In that moment?

You didn’t want her to.

Her fingers were relentless, certain, like she already knew every inch of you. Her mouth was on your neck, dragging sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across skin that felt like it was burning alive under her touch. You gasped when she bit down, the sting sharp, needy—before her tongue soothed over the mark with practiced ease. All of it felt like a distraction, like she was trying to keep you from noticing what her hands were doing until it was too late.

And then it was.

One finger slipped inside you, and your whole body went rigid. The air left your lungs in a shaky exhale, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. She stilled immediately, her body going tense against yours, as if the weight of the moment hit her all at once. That this was… new. That it meant something.

Her breath tickled your ear as she whispered, gentler than you'd ever heard her, “Is this okay?”

Her free hand came up to cradle the back of your head, grounding you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You nodded into the crook of her neck—small, uncertain—but the shift of your hips spoke louder, chasing the friction, chasing her.

She took the cue, resuming her movements, slow and deliberate. Her thumb pressed firm circles that had you clenching around her. When she slipped in a second finger, a moan tumbled from your lips before you could even try to hold it back.

Your thoughts were static. Your body buzzing.

And through the haze, that quiet voice inside you asked the same thing over and over again:

How did I end up here again?

Another fucked-up hookup with Natalie. Another semi-sketchy public place. Another moment of spiraling just barely masked by how good she made you feel.

Only this time, it didn’t feel like just a hookup. Not when she looked at you like that. Not when she touched you like you were more than just a way to pass the time.

And that was the part that scared you the most.

Her hands tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your flushed face and blown pupils to her hungry gaze. Just enough to press your mouths together again—hot, deep, messy—her tongue slipping inside like she already owned every part of you.

“You always taste so sweet,” she murmured against your lips, her voice thick with desire. “You gonna let me get a real taste?”

A full-body shiver ran through you, the words caught somewhere in your throat. But the way you clenched around her fingers—desperate, involuntary—told her everything she needed to know. And if the way her mouth crashed back against yours was any indication, she understood exactly what that meant.

Without warning, her arm slid around your waist, and in one fluid motion, she hoisted you up onto the bathroom sink. The cold porcelain under your thighs made you jolt, but Natalie was already crowding in, her lips dragging a hot, open-mouthed trail down the line of your throat, over your collarbone, down the center of your chest.

She moved lower, hands firm on your hips as she knelt between your legs—knelt for you, like she was worshiping at the altar of your body. Her breath ghosted across your inner thighs, her lips pressing soft, searing kisses to skin that had never felt so exposed.

The sight of her there—Natalie, all smug confidence and bad intentions, on her knees in front of you—was enough to make you press your legs together on instinct. It was too much. Too real.

She smiled at that, hands smoothing up your thighs like she had all the time in the world. Then, without breaking eye contact, she reached up and hooked her fingers under your underwear, tugging them down with agonizing slowness.

And when they hit the floor, she just grinned—and slipped them into her jacket pocket like a prize she fully intended to keep.

She placed featherlight kisses along your legs, coaxing them back open with a kind of gentleness that betrayed everything else about her. Like she wasn’t the devil incarnate wrapped in a leather jacket and blonde hair. Each kiss she pressed to the inside of your thigh was maddening—slow, deliberate, infuriating. And she knew it. That smug grin was practically stamped into your skin, pressed into every inch she touched.

“One day,” she murmured, lips brushing against the soft skin just above your knee, “I’m going to fuck you properly.” Another kiss, higher this time, the warmth of her breath trailing after. “But for now…” A final kiss at the crux of your thigh. “This’ll have to do.”

And then—her mouth was on you.

Your breath left you in a gasp, hands scrambling, desperate for something to hold onto. You found her hair, soft between your fingers, and gripped it like a lifeline as her tongue moved against you with devastating precision. She didn’t rush, didn’t tease—she devoured, like she had nowhere else to be but between your thighs, like she had every intention of burning your name into the floor of that grimy bathroom.

When her fingers slid back inside, curling just right, your head snapped back and hit the mirror with a dull thunk. You barely registered the sting. Not when every nerve in your body was alight, your thighs trembling around her.

“F—fuck, Natalie, oh my god—”

You could feel her smirk even with her face buried between your legs. She pulled back slightly, just enough to let her breath ghost across your core, her lips brushing you in the barest hint of a kiss.

