Soph. A poet. A confused one.

You never meant for it to be a thing. The movie nights, you mean.

It wasn’t some grand, deliberate arrangement. It wasn’t planned or even suggested outright. It just… happened. You’d barely been a week into your new position at the DA’s office — all bright-eyed, hopelessly eager, practically vibrating with nervous energy every time you stepped through those heavy glass doors.

Everyone else felt like they belonged there, sharp and sure of themselves, speaking a language you weren’t fluent in yet. Polished suits, clinical smiles, the kind of hardened confidence that only came with years of carrying the city’s ugliest secrets in your case files. But then there was Casey Novak.

And Casey Novak… she was something else entirely.

From the moment you met her, you were helpless. She wasn’t just smart, wasn’t just good at her job — she was magnetic. She moved through the office like a storm with perfect posture, all decisive strides and clipped, clever words. She had this way of looking at people that made them shut up and listen, made them scramble to keep up.

And yet, with you, she’d been kind. Smiled when you nervously fumbled through your introduction, made a dry joke that immediately eased the tightness in your chest. She didn’t brush you off. She asked where you went to school, if you liked working downtown, what made you want to go into law. She made you feel… seen.

And you clung to that.

Maybe too much.

So when she offered to let you shadow her for a case, just a simple preliminary hearing, nothing too intense, you jumped at the chance. It became a pattern. A late file drop-off turned into a quick recap in her office. A rushed dinner after a long deposition morphed into “Well, you can hang around if you want, I’ve got takeout coming.” Then a sarcastic remark about your phone wallpaper (a still from some dorky rom-com you loved) turned into a casual, “We should watch it sometime, just for a laugh.” You didn’t even realize how naturally you fell into it.

Somehow, over a few scattered evenings, you and Casey had a routine. She’d handle the food — usually something indulgent and greasy she’d complain about and then devour like she hadn’t eaten all day. You’d pick the movies. And you always, always brought something ridiculous.

Cartoony comedies, goofy romances, anything light and silly because you were still too shy to suggest something serious. You didn’t know what would be worse, boring her or her catching on to the quiet little crush you’d been nursing like a pathetic teenager.

But she never seemed to mind. In fact, she humored you. She’d stretch out on her couch with a glass of wine, let you ramble about the plot like it was cinema history, and toss out snarky commentary that made your stomach flutter.

And tonight was no different.

You’d shown up at her apartment with a plastic bag full of junk food and a sheepish grin, already apologizing for your movie choice. “It’s dumb,” you warned her, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan as she opened the door.

She gave you that crooked little smirk. “They’re always dumb,” she teased, stepping aside to let you in. “That’s half the fun.”

You laughed, feeling the tight ball of nerves in your chest loosen just a little. She looked effortless, as usual — tank top, hair up in a messy knot, no makeup, and still the most distractingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen up close.

You flopped onto the couch while she opened a bottle of wine, raising an eyebrow as she poured a glass for herself. “Want one?” she asked, tilting the bottle in your direction.

“Oh— I don’t really… I mean, I’ve tried it, but…” you trailed off awkwardly, biting your lip.

Casey just grinned, setting a second glass down in front of you anyway. “Live a little. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it.”

You took a tentative sip once she sat beside you, immediately making a face at the sharp tang of it, and she laughed — low and warm, the sound of it sinking right into your bones.

“That bad, huh?”

“I think my throat’s on fire,” you managed, wiping your mouth.

“Lightweight,” she teased, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Guess it’s good I’m not trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”

Your face went hot so fast it was a miracle you didn’t combust on the spot. You ducked your head, trying to hide your flustered grin.

“I was kidding,” she murmured, nudging you again, her voice softer. “Relax, sweetheart.”

The pet name made your stomach flip.

You clutched a pillow to your chest, both for something to do with your hands and to hide the way your thighs pressed together at the sound of her voice. She clicked on the TV, settled back with one ankle crossed over her knee, and you queued up your movie.

It was something you’d seen too many times to count, deliberately chosen because you knew it by heart, which meant you wouldn’t have to concentrate on it. Which meant you could focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, on the way she smelled like clean skin and something crisp and peppery.

