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brenwritesss · 3 months ago

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SNOOZE — p. bueckers iv.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: fluff. slight angst. mentions of weed. sexual content. high sex. oral (s!receiving) pussy drunk paige.

word count: 12.8k

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

Soraya's phone buzzed with a short vibration on the nightstand, lighting up the screen with a message from Paige:

BDB Paige💜: downstairs. take your time, passenger princess.

She blinked at it for a second, then sighed softly. She already felt bad enough letting a rookie chauffeur her around all week—not that Paige had given her a choice in the matter. But to make her wait on top of that? No. Even if Paige didn't seem to mind in the slightest, Soraya wasn't about to add ‘ungrateful’ to the list of things she didn't like being called.

Grabbing her gym bag and keys, she gave a quick glance back toward the living room where her cat was curled up on the couch. She padded over and leaned down to press a kiss to Jiggy's furry forehead.

"Be good," she murmured.

Jiggy didn't even twitch. Not a flick of the ear. Ungrateful, indeed.

Soraya rolled her eyes, heading for the door. She moved too fast down the stairs, nearly missing a step and stumbling before gripping the railing with a muttered curse. Deep breaths. Chill. She wasn't about to break her ankle before practice even started.

When she opened the back door of Paige's car, she tossed her bag in the backseat before sliding into the passenger side. Her gaze instantly landed on Paige—her hair pulled into a low, messy bun, face completely bare of makeup, purple glasses perched slightly crooked on the bridge of her nose.

God. She looked beautiful in that effortless, stripped back way. The kind of beautiful that wasn't trying to be anything at all.

It wasn't until Paige turned to her with a lopsided smile and held something out that Soraya noticed the iced matcha in her hand.

"Good morning to you too, passenger princess," Paige greeted, her voice a little tired but bright in the way early mornings sometimes made people seem more sincere.

Soraya blinked down at the green drink, then back up at her. "What's that?"

"Matcha? That's what you like, right?" Paige asked, brows pinching together slightly like she wasn't totally sure she hadn't just imagined it.

Soraya tilted her body slightly toward her, looking between the cup and Paige's face in silence. The quiet stretched just long enough for Paige to feel it press into her chest.

"Who told you that?" Soraya finally asked, her voice quieter, more curious than suspicious.

"No one," Paige shrugged. "I just heard you mention it to Nai the other day. Figured you'd appreciate one this morning."

The words came out with practiced ease, but the thud in her chest betrayed her cool front. Why was she nervous? It was just a drink. A gesture. Nothing weird about that.

Right?

Another beat of silence passed before Soraya reached out. Her fingers brushed against Paige's as she took the cup gently, and for a brief second, the contact felt louder than either of them expected.

"I do. Thank you," Soraya said, her tone softer than before. She didn't acknowledge the tingle that climbed up her wrist from the contact, and neither did Paige.

Paige watched her for a second longer, studying the way the rim of the cup pressed against her lips, how she seemed slightly more present after the first sip.

She glanced at Soraya's reflection in the passenger window—loose ponytail, skin bare but glowing, two tiny pimple patches on her cheek, and black glasses that made her look softer, somehow. Paige caught their mirrored images: matching glasses, morning wrinkled clothes, and sleepy expressions. They looked almost domestic. Cozy. Like something warm and familiar.

The thought snuck up on her, unexpected and uninvited, and nestled somewhere in her chest.

"No problem," she replied.

They didn't speak for a while after that, letting the silence bloom between them as Paige pulled away from the curb.

Not awkward—just still. The kind of silence that didn't ask to be filled. Outside, the morning light bled through the trees, casting long, shifting shadows across the dashboard as Paige drove with a steady hand. Inside the car, the soft hum of music floated through the speakers, cushioning the quiet.

Then the opening notes of Another Life by SZA came on.

Soraya's posture shifted instantly. Her shoulders, once slightly hunched from the early morning chill, relaxed. A faint brightness sparked in her expression, barely noticeable unless you were looking closely��and Paige was.

"Turn this shit up," Soraya said, leaning forward without waiting for a response. Her fingers adjusted the volume with a practiced ease before she sank back into the seat, a satisfied little grin pulling at her lips as the beat deepened.

Paige flicked her gaze toward her, just for a second, before returning her focus to the road—the kind of driver who never let her attention drift for long. Still, the curve of her mouth betrayed the question forming on her tongue.

"You like SZA?"

Soraya turned to her with an expression that landed somewhere between disbelief and amusement. Her brows pinched together slightly as if Paige had just asked whether she liked air or water.

"Like?" she repeated, drawing out the word. "I fucking love that bitch. Especially this song. It's been on repeat for weeks."

Her voice was alive in a way Paige hadn't heard yet—animated, unfiltered. There was something playful tucked into the edges of it, something that made Paige's chest stir a little.

She smiled, unable to help it. "Same," she said simply, voice quiet but full of something real.

She didn't offer more. Not yet. Not because she didn't have more to say, but because Soraya was still a closed book, just beginning to crack open. And Paige had learned that pushing too hard made people snap shut. So she stayed where she was—present, open, patient.