“Tsk, tsk,” she drawled, all fake disappointment and dark amusement. “Who knew you had such a dirty mouth, princess?”

Your fingers tightened in her hair, a broken whimper escaping before you could swallow it back. Her laugh was muffled against you, more of a smug vibration than a sound, but it sent another wave of heat spiraling down your spine. She was relentless now—tongue moving in rhythm with her fingers, curling inside you like she already knew exactly what you needed.

Your thighs trembled, but she didn’t let up. One arm wrapped securely around your waist to keep you from slipping off the counter, grounding you even as she tore you apart.

“Natalie—” Her name left your mouth again, this time more like a prayer, strangled and high. “I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”

She groaned in response, low and hungry, and the sound vibrated straight through you. Her fingers sped up just a fraction, hitting that spot inside you again and again, her tongue working you over until the pressure building in your stomach snapped tight—so tight it was almost unbearable.

And then it broke.

You came with a cry that echoed off the tile walls, body jolting as your muscles locked and your vision whitewashed behind your eyelids. Natalie didn’t stop. She worked you through it, slowing only when your thighs started to twitch with oversensitivity. Her grip eased, but her lips stayed pressed to your skin, her tongue soft now, soothing in the aftermath.

Your whole body went slack, boneless against the mirror behind you, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Natalie stood slowly, her chin glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction and just a hint of something softer.

She brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead and leaned in like she was going to kiss you again—but stopped just short, smirking.

“You always come so sweet for me,” she whispered.

Your only answer was another soft moan and a shaky exhale, still too wrecked to manage anything else.

She helped you down off the sink and onto trembling legs, smoothing out your skirt like she was merely fixing your outfit—not like she’d just had her mouth on you, making you come undone in a bathroom that definitely didn’t deserve the memory. Your chest was still heaving, heart pounding in your ears as the reality of what had just happened settled deep into your bones. You’d given yourself up to Natalie again.

And God, you didn’t regret it.

Not when the post-orgasm haze was still wrapping around your limbs like silk.

Not when Natalie was looking at you like you were still something she hadn’t figured out yet.

She leaned in, this time unprompted. Her lips found yours in a kiss that was hurried and messy—completely Natalie in every way that mattered. When she pulled back, her fingers brushed over your cheek like she didn’t want to break the contact too fast.

“I should probably get you back before Jackie sends the cops. Or worse—her gang of, like, cheerleaders.”

You let out a breathy giggle, still dazed. “Yeah, I’d probably steer clear of her for a while. Honestly, you going off the grid for a month might’ve saved you a black eye.”

Natalie paused with her hand on the door, her grip on the knob tightening for a second before she turned back around. She didn’t look at you right away—just reached out and laced your fingers together. It was simple, easy. But it was also her, and it made your pulse jump.

“For the record,” she said, voice lower now, “I had some family stuff going on. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Your spine went stiff at the sincerity in her tone. It was the most genuine thing she’d ever said to you. Maybe the most genuine you’d ever heard from her, period. You opened your mouth to respond—something, anything—but the words got stuck behind your tongue.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Her trademark smirk slid back into place like a mask she was used to wearing.

“Don’t worry, princess. I was definitely thinking about you. Mostly the way you sound moaning in m—”

You cut her off with a shove, your face burning as you reached around her to yank open the door, doing your best to pretend you weren’t blushing down to your toes.

Her laughter followed you out like smoke—warm and smug and so very Natalie.

The music swelled around you again as you pushed through the thinning crowd, the bass vibrating in your chest. The club had emptied just enough to make the space feel less suffocating, but the energy was still pulsing, hot and heavy in the air.

You spotted Lottie first. Her gaze locked onto yours across the floor, expression unreadable—until her eyes dropped. First to Natalie’s hands, still planted firmly on your waist, then to the fresh hickey blooming high on your neck like a signature she’d been expecting. Her brows lifted, unimpressed, as you approached.

Two shots slid across the bar toward you the moment you reached her. “Natalie,” she said coolly, her voice clipped. But the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

Natalie didn’t bother hiding hers. She leaned in closer behind you, palm spreading confidently across your stomach like she was staking a claim. A tension flickered in the air as she returned Lottie’s stare without blinking.

“Lottie,” she greeted, her voice all swagger. “Got your girl back in one piece. Tell Blondie not to send in the frat rat haters club.”