It was dangerous, being this close to her in the dim light of her living room, with no courtroom distractions, no case files to hide behind. Every time she shifted beside you, your whole body prickled, hyperaware of the brush of her knee against yours, the way her wrist flexed when she sipped her wine. You kept stealing glances at her when you thought she wasn’t looking — at the curve of her jaw, the easy smirk she gave the TV whenever a character did something stupid.

“What?” she said suddenly, catching you mid-stare.

Your eyes widened. “Nothing— I wasn’t— I just—”

She grinned. “Busted.”

You groaned, pressing the pillow over your face. “I swear I wasn’t staring.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, leaning closer, her voice dropping into something more teasing. “If you’re gonna stare, you should at least be good at it.”

Your whole body went molten.

“I wasn’t—” you protested weakly, but she just laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Relax, rookie,” she teased. “I’m just messing with you.”

You sank deeper into the cushions, the heat in your cheeks refusing to die down. And then, somewhere between the hero’s ridiculous grand romantic gesture and Casey making a dry, muttered remark about how unrealistic it was, you must have started leaning against her.

It felt natural.

Easy.

Her shoulder was solid and warm beneath your cheek, and when you didn’t pull away, neither did she. In fact, she shifted a little closer, and you swore you felt her thumb brush lazily along your knee.

Your stomach fluttered. Your skin felt too tight.

When you let out a soft yawn, trying to mask it behind your hand, she glanced down at you, her voice soft and teasing. “You falling asleep on me, sweetheart?”

You smiled, half-embarrassed, feeling your eyelids droop. “No… I’m fine. It’s just… it’s warm in here.”

Casey chuckled, her arm draping casually over the back of the couch behind you. “Sure it is.”

You felt your cheeks burn, a familiar twinge of self-consciousness rising — because you knew you were naive. You weren’t like her. You hadn’t had flings, you didn’t know how to flirt properly, didn’t know how to navigate this kind of closeness. But God, you wanted to. You wanted her. And when her fingers traced lazy circles against your knee, you felt your whole body tilt toward sleep, your head dropping against her shoulder, safe and warm.

And then you were gone.

୨ৎ

When you wake, it’s to that quiet, strange stillness only found in someone else’s bed. The early morning light is soft and hazy, spilling through unfamiliar curtains in pale ribbons across the sheets, catching the dust in the air. Your head’s thick with sleep, limbs heavy, the faint warmth of another body beside you sinking slowly into your awareness.

You blink, a little disoriented, registering first the way your sleep shirt’s ridden up your thighs, then the cool drag of the sheets against your bare skin. You’re not on the couch anymore. You’re in her bed.

And then you see her.

Casey’s propped up on one elbow beside you, her hair down and a little messy, her skin bare except for a thin white tank top slipping low on one shoulder. She’s watching you with a look that isn’t teasing, isn’t smug, but something deeper — a soft, simmering hunger mixed with tenderness that makes your stomach tighten.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep, and it rolls over you like warm honey.

Your throat’s dry. “I… I’m sorry,” you croak, instantly mortified, your hand clutching the sheets like it might save you. “I don’t remember… how I…”

Casey smiles, her hand reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your cheek. “Relax, sweetheart. You fell asleep on me. I figured you’d be more comfortable in here.” Her thumb strokes your jaw, lingering. “I didn’t touch you.”

You swallow hard, your face burning. “I… I wasn’t— I mean, I didn’t think you did. I just…”

Her thumb slides across your lower lip. “You’re adorable when you fluster.”

Your stomach twists, a sharp, fluttery ache blooming low between your hips. You want her so badly it’s making your whole body ache, and you don’t know how to ask for it.

“I’ve never done this,” you admit softly. “Like… been in bed with someone. Not even for sleeping. Or… anything.”

Casey’s eyes darken immediately, her gaze dropping to your lips, then lower. Her hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb grazing the soft skin behind your ear.

“You’ve never…?”

You shake your head, nervous but aching for her. “Not even close.”

A low, hungry sound slips from her throat. “Jesus,” she mutters. “You’ve got no idea what that does to me.”