Soraya glanced at her sideways. Something in her chest warmed at Paige's answer. Sure, liking SZA wasn't exactly rare, but this specific song? There was a quiet intimacy in that. Knowing that Paige, someone who always seemed composed, cool, and sharp around the edges, played this song on repeat too—it did something to her.

She didn't say anything else. Just gave a soft, almost imperceptible nod, then brought the matcha back to her lips.

She wanted to speak. She really did. But the words stuck to the roof of her mouth. Not because she didn't have them, but because sharing them still felt unfamiliar. They weren't close enough for comfort yet, not quite. And Soraya wasn't the kind of girl who spoke just to fill the air.

So they drove on, not speaking. Letting the music talk for them.

The breeze came in through the window, light and cool against her skin as SZA sang over layered instrumentals. Soraya closed her eyes for half a second, just breathing it in—the sound, the calm, the sense of someone beside her who didn't make silence feel suffocating.

It was rare. And she wasn't ready to name it, but she liked it.

And Paige? She kept her eyes on the road, but she noticed. Every little thing.

For once, Soraya didn't detour to the vending machine. No organic fizzy peach red bull, no chocolate bar, no three minute stall in the hallway just to avoid walking in with someone else.

This morning, she walked straight in.

Which meant she and Paige entered the locker room together, shoulder to shoulder, no space to pretend otherwise.

The second they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted.

It wasn't dramatic. No gasps, no silence. Just a few too casual glances from the girls already inside. Some looked up, gave absent nods, and kept it moving. But others—Arike, Dijonai, and Nalyssa, seated in a trio near the back—exchanged knowing looks like they'd been waiting for this moment all week. Grins stretched across their faces before the teasing even began. Eyebrows wagged. Shoulders bumped. Silent laughter buzzed between them like an inside joke without a punchline.

Soraya rolled her eyes immediately, already regretting everything. She let out a quiet exhale through her nose and rolled her eyes, pointedly ignoring them.

Beside her, Paige caught the theatrics out of the corner of her eye. A faint smirk tugged at her lips, but she swallowed it down. She didn't mind the attention. Not when Soraya was walking beside her, shoulders relaxed in that effortlessly cool way of hers.

They moved to their lockers, which happened to be right beside each other. Had been since before the first day of the rookie's arrival, although Soraya still hadn't decided if that was good or bad luck.

Soraya sat first, dropping her bag by her feet and unzipping it with one hand while tugging off her zip up sweater with the other. Paige followed a second later, stretching her long legs out in front of her and began to carefully put her eye contacts in.

They changed in silence, the usual locker room hum around them. The shuffle of sneakers, clinking of water bottles, the occasional burst of laughter. Nothing felt particularly different, and yet...

After a few minutes, Dijonai's voice rang out over the noise.

"Alright y'all, listen up!" she called out, already grinning. "Me and Lyss are throwing a little welcome get-together tomorrow night. Just something chill. Drinks, snacks, music, vibes. First preseason game’s almost here and we got hella new faces, so it's only right."

A wave of agreement rippled through the room. A chorus of "bet," "say less," and "I'm down" followed, everyone nodding or tossing their hands up in agreement. It was a day off, after all, and the idea of unwinding before the storm of the game began was too tempting to resist.

Everyone seemed excited except Soraya, who remained quiet where she sat in front of her locker, lacing up her sneakers like she hadn't heard a thing.

Dijonai noticed immediately.

She didn't bother saying anything aloud. Just gave Soraya the look—one they'd perfected after years of friendship. Her expression didn't say ‘are you coming?’ It said ‘you're coming, and you know it.’

Soraya didn't argue. She didn't have to. She just rolled her eyes lightly in response, the universal sign for ‘fine, whatever.’

But then, as she finished tying her last shoe and leaned back slightly, she glanced to her left to Paige, who sat almost close enough for their shoulders to brush if either of them shifted their chairs closer just a little.

"Y’going?" she asked, casually. The question was simple. Almost too simple. But it landed with more weight than it should have, a quiet ripple in the space between them.

Paige was caught slightly off guard by the question. She blinked once, then looked over at Soraya beside her, their bodies aligned, their legs almost touching.

It was such a small question. Barely a sentence. But something about the way Soraya asked it—the softness behind the words, the faint tilt of her head, the way her dark eyes flicked up with something unsure—made Paige feel like the answer mattered more than it should. God, how could someone have such hypnotic eyes?

"Yeah, I'll be there." Paige said quietly. She nodded once to seal it, like it was obvious. Like there was no other choice.

'If you want me there,' she added in her head, the words lingering like a secret between her ribs.

Soraya held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then nodded, just as quietly. "Okay." Her voice was lighter now, lower, like she didn't want anyone else to hear.

The older turned back to her locker. She didn't smile—not visibly. But there was a flicker in her eyes, a quiet glint of satisfaction. Like she got the answer she wanted, even if she'd never admit she wanted it. But Paige noticed. And something in her chest warmed at the sight.

Eventually, everyone began filing out of the locker room, ready to start another day of training. But Soraya and Dijonai lagged behind, as usual.

Dijonai—slow on purpose—rifled through her duffle bag like she had all the time in the world. Soraya, now fully dressed and ready, leaned against the lockers and waited, arms folded, gaze aimlessly drifting until her best friend finally stood and motioned toward the gym doors.