A beat passed, the three of you suspended in that strange moment—Lottie clearly trying not to roll her eyes, Natalie practically glowing with satisfaction, and you stuck between them, cheeks burning.

You grabbed the shot and threw it back in one go. Probably safer that way.

That broke their staring contest. Both of them turned to you with matching raised brows, like you were the punchline to a joke they hadn’t let you in on. But at least it did the trick—no more posturing, just the sharp clink of both shots disappearing down their throats.

Natalie stepped in close again, all heat and intent, ignoring Lottie entirely as she leaned forward, smile widening like a dare. There was something in her eyes. Mischief, hunger—but also expectation. She was waiting. For you.

Waiting to see if you’d meet her halfway.

Your eyes flicked toward Lottie, who was cool as ever, but the subtle lift of her lip wasn’t passive—it was a challenge. A reminder that she knew this game too well. It was easy to forget that she and Natalie were friends. That they ran in the same circles, played the same kind of games, and maybe had even kissed the same girls.

You rolled your eyes, but you gave in. Let Natalie pull you closer, lips brushing, then parting—open, eager—as her tongue slid into your mouth like she owned the right to be there. And when she finally pulled away, you were breathless, dazed, blinking up at her like she’d stolen something.

She just winked.

Then her gaze shifted past you, catching something behind your shoulder. Her eyes widened for a split second, barely, but her grin only deepened. She pressed one last kiss to your lips, fast and fleeting.

“Gotta run, baby,” she murmured, already stepping back. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

And then she was gone.

You didn’t even have a full second to catch your breath before Jackie materialized like a storm front.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Jackie’s voice cut through the bass like a whip, sharp and instant. You turned just in time to catch her weaving through the crowd with singular purpose, her eyes locked on you like you were the enemy. Her expression was somewhere between disbelief and disappointment, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to yell at you or stage an intervention.

You opened your mouth, some half-formed excuse already on your tongue, but Jackie was already in front of you.

“Please tell me that wasn’t Natalie you were just making out with in front of everyone.”

Lottie snorted from beside you, clearly not planning to play peacekeeper. She leaned one elbow on the bar, sipping from your forgotten drink like she lived for moments like this.

“Oh, it was her,” she said airily, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Tongue and everything. Very handsy.”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands as Jackie’s mouth dropped open.

Lottie leaned toward you conspiratorially. “I’d give it a seven out of ten, honestly. Could’ve used more neck grabbing.”

“Lottie,” Jackie snapped, “you’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” she grinned.

You lowered your hands just enough to glare at her, heat crawling up your neck. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, completely,” Lottie said with zero shame. “Natalie’s playing the long game, and you are so not ready for it.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue, especially not with the ghost of Natalie’s mouth still tingling against yours and your heart doing somersaults in your chest like a traitor. Jackie folded her arms, clearly waiting for an explanation, but you just shrugged helplessly.

“She found me at the bar.”

“She always finds you at the bar.”

“And she brought me a drink,” you added lamely, as if that somehow justified the very public display of affection that had followed.

Jackie looked like she wanted to scream.

Lottie leaned over again. “Just admit you’re in love with her and let us all go home.”

“I am not—” you started, too fast, too defensive.

Lottie raised a brow.

Jackie rolled her eyes.

You sighed, defeated. “It’s... complicated.”

Jackie muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, It’s always complicated with her, before grabbing one of the shots Lottie had left and downing it without so much as a toast.

You turned back to your drink and tried to get your pulse back under control, but Lottie was already nudging your side with a smug grin.

“She’s got you so bad.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You let Jackie’s frat rat rant fill the space between you, her voice rising and falling like waves crashing over the pulsing bass of the club. You weren’t really listening—not with your body still humming from the aftermath of Natalie, and the burn of the shot now curling warm in your veins.

Lottie sidled closer, her presence subtle but unmistakably amused. She didn’t say anything at first, just let her hand drift along your thigh, fingers ghosting beneath the hem of your skirt, far enough out of Jackie’s line of sight to stay unnoticed.

Your body tensed, nerves still fried and suddenly very aware of the fact that Natalie hadn’t given your underwear back. Before you could even react, Lottie’s finger pressed directly against the angry bloom of a hickey you hadn’t even realized Natalie had left.

You winced, swatting her hand away with a glare.

She just laughed, completely unbothered, dragging her finger across her lips like she was sealing a secret.

“Yeah,” she smirked, eyes glittering. “You’re so screwed.”