You open your mouth, breath catching. “I… I want to,” you manage, voice cracking.

“Say it again.”

“I want you. Please.”

Casey leans in, and the kiss she gives you is slow, deep, devastating. Nothing like the clumsy, teenage kisses you remember fumbling through. Her mouth moves over yours with purpose, coaxing you to open, her tongue sliding against yours with a hot, slick glide that makes you whimper. You don’t know what to do with your hands — you hesitate, hovering awkwardly at your sides, and she notices, smiling into the kiss.

“Here,” she murmurs, taking your hands in hers and guiding them to her waist. “Touch me, baby. You’re allowed to touch.”

You let your fingers settle tentatively against the curve of her hips, your palms brushing the soft fabric of her tank top. She feels warm, solid, every inch of her radiating control.

Casey pulls back just enough to look at you, her breathing heavier now, her voice low. “I wanna see you, sweetheart. Can I?”

You nod, face flushed, heart pounding. She sits back on her heels, her hand brushing your cheek one last time before sliding down to the hem of your sleep shirt. She peels it up, slow, deliberate, her fingertips trailing after the fabric like she’s memorizing every inch. Goosebumps follow the path of her hands, and when the shirt’s pulled over your head, you feel utterly exposed.

Your breasts are bare, nipples tight and flushed from the cool air and from the heat in her gaze. You feel small under the weight of it — not embarrassed, but raw, your skin hypersensitive everywhere her eyes land.

“Fuck,” Casey breathes. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

You shiver at the heat in her voice. She cups one breast in her palm, her thumb teasing over your nipple until it stiffens even tighter, sending a bolt of aching pleasure straight to your core. She leans down, kisses over the soft flesh, then draws your nipple into her mouth, flicking her tongue over it until you gasp, arching into her.

When she switches to the other, her teeth graze the sensitive skin and you whimper, feeling your thighs press together.

“You like that?” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin.

You nod, trembling. “Yeah… yeah— it feels…”

“Good,” she finishes for you, smirking. “We’re just getting started.”

Her hands trail down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your panties. She hooks her thumbs in them, pausing. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Please.”

She slides them down slowly, and you feel the wet cling of fabric against your folds, your arousal making the thin cotton stick to your skin. When the panties clear your thighs, you see the evidence of it — the damp patch, the glisten between your legs, and your face burns hot.

But Casey groans, dark and filthy, eyes fixed between your thighs.

“Look at you,” she rasps. “God, baby… you’re soaked for me.”

You whimper, not sure where to put your hands again, and she catches them, bringing your wrists to rest on the pillow beside your head.

“Leave ’em there,” she orders, soft but firm. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod, heart hammering.

She parts your legs, wide enough that you feel exposed, vulnerable, but the hunger in her face makes you ache. Your pussy’s slick and swollen, the folds soft and glistening, your clit a flushed little pearl peeking out from its hood.

Casey lets out another groan. “So fucking pretty,” she murmurs. “I’m gonna taste every inch of this.”

And then she’s lowering herself between your thighs, kissing the inside of your knee, then your thigh, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up until her breath ghosts against your pussy. The first stroke of her tongue is slow and flat, dragging through your folds from base to clit, and your hips jerk violently.

“Oh— oh my God—”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Casey soothes, one arm slipping under your thigh to hold you down while the other hand parts your lips, exposing your clit. She circles it with her tongue, flicks it, then seals her mouth over it, sucking just hard enough to make you sob her name.

Her tongue moves like she knows your body better than you do — sliding down to tease your entrance, then back up, lapping through your slick. The wet sounds between your legs are obscene, her groan vibrating against your clit like she’s savoring every taste of you.

You’re gasping, moaning, legs trembling. “Casey— I— it’s too— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she growls against you, slipping a single finger inside your tight, soaking pussy. The stretch burns for a second, but it melts into heat fast, and when she curls it just right, you see stars.

“Oh—fuck—Casey, I’m—”

“Come for me, baby. Right now. Let me feel it.”