As they walked side by side down the corridor, Dijonai bumped her hip playfully against Soraya's. Her grin was smug, like she'd been waiting to get her words in.

"'Y’going?' " she echoed in a poor imitation of Soraya's tone—soft, almost sweet, way too obvious to be brushed off. "Since when do you care about any of the rookies?"

Soraya groaned, head tipping back in dramatic irritation. "I asked because she's the one that would have to drive me, dumbass," she said flatly. "I don't care what she does."

"Mhm," Dijonai replied, with the exact amount of disbelief that made Soraya want to punch her in the arm. "Sure. Keep tellin' yourself that, Sora."

Soraya didn't answer. She just shook her head and kept walking, but her silence said more than words could. And Dijonai, who'd known her since college, saw right through it.

Practice had gone well.

Another long day of training camp, the kind that left legs sore and minds buzzing, but with the kind of exhaustion that felt earned. The coaches were ramping up the intensity— two days until the first preseason game and a little over two weeks until the season opener, and it showed. The drills were sharper, the scrimmages more heated, especially for the rookies, who had to fight for every inch of space and respect.

Soraya though, wasn't worried about herself. She'd earned her spot long ago—two years in the league, one of the most versatile hybrids on the team. She knew the playbook, the pace, the pressure. This wasn't new to her.

And if there was one other person Soraya definitely wasn't worried about, it was Paige Bueckers.

UConn's golden girl. A four year starter who'd practically built a legacy brick by brick under Geno. The league had been buzzing about her debut long before she even declared. Watching her in camp, the way she moved— deliberate, unbothered, efficient—only confirmed what Soraya already knew. Paige wasn't just making the roster. She was about to be the face of it.

That night, after a quiet car ride and a murmured "thanks" before slipping out of Paige's passenger seat, Soraya had gone straight to bed. Not from exhaustion, necessarily, but from that bone deep kind of tired that came from silence. She hadn't said much during the drive, hadn't offered conversation, directions, nothing.

It lingered with her the next morning.

Soraya wasn't the type to feel guilt easily. But something about Paige carting her around without even a flicker of annoyance—not once asking for gas money or thanks or a single word in return—sat in her chest like a quiet weight. She needed to sort out her car situation, and fast. It'd been almost a week now, and the mechanic hadn't offered much hope unless she was willing to fork over the price of a used Honda just to revive her 4 year old Kia.

Maybe it was time to let it go. Time to invest in something new. Something reliable. Grown up.

Still, for today at least, she could ignore that. The rare bliss of a day off meant no early alarms, no sprints, no whistles. Just rest.

She slept in—or at least, what counted as sleeping in for her. It was 8:47 a.m. when Jiggy padded her way across her back, each paw landing with perfect, tiny disrespect. Her breath, which smelled somewhere between old cheese and expired curiosity, hit her square in the face as she sniffed around with impunity. It was that, and not the sun that truly woke her up.

"Ugh," Soraya groaned, face buried in her pillow. "Your breath smells like death."

Jiggy, unbothered as always, sat on her hip like she owned the lease.

Despite the rude awakening, Soraya found herself smiling, brushing a hand over her fur as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Waking up to her squishy little face was still her favorite part of the day.

She spent the rest of the morning moving slowly—eating fruit out of the fridge, catching up on half a show she barely remembered starting, scrolling aimlessly. Her phone buzzed with messages from teammates in their group chat, confirming times and rides for the get together later that evening, but she didn't respond just yet.

The day was hers. Quiet and slow. Untouched by anyone else's energy.

But by late afternoon, around 4:30, Soraya was up again, tying her hair into a loose bun and slipping into her kitchen. She'd never been the type to show up empty handed. Not now, not ever.

It was just how she was raised.

In both Ghanian and Algerian culture, hospitality wasn't optional—it was sacred. A value woven deep into everyday life. Whether you were invited to someone's home or just dropping by, you brought something. Food, flowers, a bottle of juice. It didn't matter what it was, only that you came with your hands full and your heart open.

To show up empty was to show up without respect. And respect, especially the quiet kind, mattered to Soraya, contrary to popular belief.

So she started to bake.

Her kitchen smelled like chocolate and browned butter within minutes. The warm, familiar notes that reminded her of childhood, of her grandmother's kitchen, of small apartment ovens filled with the scent of long lost care and love.

As the brownies baked, she glanced at her phone again.

It was going to be a long night of pretending to be social. She needed the calm now, while it lasted. And maybe—just maybe—she didn't mind the idea of Paige being there.

While the brownies baked in the oven, the real battle was happening in Soraya's bedroom.

She stood half dressed in her closet, hands on her hips, surrounded by rejected options draped over her bed and chair. Most things she owned were either loud, bold, or unapologetically her. Statement pieces, sculpted silhouettes, textures that caught the light. ‘Doing too much’ was kind of her thing. That was the point. She never underdressed, unless it was for practice, and even then, it was a stretch.

But tonight, she wasn't sure. She didn't want to look like she was trying too hard, especially not in front of teammates she was still getting used to. And especially not in front of her.