The house was sweltering—heat from a million bodies and the stench of stale beer swirling thick in the air as you stood frozen in the corner, wishing the wall would just swallow you whole. Drunk kids stumbled past, bumping into you, throwing arms around shoulders, shoving their tongues down each other’s throats without a care. You raised the cup in your hand to your lips with a slight shake, taking the smallest possible sip of whatever horrific liquid Jackie had shoved into your hands before disappearing into the crowd.

Truly, you had no idea why you were here.

Well—okay. That was a lie.

You knew exactly why you were here.

And the reason was currently standing across the room, surrounded by a loud crowd of guys and girls cheering her on as she shotgunned a beer.

And you didn’t even really know her. Not really.

You’d seen her, of course. Everyone had. The type of girl you didn’t forget once you did. All shaggy blonde hair and ripped denim, eyes lined in thick black that was always a little smudged like she’d done it in the backseat of someone’s car. Always laughing, always loud, always with someone hanging off her arm. She existed in a way that felt untouchable—like she wasn’t meant for people who lived their lives in syllabi and library study guides.

Hell, she’d only learned your name this semester, thanks to a shared lecture hall. First day, she’d walked in late, of course, her boots echoing down the steps like a challenge. And then she locked eyes on you—second row, two desks to yourself, highlighters in a chaotic rainbow spread. She smirked like it was funny. Like you were funny. And then she shoved her way into the seat beside you like she already owned the place. Like she could eat you alive.

You’d barely been able to hear the lecture.

She told you she liked your “whole organized chaos thing.” That you were “cute, in a you-make-your-bed-every-day kind of way.” You’d laughed—nervously, awkwardly—and she’d just smiled like she’d already won.

You spent the entire week after that waiting just to see her again. And the week after that pretending not to care when she didn’t show up.

So when she cornered you after class—perched in the doorway, leaning in close enough that her breath danced over your lips—and told you to come to the frat house Friday night?

Who were you to say no?

And maybe you had a crush on her. But what did that even matter?

You knew you shouldn’t. Everyone knew about Natalie. She had a reputation. The kind that clung to the air. Her name floated around campus like the common cold—unavoidable, whispered between laughs and bedroom walls. Girls, boys, even a few professors… everybody seemed to have a story. The kind of stories that turned your cheeks red and your words into a stuttering mess.

She was a walking rumor, a fire you weren’t supposed to touch.

And yet—

She asked you to come.

And, almost like she could feel your eyes boring into the side of her head, she turned.

Her gaze locked on yours from across the room, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

You looked away immediately, but it was too late. She’d seen you. And before you could even figure out what to do with your hands, she was already in front of you.

Natalie leaned in next to you, casual as ever. That dangerous smirk played on her lips, mischief written all over her face.

She knew your reputation—or, rather, your lack of one. She’d done her research. Checked in with a few mutual friends. What she found had only made her more interested: straight-laced, honor-roll perfect, not a single party on your record. She was almost certain you’d never even been kissed.

And she loved that.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” she said, voice low, amused.

You raised your drink again, like courage might be hiding at the bottom of the cup. Another tiny sip. Another cringe.

The music pounded around you, turning conversation into a near-impossible task. So you stepped closer—up on your tiptoes—to reach her ear. Her hand slid to your waist like it belonged there, pulling you in until your bodies touched.

“Well,” you said softly, “I did promise you.”

Her fingers slipped just under the hem of your shirt. Casual. Like she was steadying you. But her eyes told a different story.

Her eyebrows lifted, and she leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of your ear, her voice all heat and honey. “Let’s go somewhere quieter, yeah?”

You nodded—shakily.

Natalie’s grin only widened, somehow, as she slipped her hand more firmly around your waist and guided you through the crowd like it was muscle memory. Her touch never left you. It was possessive, steady. A brand.

You kept your eyes down, heart hammering, trying to ignore the way people looked at you—at her, at you with her. A few wolf whistles rang out as Natalie dapped people up, unfazed, swagger in every step.

Eventually, she stopped in front of a door. The moment you stepped inside, the air shifted.

The subtle click of the lock made your heart lurch as you spun around to face her. You tried to mask the fear you knew was written all over your face.

Natalie just smiled—feral, dangerous around the edges—as she stalked toward you. Every movement was slow, deliberate. Like a lion circling something soft.