It breaks like a wave, your orgasm slamming through you so fast and sharp you cry out, back arching off the bed. Your pussy clenches hard around her finger, wet and pulsing, and Casey moans into you, licking you through it, your hips jerking as pleasure coils tight, sharp, unbearable.

When you finally collapse, boneless and shaking, she pulls herself up your body, her lips shining with your slick. She kisses you, filthy and deep, and you taste yourself on her tongue.

“You’re mine now,” she murmurs against your lips. “And I’m never fucking letting you go.”

And you believe her.

୨ৎ

You don’t know how long you lay there, skin still humming, the sheets tangled around your legs, Casey’s body half-draped over yours like she can’t bear to be too far away. Her fingers trail idle patterns along your side, tracing down to your hip and back up again. The air between you is thick, hazy, electric even after everything, like the room itself is holding its breath.

You turn your face into the curve of her neck, inhaling the clean warmth of her skin, still carrying the faintest scent of wine and sleep and you. Your lips brush against her collarbone, and it makes her hum, a low, lazy sound in the back of her throat.

And then, in a soft, breathless voice you barely recognize as yours, you murmur, “Can… can I do the same to you?”

Casey stills.

Then you feel it, the subtle shift in her breathing, the way her thigh presses a little tighter against yours. She leans back enough to look at you, her eyes sharp and dark and suddenly very, very awake.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice — like she wasn’t expecting it but God, she wants it. “You wanna taste me, baby?”

You swallow hard, cheeks flushed, nerves buzzing so fast it makes your fingers tremble. But you nod, a little shy, a little eager. “I… I wanna know what you taste like. I wanna… learn.”

That does something to her. You can see it ripple through her body, see the way her eyes darken, her lips part, the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. She leans in, kisses you hard, like a reward, like a promise.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Casey breathes against your lips. “I’ll show you. You’re gonna do so good for me.”

She eases back, stripping her tank top off in one slow, fluid motion. And you forget how to breathe. Her body is everything you imagined and more — smooth pale skin, small, firm breasts with dusky pink nipples that peak tight under your gaze. There’s a softness to her you’d never seen in her courtroom armor, curves made for hands and mouths, and you ache to touch her.

She smirks when she catches you staring, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Go ahead,” she teases, guiding your hand up to her breast. “Touch me, baby.”

Your palm cups her, the weight of it perfect in your hand. Her nipple’s pebbling under your fingertips, and when you brush your thumb across it experimentally, she lets out a low, appreciative sound.

“Mmm, just like that. You’re a natural.”

The praise makes heat bloom between your thighs again.

Casey leans back against the pillows, legs parting just enough that you catch the slick glint of her arousal. Her pussy’s flushed, pink and soft, already wet for you, and the sight of it makes your mouth water, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“You see how wet I am for you, baby?” she murmurs, her fingers sliding through the slick between her thighs, gathering it, then bringing them to your lips. “Taste.”

You part your lips and suck her fingers into your mouth without hesitation. She tastes heady, musky, a little sweet and utterly addictive. The filthy groan she lets out when you swirl your tongue around her fingertips makes your thighs clench.

“God, look at you,” Casey breathes. “Come here.”

She guides you between her legs, her hand in your hair, angling your mouth just where she wants you. You hesitate for a heartbeat, nerves fluttering, and she feels it, strokes your cheek.

“I’ll tell you exactly what to do, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice low and thick. “Start with a kiss, right here.” She guides your mouth to her clit, swollen and sensitive.

You press a soft, tentative kiss there, and she shudders, a low moan slipping from her lips.

“Good girl,” Casey breathes. “Now… use your tongue. Flat and slow, just like this.”

She rocks her hips, demonstrating against your mouth, and you follow her lead. Your tongue flattens against her, licking a long, slow stripe through her folds. She tastes warm, rich, salty-sweet, the flavor thick on your tongue. Every sound she makes, every shift of her hips, feels like a reward, like you’re earning each broken moan.

“Mmm, fuck, just like that,” she groans. “God, you’re so fucking good at this.”

Your confidence builds with every flick, every slow circle. Casey guides your hand up, placing it on her breast. You squeeze gently, thumb brushing her nipple the way she showed you, and the sound she makes goes straight to your core.