Eventually, she settled on something that felt like a compromise. An short, ashy-brown leather skirt with a built-in belt that hugged her hips just right, paired with a black halter cami. Velvet florals bloomed across the sheer mesh, like ink spreading in water. The delicate tie at the neckline and the open back teased more than it covered, letting the curves of her chest breathe against the air. If we were being honest it, it was more of a covering bikini top with curtains. It wasn't modest—far from it—but it was honest. Soft in its confidence and a little vulnerable.

Soraya wasn’t big on modesty. She’d already spent a large majority of her life covering almost every inch of skin for other’s satisfaction.

Still, she lingered in front of the mirror longer than she wanted to admit.

She moved on to makeup next, more in control here. She swept soft shimmer across her eyelids, letting it catch the light just right, lifting the corners with a foxy blend. A warm brown lip combo followed—subtle, but sensual. Polished. Intentional. She didn't rush. She never did. Glamming up was second nature, one of the few rituals that truly relaxed her. She thought of Dijonai then, how they'd once bonded over their love for fashion, makeup and heels that made statements louder than words.

Just as she added the final touch of gloss, her oven timer went off. She sighed, standing from her vanity chair and carefully padding into the kitchen.

Jiggy sat by the oven, tail twitching lazily like she was the one doing all the work.

"Thanks for looking out, chef," she laughed, slipping on oven mitts before carefully pulling the tray out.

The brownies were golden at the edges, still slightly gooey in the center—perfect. She let them cool as she packed up the rest of her things, slicing the squares neatly and transferring them into containers with practiced care. Her phone buzzed on the counter just as she was sealing the last lid.

She answered quickly, tucking her phone between her ear and shoulder while making her way back to the closet.

"Hello?" she said, scanning the floor for her shoes.

"I'll be right down," she added, slipping her feet into a pair of low-level black Miu Miu heels that hugged her ankles like they were made for her.

"Don't rush yourself, ma. I'm downstairs whenever you're ready."

That casual pet name—ma—was said so lightly it almost flew over her head.

Almost.

But it landed. Oh, it landed.

Her heart did something it hadn't in a while—skipped, stumbled, caught itself. She shook it off quickly, grabbing her purse and the brownie containers, trying not to overthink it. Paige called everyone names like that. Probably. Maybe. Right?

Still, she found herself holding the containers a little tighter as she hurried out of her building and spotted Paige's car waiting at the curb, headlights glowing against the soft dusk.

She slid into the passenger seat like she'd done so many times now, the door clicking shut behind her as she placed the containers in the back. When she finally looked over, Paige was silent.

Her gaze was already on her.

And not in a casual, what's up? kind of way. No, Paige was looking—really looking. Her eyes moved slowly, taking Soraya in from the top of her goddess braids to the curve of her waist, the cut of her cami, the way the skirt clung to her hips like it belonged there. Her stare lingered in a way that made Soraya suddenly hyper aware of the exposed skin at her chest and back, the way the neckline dipped dangerously low.

The air in the car thickened for just a moment.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Soraya finally said, trying to break the tension—unsure if Paige was judging her, if the silence was disapproval, or worse, indifference.

It pulled Paige out of whatever trance she'd been in. Her lips tugged upward, soft and slow.

"Don't worry about it, beautiful."

Beautiful.

Another pet name. This one warmer. A little more intimate. A little more... intentional?

Soraya looked ahead quickly, lips parted in surprise but no words coming out. The butterflies in her stomach were unwelcome and unexpected. She didn't know what scared her more—how easily Paige said it, or how easily she liked hearing it.

As Paige pulled away from the curb, Soraya forced herself to breathe evenly, casting a sidelong glance at her driver.

It was her turn to look.

And oh, she looked.

Paige wore a pair of black cargo pants and a white cropped polo tank, the fit hugging her torso just right, revealing a sliver of toned waist and abs. Her hair was down and straightened, silky and effortless. It threw Soraya for a loop. She'd never seen Paige like this—feminine with just enough edge. She couldn't help but blink at the profile in front of her, like she was seeing her for the first time all over again.

She turned her gaze to the window quickly after, not trusting herself.

They pulled up to the apartment just as the sky dipped fully into night, warm light pouring from the windows onto the pavement. Soraya carried the containers of brownies carefully, and Paige stayed close behind her, not quite hovering but not straying too far either.

When Nalyssa opened the door, she was already grinning.

"Look who finally decided to show up," she teased, stepping aside to let them in.

She dapped Paige up first, before turning to Soraya and giving her a brief pat on the arm. That was the extent of her touch, and that boundary had been understood from day one. Soraya didn't do hugs or unnecessary contact, and everyone respected it.

"Fashionably late, huh?" Nalyssa said with a smirk, stepping back as the two walked in.

Paige glanced over her shoulder toward Soraya, who was hanging her purse up at the entrance. "Someone took her sweet time," she said casually with a small grin, tilting her head in Soraya's direction like it wasn't that big of a deal.

But Soraya had good hearing. Very good hearing.

She turned slowly and shot Paige a look—sharp enough to draw blood—before walking past the two of them, her heels clicking pointedly against the hardwood. Nalyssa raised her brows and looked at Paige like ‘girl...’, holding back a laugh.

Paige just sighed, dragging a hand down her face as she trailed behind.