Her hands found your waist again, fingers pressing gentle, grounding circles into your skin. “Relax,” she murmured. “Just needed a little… privacy.”

And then she was gone again, crossing the room to the nightstand beside the bed. She glanced back at you, eyes glinting. “Don’t be shy. Sit.”

You obeyed on trembling legs, practically collapsing onto the bed.

You weren’t even sure how you’d stayed standing this long—not with her hands on your skin like that, searing their memory into you.

Natalie rifled through the nightstand drawer like she owned the place. You weren't sure if she did, and you didn’t dare ask. Instead, you sat frozen on the edge of the bed, trying not to look like you were bracing for impact.

She pulled out a tiny silver tin, rattling it once before flipping it open. “Knew I had something stashed,” she said, casually. Like this was any other Friday. Like you weren’t melting from the inside out.

You swallowed, unsure if it was the nerves or the beer still churning in your stomach. “You, uh… roll your own?”

She smirked without looking up. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else with it.”

Of course.

A few quiet seconds passed as she worked, nimble fingers twisting the paper with ease. The lighter flicked once. Twice. A soft inhale. And then—

“You ever smoked before?” she asked, leaning her hip against the dresser, one eyebrow cocked like she already knew the answer.

You shook your head, cheeks hot. “Not really.”

Her grin returned, slow and wicked. “Perfect.”

She took another drag, slow and smooth, and then crossed the space between you with all the ease in the world. Your heart stuttered as she knelt on the bed, close enough that your knees brushed.

Her hand came to rest on your thigh again, light as a whisper. “Open your mouth.”

You blinked.

She waited. Amused. Expectant.

And you—God help you—you obeyed.

She leaned in, lips barely a breath from yours, and exhaled. The smoke filled your lungs, warm and heady, her eyes locked on yours the entire time. You coughed a little, startled more by her proximity than the burn in your chest.

“Good girl,” she murmured.

You weren’t sure if it was praise or provocation. Maybe both.

But it worked.

You were already leaning in for more.

Natalie was eager to meet you in the middle, her hand curling behind your neck as she pulled you in. Her lips bumped against yours, messy and uncoordinated, just enough contact to make your breath hitch before she blew the smoke straight into your mouth.

It hit hard—hot and sharp down your throat, blooming across your chest and curling into your toes. You sputtered, coughing as the burn crept up your spine, and Natalie just giggled, already turning to ash the joint like nothing had happened.

She settled beside you again, somehow even closer than before. Her thigh pressed harder against yours. Her hand found your back, rubbing slow circles as you wheezed your way through what felt like the last remaining oxygen in the room.

Only when your breath returned did she speak.

“Gotta say. I’m impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, the cup in your hand crinkling slightly beneath your grip. The room felt thicker now, like the air itself was syrup, everything just a little heavier.

“As if,” you muttered. “I nearly died.”

Her laughter was soft and smug, brushing against your ear as she let her head fall gently against your shoulder. Her hand slipped a little lower on your back—not pushy, not rushed, just… deliberate.

“Yeah, but I think that was from something else.”

Your breath snagged in your throat. You stared down at your drink, pulse suddenly loud in your ears. She hadn’t moved. Her fingers still traced lazy patterns over your spine like she hadn’t said a word.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

But Natalie, of course, wasn’t finished. She leaned in a little closer, like she was just thinking out loud.

“I could be wrong, though.”

It sounded casual. It wasn’t. Not with her hand burning through your shirt. Not with the silence stretching thick between you. Not with the way your skin prickled at every small movement she made.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

And you both knew it.

You released a quivering breath, heart thundering beneath your skin. Your eyes dropped to the cup in your hands like it might anchor you, something—anything—to hold onto.

You raised it to your lips, barely ready for another sip, when Natalie’s hand shot up, tipping the cup higher. The liquid rushed into your mouth too fast, a wave crashing over your tongue. You swallowed quickly, choking it down with a grimace as some of it spilled past the corner of your lips.

You turned to glare at her, your protest half-formed, only to freeze when her fingers reached up, slow and sure. She caught the dripping alcohol from your chin with a soft swipe, her thumb trailing to the corner of your mouth.

And then, without breaking eye contact, she brought it to her lips and sucked her thumb clean.

Your breath caught hard.

All the tension you’d been holding scattered, replaced with something heavier—hotter. You were suddenly very, very grateful for the weed and the alcohol humming through your veins, keeping you from combusting where you sat.