“Faster, baby. Little circles, yeah… right there.”

You work your tongue, circling her clit, sucking it gently between your lips like she taught you, and Casey’s hips start to rock against your face, the muscles in her stomach tensing.

“Finger,” she gasps. “One. Slow.”

You hesitate, but she grabs your wrist, guiding your fingers down, sliding one into her slick, tight heat. She’s impossibly warm inside, gripping you, and the filthy moan she lets out when you curl your finger the way she shows you makes you ache.

“Oh God— fuck, you’re perfect. I’m so close— don’t stop, sweetheart.”

You suck harder, pressing your tongue just where she likes, your finger curling inside her, and Casey falls apart with a sharp cry. Her thighs tremble around your head, hips bucking as she comes, the taste of her slick and heady on your tongue. You keep licking, desperate to draw every last drop of pleasure from her until she has to gently tug your hair.

“Okay, baby— okay, enough,” she pants, voice wrecked and shaking.

You crawl up, dazed and flushed, and she pulls you into a deep, filthy kiss, tasting herself on your lips. Her arms wrap around you, holding you tight.

“Jesus,” she murmurs, grinning. “You’re mine now, you know that?”

And you whisper against her lips, “I’ve always been yours.”

୨ৎ

The room settles around you in the kind of thick, satisfied quiet that only comes after bodies have been wrung out and thoroughly adored. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air heavy with the scent of sex and skin and Casey’s sharp citrus warmth. Your body feels loose, weightless, every inch of you still thrumming from where she touched, where she kissed, where you tasted her and made her come undone.

You’re curled against her now, your face tucked against her neck, breathing her in. The warmth of her skin, the steady, soothing rise and fall of her chest under your cheek, the way her hand lazily traces the bare curve of your hip, makes you feel like you’ve melted into her.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s no need.

Casey’s fingertips drift up your spine, feather-light, and you shiver even though your body feels like it’s running a low-grade fever. She presses her lips to your hairline, a soft, lingering kiss that makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

“You okay, sweetheart?” she murmurs, her voice lower now, softer, stripped of all the teasing edge she carried earlier.

“Mmhmm,” you hum against her skin, too content and sleepy to move. “I feel… good.”

A low chuckle rumbles in her chest. “Yeah? You did so fucking good for me.”

Your face heats up again, and you hide it against her neck. “You did everything,” you mumble, embarrassed but grinning.

She shifts, tilting your chin up with a gentle finger until you’re looking at her. There’s no smugness in her smile now — just this quiet, affectionate warmth that makes your stomach flip all over again.

“Baby,” Casey murmurs, brushing her thumb over your lower lip. “You made me come like a goddamn teenager. Don’t sell yourself short.”

You duck your head, a shy, pleased sound catching in your throat. “I… liked it. A lot.”

“I could tell,” she teases gently, dropping another kiss on your temple. “You’re a quick learner.”

Your eyelids are heavy now, sleep creeping in at the edges, but you don’t want to leave this moment yet. You trace lazy shapes on her stomach with your fingertips, the texture of her skin warm and smooth under your touch.

“Casey?” you murmur, voice soft and slurred with exhaustion.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I… I’m really glad it was you,” you admit, your cheeks burning even as you say it, because you mean it. Because it matters.

Her arm tightens around you, and she presses a slow, tender kiss to your hair. “It was always gonna be me, sweetheart,” she says quietly, her voice thick in a way you’ve never heard before. “From the second you walked into my office with those wide, innocent eyes and started blushing every time I looked at you.”

You smile against her skin, a sleepy, contented sound escaping you.

“I always thought you were too good for me,” you confess, barely a whisper.

“Not a chance,” Casey murmurs. “You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

You snuggle closer, tangling your legs with hers, feeling safe and warm and impossibly loved in a way you hadn’t known you were missing until now.

“I’m gonna fall asleep,” you warn drowsily, your words muffled against her collarbone.

“That’s okay, baby,” she soothes, her hand in your hair again, combing through the messy strands. “I’ve got you. Sleep.”