The apartment buzzed with chatter and laughter. Dijonai and Arike were already at the kitchen island passing around drinks, Ty and Maddy were sprawled out across the floor with the rookies, and someone had music playing low in the background, just enough to fill the gaps in conversation.

The smell of something sweet in the air—probably the brownies Soraya brought—only added to the warmth of the room.

Soraya eased back into it quickly. She wasn't loud, but she wasn't closed off either. Her natural poise made her stand out no matter where she sat, but tonight she was unusually relaxed. She even cracked jokes here and there, and they landed. Like, really landed.

"Okay so, one time she told our Coach she couldn't finish the scrimmage because Mercury was in retrograde?" Dijonai burst out, unable to contain herself.

"I wasn't wrong," Soraya replied coolly, raising her brow. "We lost three players to rolled ankles that week. Don't play with the planets."

Everyone erupted. Even Teaira snorted into her drink.

Laughter came in waves, and Soraya's one-liners caught people off guard in the best way. The Soraya they'd seen in practice was focused, reserved, borderline intimidating. But tonight? She was magnetic—deadpan and witty with a rhythm all her own.

Paige laughed with them, but her attention kept drifting. She couldn't help it.

Her eyes followed Soraya without meaning to. The way that leather skirt moved when she walked, how her top dipped when she leaned forward—one wrong move and it would've revealed everything, if she hadn't tied it just right. And Paige had noticed things she hadn't before. Small tattoos near her ribs. Another under her shoulder. Subtle, delicate. Intriguing.

She was captivating in a way that made Paige feel both restless and rooted.

Eventually, the group filtered into the living room, drinks in hand for those who'd Ubered, water bottles or soda cans for the others. The couch and floor quickly filled with players sitting cross-legged, leaning into one another, lounging with the kind of ease only teammates could achieve.

Dijonai, drink in hand, stood in the center with her usual flair.

"Alright," she declared. "Never have I ever. Don't fight it. Team bonding."

Groans and eye rolls followed, but mostly playful ones.

Even Soraya, who usually slipped out of games like this with a raised brow and a conveniently timed phone call, stayed seated. She rolled her eyes, sure—but the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "This game's always messy."

"That's the point," Arike said with a grin, already holding up her fingers.

Paige sat on the floor, back against the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her. Soraya settled onto a floor pillow a few feet across from her, crossing her legs at the ankle, posture perfect, fingers resting loosely on her lap like she had better things to do—but her eyes were glinting, amusement tugging at her mouth.

She was in it.

And Paige, from her spot on the floor, looked at her from under her lashes, suddenly hyper aware of the quiet tension pulling between them again.

It wasn't the game that had her nervous. It was whatever the hell this was..

Everyone held up ten fingers, and the first few questions came quick.

"Never have I ever shot on the wrong basket."

Half the room groaned, fingers dropping fast. Soraya included.

"Never have I ever been ejected from a game."

Another wave of laughter—especially when Teaira and Madison both dropped their fingers with a shared look of shame.

"Never have I ever gone on a date just for free food."

Fewer fingers fell. And when Soraya lowered hers, there were whistles and grins tossed her way.

Laughter cracked through the group like thunder, Aziaha nearly choking on her drink. But soon enough, the questions turned from harmless to heated.

"Never have I ever had a situationship that felt like a relationship," Nalyssa tossed out casually, like she wasn't about to expose half the circle.

One by one, fingers dropped. Except Soraya's.

"Seriously? Like never?" JJ blinked at her, clearly appalled. "That's basically the college experience."

Soraya cocked her head, the gold accents on her earrings catching the light. "That shit is stupid. I'm an adult, thank you."

A chorus of fake boos erupted. Someone threw a throw pillow her way. She caught it without flinching and dropped it right beside her with practiced grace.

"Okay, okay," Dijonai jumped back in, practically bouncing where she sat next to Nalyssa. Her grin was wicked. "Never have I ever hooked up with someone from an opposing team right before playing them the next day, dipped without a word, and then lost because they were out for vengeance."

Loud ooohs echoed. Soraya groaned, eyes narrowing at her friend like she might leap across the room.

"You're so annoying," she muttered, putting a finger down.

Paige was already laughing, shoulders shaking, head tipped back, the whole nine.

"It's not that funny, Bueckers," Soraya said flatly, though her lip twitched with a smile.

Paige only chuckled harder. "It’s hilarious, actually."

A few more rounds passed—some tame, some eye opening—but it was Soraya's turn again, and she didn't miss a beat.

She shifted slightly on the pillow. Her eyes locked on Dijonai, lips curling slow like she'd been waiting all night.

"Alright. I've never had a wet dream about a teammate and then couldn't look them in the eye for a whole day."

The room exploded.

Dijonai gasped like she'd just been shot. "That was years ago, and it was traumatizing!" she yelled, pointing wildly.

Nalyssa leaned into her girlfriend, cackling. "You didn't speak to me for 48 hours."

"I didn't know what to say!"

Soraya just leaned back like a queen in her throne, smug satisfaction radiating off her. "Whatever you sayyy."

But her victory was cut short when she saw it—movement across the circle. Paige, quiet and collected, lowering a finger.

For that question.

Soraya blinked.