Because with the way she was looking at you, like she already knew what you tasted like?

You didn’t stand a chance.

The words died on your tongue, stumbling out as nothing more than a mess of, “Uh—I—I—”

Natalie cut you off with ease, leaning in until her nose brushed against your cheek, her breath warm on your skin. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had you.

“You taste so sweet,” she whispered, smug and lazy. “And you know what?”

Her hand slipped under your shirt again, fingertips dragging up the line of your spine, slow and deliberate. Her lips hovered near your jaw—so close, so soft you could barely breathe.

“I think,” she murmured, “you’re not as innocent as you want me to believe.”

You sucked in a breath so sharp it caught in your throat. The cup in your hand was nearly crushed between your fingers. Your heart pounded louder than the bass thudding through the walls outside, your palms slick with sweat.

“I—wha—I mean—”

But your brain was fogged, words slipping through your fingers like smoke. Natalie didn’t wait for them. She pressed her lips to your jaw, soft and slow. Your body reacted before you could think—tilting your head, offering her more.

You didn’t need to open your eyes—when had you even closed them?—to feel the smirk curling against your skin.

“I think,” she whispered, voice low and intoxicating, “you walked in here looking like sin and let me drag you into an empty room. Let me press my mouth to yours. Let me touch you.”

Her hand splayed wider against your back, holding you like you were something precious—and dangerous.

“You’re not clueless,” she breathed. “You’re too smart for that.”

Her lips trailed lower, nipping at the skin of your neck with a softness that somehow made the heat behind it even more unbearable. Her other hand slipped to your thigh, fingers splaying, rubbing over the warm, flushed skin she found. Everything felt magnified: her touch, the sound of your own breath, the faint bass pounding through the floorboards beneath you.

The liquor was still clinging to your tongue, something harsh and cinnamon-spiced, burning faintly down your throat and settling in your stomach like embers. The weed had your head wrapped in gauze, everything feeling soft at the edges and slow, like the room tilted just slightly with every breath. You weren’t used to this—any of this—and it was all hitting you at once, heavy and warm and dizzying.

“You told me to come. You shotgunned me. I—”

Natalie just hummed against your skin, low and amused, huffing out something close to a laugh. “Uh huh. Wasn’t bad for a first kiss. Or…” Her voice curled around the thought, teasing. “Have you done that before with someone else?”

Her lips never stopped their attack, finding that perfect spot just below your jaw and sucking gently until you gasped. Little huffs escaped you without warning, your grip on the comforter tightening like it could anchor you through the haze. You couldn’t speak—not through the way your thoughts tangled up and melted together—so you just shook your head, eyes fluttering closed.

Natalie grinned against your neck, her breath sticky-sweet from beer and smoke. Her lips trailed upward again, slow and deliberate, until they hovered at the corner of your mouth.

“Wanna try it again?” she said easily, casually, like she wasn’t already unraveling you. “Without the joint this time?”

Your eyes won’t open, too dazed by everything brewing inside you—the liquor buzzing low in your belly, the weed softening the world into a dream you weren’t quite ready to wake from. You feel your head nodding yes before your brain can catch up, your body moving on instinct alone. You part your lips to say something—anything—but Natalie’s on you before a single syllable can slip out.

Her lips crash into yours, hot and heavy, her hand sliding higher up your thigh with devastating ease. She kisses exactly how you thought she would—like fire. Every press of her mouth is full of heat and hunger, deliberate, rough around the edges, like she’s trying to consume you one breath at a time. And God, you’d let her.

Natalie’s teeth catch your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp. Her fingers tighten on your thigh, grounding you even as your head spins from the cocktail of her mouth, the weed, and whatever was in that drink—cheap, burning vodka maybe, mixed with something too sugary, sticky against your tongue.

You barely register the moan that slips from your throat until you feel her smile against your mouth, smug and knowing.

“God,” she whispers, voice low and a little rough, like even she might be affected now, “you’re so responsive.”

You can’t think of anything to say. Words feel useless anyway. They wouldn’t stand a chance in the thick, heady heat between you. So instead, you let yourself melt further beneath her, one hand fisting the comforter, the other unsure of where to land—her waist, her back, anywhere that might ground you.

Natalie slows the kiss—not because she wants to stop, but because she knows exactly what she’s doing. She lets it linger, softer now, just her lips brushing over yours, like she’s testing how much you’ll chase.