Her brows pinched for just a second, confusion curling in her gut. It was subtle, but it was there. Who? Who had Paige had a dream about? Was it someone on the team now? Someone in the past? Someone in this room?

But before she could spiral deeper into suspicion, Paige looked up and right at her. The blonde smiled slightly. Slow. Crooked. Unapologetic.

And then—

"Never have I ever faked an orgasm," Paige said, smooth as silk, tossing it out like she wasn't digging her fingers into something deeper.

The question hit like a spark flicked into a gas line.

Giggles rose around the circle, but Soraya didn't move right away. She just looked at her. Something in her chest tightening, burning, thrumming low and quiet like a secret.

And slowly, like she was peeling back a layer of clothing, she dropped a finger.

Paige's brows rose subtly.

The others kept laughing, teasing, some dramatically offended, others proudly innocent, but all Paige could hear was the static buzz behind her ears—and see Soraya's perfectly still expression. Not flustered. Not shy. Just watching her like she knew exactly what she'd done.

The air between them crackled.

Her tongue flicked across her teeth behind closed lips, and she leaned back against the couch, eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to recalibrate.

Paige swore if they were even a little more alone, she might've said something stupid. Or done something worse. She didn't know if she was delusional, horny, or just weirdly intuitive—but whatever game Soraya was playing... Paige was ready to lose on purpose if it meant staying on the board.

Instead, she just bit the inside of her cheek and sat back, trying not to let it show.

But Soraya saw it.

It was almost 11 by the time people started standing, stretching, and murmuring their goodbyes—some hugging, some exchanging sleepy jokes, others pulling out their phones to call Ubers. A few of them swayed just a little more than usual, giggling tipsily as they stumbled into shoes or jackets. But not Soraya. And not Paige.

They were still steady. Still grounded. Still hyper aware of each other.

The night had been full of laughter, louder than expected, filled with too many inside jokes and confessions that would probably resurface in group chats come morning. But underneath all of it, a different current had been pulling—quiet but electric. Glances that lasted too long. Eyes catching across the room, then darting away. A couple times, Soraya had caught Paige already looking. Paige never tried to hide it.

Now, standing by the door, Soraya gave a single, lazy wave as everyone called out their goodbyes. Paige said a few quick words, hugging a few before the two of them stepped out into the warm Dallas night.

The heat wasn't bad, but it was the kind that lingered on your skin like a second layer. The streetlights buzzed softly. Soraya's heels clicked lightly on the pavement as they made their way to Paige's car. The ride back was supposed to be short—fifteen minutes, maybe less with little traffic—but the silence that filled the space between them made time stretch and thicken.

There was music playing low through the speakers, vocals melting into the hum of the engine. Paige's hand rested loosely on the wheel, the other shifting between the gear and her thigh. Her knuckles tapped occasionally with the rhythm. And still, she hadn't said a word.

Soraya sat back in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, her eyes flicking toward Paige's profile now and then, subtly— like she couldn't stop herself. It felt hotter in the car than it should've. Summer creeping in early, or maybe it was just the weight of everything left unspoken between them.

When they pulled up in front of Soraya's apartment complex, Paige's headlights flashed across the familiar stone facade, casting quick shadows. She eased the car into park and for a second neither of them moved.

Soraya stared at the building, then at her lap, then back at Paige. The silence stretched tight.

"Wanna come up?" she said suddenly, her voice even and casual, almost as if it had just occurred to her.

She turned her head toward Paige with a calm expression, but there was something sharp underneath it.

Paige looked at her. Just looked. Studying her face, taking her in like she hadn't been doing it all night.

And then she nodded. Soft. Sure. No hesitation.

And up they went.

The hallway felt quieter than usual. More echoey. The faint smell of someone cooking down the hall mixed with the click of Soraya's heels against tile.

When Soraya unlocked the door, she didn't even need to flip the light switch to know what she was about to hear.

Sure enough, the moment the door creaked open, Jiggy padded into view with practiced entitlement, meowing as if to say finally.

The light flicked on. The cat made a beeline—not for Soraya, but for Paige.

"Oh my God," Paige laughed under her breath as Jiggy circled her ankles, tail held high like a question mark. "She remembers me?"

Soraya raised an eyebrow as she slipped her heels off by the door. "Of course she does. She's got standards."

Paige bent down and scooped the cat into her arms effortlessly, cradling her like she'd done it a hundred times before. Jiggy melted into her with a satisfied purr.

And Soraya just... stared for a second. The sight of Paige—tall, confident—holding her cat like a baby, her thumb gently stroking between Jiggy's ears... it did something to her. Softened her in a way she wasn't used to feeling around anyone. Definitely not someone who looked at her the way Paige did.

"God," she muttered, turning toward the kitchen to distract herself, "Why’d you have to be so cute?"

"What was that?" Paige called out with a smirk.

"Didn't say anything," Soraya tossed over her shoulder, voice light.

But her heart was thudding.

And Paige, now standing in the middle of her living room with a cat in her arms and something unreadable in her eyes, wasn't exactly making things easier.

Paige sat on the couch, legs spread comfortably, Jiggy curled comfortably against her thigh like the cat had claimed her as her own again.

The light in the apartment was low, golden and forgiving. The kind that made everything feel a little dreamlike. Or maybe it was just Soraya.