And you do.

Without even thinking, you lean up into her again, needing more. Her hand catches your jaw, gently tilting your head back.

“You sure you haven’t done this before?” she asks, breath warm and teasing as it ghosts over your mouth.

You giggled against her lips, eyes still squeezed shut, the reality of the moment settling heavy in your chest. Natalie let you chase her mouth, crashing into you with enough force to guide you down against the mattress. Her body followed easily, moving like she’d done this a hundred times before, like she already knew exactly how to touch you. She bracketed you in, her presence surrounding you, pinning you down without pressure.

One hand slipped around the back of your neck, not tight but firm enough to tip your jaw where she wanted. Her mouth was hot against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses down your throat, each one sharper, needier than the last. Her other hand found its way beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers digging into soft skin like she was mapping out a path she already owned.

“I didn’t just bring you in here to smoke and kiss, y’know?” she murmured against your pulse. “I think you know that.”

And she was right.

Even if you wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, you had shown up wearing the shortest skirt you owned, let her press close in the crowd, let her guide you to the furthest room in the house. You hadn’t said no when she locked the door. You hadn’t stopped her hands.

You knew exactly what Natalie was about—and still, you’d wandered straight into the lion’s den.

Her lips continued their descent, ghosting down to your collarbone.

“And while I’m definitely trying to get you naked,” she added, voice rougher now, teasing but careful, “I’m not an asshole. I need an enthusiastic yes.”

Her fingers edged higher, brushing along the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh, making your breath stutter. Your back arched into the touch, your body responding faster than your brain could keep up.

Natalie just chuckled, low and dark, like she already knew the answer, but she didn’t push.

You turned your head into the pillow, trying to focus, trying to find your voice through the thick cloud of smoke and nerves. You could still taste the sugary burn of the liquor she tipped into your mouth earlier, mixing with the heat still buzzing under your skin from the joint. You felt a little drunk on her, and a little drunk from her—warm, loose, dizzy.

“I—” you croaked, then swallowed hard. “I think I…”

She stilled above you, the kiss she was about to place suspended in the air.

“You think,” she echoed, “or you know?”

You opened your eyes. Really opened them. Her gaze met yours—sharp and knowing but patient, steady, like she was willing to wait forever for that yes if she had to.

And something about that broke the panic apart inside you, just enough to let the truth slip through.

“I know,” you whispered, breathless.

Natalie grinned, slow and predatory again, but she kissed you softer this time—almost sweetly, like you’d just given her something sacred.

“Good,” she murmured against your lips, her hands finally moving with intent. “That’s all I needed.”

Then she was on you—really on you—her lips crashing into yours with intent. The softness vanished, replaced by something rougher, needier. Her teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp before her tongue slipped inside, claiming you with ease. You melted under her, helpless to the pressure of her mouth, her body, her everything.

The moan that slipped out was entirely involuntary, born from sensation alone. From the unfamiliar slide of her tongue against yours. From the way her hand skimmed low across your waist, fingers brushing the waistband of your underwear.

Your skirt was long forgotten, bunched uselessly around your hips, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the room and the heat of Natalie’s stare. But she didn’t touch you. Not quite.

Her hand hovered—anchored there with maddening precision, close enough that your skin sparked from the proximity, but still not close enough. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like the anticipation, the wait, the ache was all part of the game. She watched you, lips slightly parted, pupils blown wide.

She looked like she could wait forever just to watch you fall apart.

And you? You were already halfway there.

“Natalie…” you whined, the sound muffled into the pillow beside your head. Your voice barely carried, part desperation, part disbelief, all heat.

Her lips dragged along your neck, biting and sucking until the skin burned, and her fingers still hovered, infuriatingly patient. But it must’ve been the magic word, because finally—finally—her hand moved, swiping softly between your folds.

She stilled against your throat, lips parted as her fingers came away wet.

“Jesus,” she breathed, low and ragged, like the realization physically knocked the air from her lungs. “You’re a fucking mess already.”

The sound that left you was almost a sob, pure need straining in your throat. She kissed you again, harder this time, tongue slipping back into your mouth with purpose. You let her take it—let her take everything.

The high from the weed had started to mellow, but it lingered in your blood, a warm, slow haze that made every touch feel a little deeper, every sound a little louder. You could feel yourself unraveling under her.

Natalie didn’t even bother removing your panties—she just shoved them to the side, impatient, like she couldn’t be bothered with the details. Her fingers slid back through your slick folds before circling your clit with lazy precision.

The moan that escaped you was loud, raw, and immediate—your back arching off the mattress like you had no control over your body anymore. Before another sound could escape, you bit down on your fist, sudden awareness crashing back in as you remembered the chaos of the party still raging just outside the door.

Natalie only smirked, like she loved the thought of getting you off with people just a few feet away. Like it made it even better.

You whimpered again, biting down harder on your knuckles, but it didn’t help—not when Natalie pressed in closer, like she was trying to crawl inside your skin. Her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, dragging over your clit with just enough pressure to make you twitch. Your legs tried to close on instinct, but her other hand came down to push them apart again, her grip bruising in the best way.

“Keep them open,” she whispered, her breath hot against your cheek. “I wanna see all of it.”

Your thighs trembled as you forced yourself to stay spread for her, your chest rising in uneven bursts. You felt dizzy—maybe from the weed, maybe the cheap liquor still swimming in your stomach, maybe from the way she looked at you. Like she’d waited for this, imagined it, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

Your eyes fluttered open, and she was already watching you. Face flushed, pupils blown wide. A soft curl of hair had fallen over her eyes and her lips were swollen from kissing you senseless. Her hand hadn’t stopped moving. It didn’t feel like it could stop.

“I knew you’d be like this,” she murmured, almost to herself. “So fucking sensitive. Like no one’s ever touched you right before.”

Your cheeks burned, humiliation and something darker twisting in your stomach, because—god—she wasn’t wrong.

“N-Natalie…” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking for. Maybe for her to slow down. Maybe not to stop. Maybe for something you didn’t know how to say yet.

She leaned in and kissed your temple, her voice softer than before. “It’s okay,” she said, her fingers easing their rhythm, soothing and tender now. “You don’t have to say anything. Just feel it.”

And you did.

Every touch. Every throb. Every shaky inhale as she whispered filth into your skin and made you feel like the center of the universe.

“Be the good girl I know you are,” she whispered against your neck, “and come for me.”

The words slammed into you, your orgasm ripping through you like a shockwave. Your scream caught in your throat, muffled into the curve of her neck as your whole body arched and shook. Natalie didn’t look away—not once. Her eyes were dark and wild, locked on you like she was starving. She worked you through every last tremble with steady fingers, her free hand anchoring you to her chest until your body finally gave out.

When she did kiss you, it was soft. So much softer than you ever would’ve imagined—sweet and slow, like she knew she’d just taken something she wasn’t sure she deserved.

The edges of your vision glowed white, your body too heavy to move, too dazed to speak. The weed clung to your brain like a fog, but it was the liquor that sank its claws in now—warm and dizzying and relentless. Your breath slowed. You felt her fingertips brushing gently over your waist. Her lips moved against your forehead.

And then darkness crept in.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

The sun crept through the crooked blinds, warm and uninvited as it dragged you out of a heavy, hungover sleep. You groaned quietly, the ache behind your eyes pulsing with every beat of your heart. Your mouth felt dry, your limbs like lead, and the sharp scent of old beer still clung to the air like a warning.

Blinking against the light, you rolled over on the too-thin mattress beneath you. The sheets smelled vaguely like cologne and weed—faint traces of the night before refusing to let you go. You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing over the empty space beside you, still warm but undeniably vacant.

Natalie was gone.

No note. No “had fun last night.” No soft goodbye whispered against your skin. Not that you really expected her to stay—of course she didn’t. That wasn’t her style. You were surprised she hadn’t vanished into the haze of the party before you’d even fallen asleep.

But as your eyes adjusted to the dim, chaotic mess of the room, something caught your eye on the floor near the nightstand. A crumpled piece of paper, torn and half-soaked in condensation from an abandoned beer can. You reached for it with trembling fingers.

It was a receipt—from a liquor store, of all things—cheap whiskey and off-brand soda scribbled across the faded ink. And right across the top, in thick, dark pen, unmistakably hers:

908-304-0057

Call me if you ever want another good time ;)

Your stomach flipped. A number. A fucking receipt. No name, no context—just the kind of lazy, smug charm that screamed Natalie. She didn’t need to sign it. You already knew.

Of course she would leave like this. Of course she’d leave just enough to keep you thinking about her.