When she returned, Soraya had two cold cans of Diet Coke in hand. Condensation clung to the sides, dripping slightly onto her skin as she leaned over the coffee table and placed them down with a soft clink.

Then, casually, almost like it was nothing, "You smoke weed?"

Paige looked up from where she was gently scratching Jiggy's ear, her eyes meeting Soraya's across the small space.

A beat passed.

"Sometimes," she admitted, voice low but honest.

That faint smirk curved across Soraya's lips again, a little slower this time, a little more knowing. "Bet."

And with that, she turned and disappeared down the hall.

Paige stayed where she was, but she couldn't help the way her eyes trailed after her, the slight swing of her hips, the way her hair caught against her back. Everything about her was so... intentional. Even in silence, Soraya seemed to be saying something.

When she returned, she came armed—with a small ziplock bag, a Hello Kitty grinder, a bedazzled pink lighter that looked half used, and a neat little pack of papers.

‘Cute’, Paige thought to herself.

Soraya dropped the supplies on the coffee table and plopped down on the couch beside Paige like it was routine. Like they'd done this a dozen times before.

She didn't say a word.

Just reached for the grinder, poured some of the weed into it, and began twisting calmly, like she had all the time in the world. Her fingers worked with quiet confidence—no rush, no wasted movement. Paige watched her, not even pretending to look away. She noticed how Soraya's brow furrowed slightly as she concentrated, how her nails tapped the edge of the tray in rhythm with the music, how the ring on her thumb caught the light every time she passed it over the paper.

Then came the part that made Paige's breath catch.

Soraya brought the joint to her lips and licked the edge of the paper slowly, precisely. Her tongue traced the seam before she sealed it, her lashes low, her mouth soft and deliberate. Paige had to look away for half a second but it was too late. Her face already felt warm.

Soraya reached for the lighter, brought it to her lips once more and lit the end. She took a slow, steady inhale, holding the smoke in for a beat before letting it curl from her lips like a whisper.

The silence was thick now, but not awkward. Not empty. Just heavy.

Soraya turned her head, eyes finally meeting Paige's. There was no smirk this time. No teasing. Just a slow, quiet look as she extended the J in her hand, offering it wordlessly.

There was no pressure in the gesture. No expectation. Just the space to say yes or no.

Paige took it.

Their fingers brushed as she did—skin to skin, warm and fleeting—but it lingered. A spark that passed from hand to hand. Soraya didn't look away, and neither did Paige.

She brought the joint to her lips, inhaled slowly. The smoke curled around her like fog, and Soraya watched the way she moved through it. The way the red tip of the joint glowed faintly in her hand. The way her mouth opened slightly with each exhale.

"You smoke often?" Paige asked after a long moment, her voice softer now. Almost lazy. The way people get when their edges begin to melt.

That earned her a look from Soraya—something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she took the J back. She inhaled again, slower this time, deeper. Like she was savoring it.

"Special occasions only," she murmured.

Paige tilted her head slightly. "What's the special occasion?" The question was teasing, but gentle. A nudge. A smile curling on her lips.

Soraya let out a soft laugh—an actual laugh, one that Paige hadn't quite heard yet. It was quieter than the ones she gave the team, less performative. A real sound. And for some reason, it made Paige want to lean in.

"I don't know," Soraya said, gaze dropping to the rolled piece in her hand, then flicking back up to Paige. Her voice was low, almost amused, but there was a vulnerability tucked beneath the words. "You tell me."

And Paige could've sworn her heart skipped a beat. It was suddenly so easy to forget that this was still technically just a casual nightcap between teammates. That they hadn't even kissed. That nothing had happened yet.

Because everything was happening already.

Right there, in the silence. In the smoke. In the way their knees brushed when they shifted. In the way Jiggy had fallen asleep against Paige's thigh like she was already home.

At some point, Jiggy abandoned them.

She hopped down from Paige's lap with a soft thud and padded off into Soraya's room, her tail twitching once as if to say ’good luck’, before disappearing down the hall. Maybe it was the lingering smell of weed—or maybe even the cat couldn't handle the tension in the room anymore.

The joint was nearly gone, passed back and forth like a secret. Their fingers had brushed a dozen times now and each touch burned hotter than the last. Their bodies were relaxed, slouched and open in a way that only came with that deep, sinking high, like the gravity had shifted and softened just for them.

Paige couldn't ignore it anymore. Couldn't ignore the way her lips tingled when the joint, still warm from Soraya's mouth, touched hers. Couldn't ignore the faint taste left behind—sweet, unmistakable, chocolate lip gloss. She knew she wasn't imagining it. Knew it wasn't just weed induced paranoia. She could taste her.

That alone was driving her a little insane.

Somewhere along the way, they'd turned toward each other, almost magnetically. Paige now lounged back against the couch, legs wide, that lazy manspread like she owned the place. One arm slung casually over the backrest, fingertips nearly brushing Soraya's shoulder. Her body language was open, indulgent. Like she was daring Soraya to come closer without ever saying a word.

Soraya, meanwhile, had folded herself into the corner of the couch, her legs tucked under her, skirt riding up her thighs without her even noticing—or maybe not caring. She knelt slightly, leaning toward Paige, red rimmed eyes locked on her with a kind of amusement, but also something else. Something slow burning. Her lashes fluttered as she laughed and giggled, as her voice lifted, lighter than usual. The weed had peeled back her layers just a little. Made her softer and looser. She giggled at Paige's dry comments like they were stand-up material, body tilting forward and supporting herself with a hand on the rookie’s shoulder. And every time she did, Paige felt like she'd earned gold.

She wasn't even trying to be funny anymore. She just liked the sound of Soraya's laugh.

The room was drenched in sensuality—almost too much of it. The music hadn't helped. Soraya had thrown on a playlist earlier without a second thought, just wanting background noise. But now... now it played the kind of songs that made you want to slide a hand up someone's thigh. Slow beats, sultry voices. Jhené Aiko crooning softly over the speakers, followed by a slow Bryson track. Then Doja. Then PARTYNEXTDOOR. It was music meant to be played with hands between bodies and mouths pressed to skin.

And they both knew it. They just hadn't said it.

Paige's eyes were dark now. Not the usual bright, carolina blue, but something stormy, clouded. She was watching Soraya with a hunger she wasn't trying to hide. Her gaze moved over her like a hand—lingering on her thighs, the slope of her neck, her lips as she chewed them slightly, unconsciously. It was all slow, all thick and heavy like honey.

Then, like she was trying to snap herself out of it, Paige spoke—voice deeper now, worn soft by weed and want.

"As fun as this is, it's getting real late."

She didn't move, though. Didn't make any effort to get up. Her head turned slightly toward the door, but her body stayed exactly where it was, rooted beside Soraya like she was stuck to the couch.

Soraya didn't miss it. She shrugged a shoulder, casual but her voice had that same weighted undertone. "You can't drive like this. Just stay the night, I don't mind."

Paige's mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk. "Oh, you don't mind?" Her eyes dropped to Soraya's mouth. "Or you want me to stay?"

A breath of laughter slipped from Soraya's lips before she could stop it. It came from the chest, quiet, a little raspy. The weed made it harder to be careful. She tried to roll her eyes, but it didn't land the way she meant it to. Nothing she did could hide how warm her face felt, or the way her chest fluttered under that gaze.

"Maybe."

The corner of Paige's mouth twitched again. She leaned deeper into the couch, even more relaxed, legs spread further now. Like she wanted Soraya to feel the space she was offering. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "It's a yes or no, ma. Can't have you being unsure."

She brought the joint back to her lips—what little was left of it—and took a lazy hit. Then she leaned forward just enough, still lounging, still looking like sex personified, and held it out in front of Soraya's face.

There was something so quiet in the moment. So devastatingly attractive.

Soraya looked at the joint, then back at Paige. The blonde's hand steady, fingers loose but sure and her lips parted. There was something in her eyes that didn't blink.

Soraya leaned in.

Her lips wrapped around the joint exactly where Paige's had been. They didn't break eye contact—not once—as she pulled, slow and deep, the tip burning bright. The smoke settled in her lungs like it belonged there. Her heart pounded harder, louder, and she swore Paige could hear it.

Then she exhaled, smoke curling between them like a veil, thin and white. Her lips parted slightly as she did, and the faintest tremble threatened to betray her.

Paige hadn't moved. Still slumped. Still watching.

Those sharp blue eyes were half lidded now. Unreadable. Unrelenting.

The music behind them was still playing—something darker now, slick and dripping in bass. Paige's lap still looked inviting, and Soraya couldn't stop herself from imagining how it might feel to crawl into it.

Soraya nodded.

It was small—barely more than a dip of her chin—but it was all Paige needed. Her lips were parted, the gloss still catching the soft glow of the TV light, but they looked dry now. Kiss starved. The kind of mouth that needed to be ruined or worshipped—there was no in between.

"Yes."

That one word was soft. Steady. But it split the moment in half. Like it answered more than what Paige had asked. Like it reached back to every sideways glance, every unspoken stare since the day they ‘met’. Every tension laced interaction that had crawled under their skin and taken root. Yes was surrender. Yes was want. Yes was finally.

The joint burned quietly between Paige's fingers.

She held it out to Soraya, never breaking eye contact, and her voice came out like smoke—slow, husky, and laced with a pull that couldn't be denied. "C'mere."

Two syllables. A command and a confession all in one.

The second Soraya moved, something shifted. A switch flipped. Her body seemed to move before her brain could catch up. Like the ache between her legs had taken over the steering wheel. Like the weed had slipped its fingers into her bloodstream and whispered ’go.’

She straddled Paige with quiet hunger, one knee sinking into the couch cushion then the other, until she was settled firmly in her lap. Right on top of her. Right where she wanted to be. Right where Paige needed her.

The soft leather of her skirt rode up her thighs in the motion, revealing smooth skin, just enough to make Paige's throat go dry. The way Soraya sat was intentional, hips tilted forward, pressing herself down like she wanted Paige to feel everything.

And god, did she feel it.

Paige let her eyes trail down, slow and shameless. Those thighs—soft and warm and pressing down against her lap like a living fever. But then Paige's gaze dragged lower, catching the slight tremble in Soraya's hands as she took the joint again.

Soraya was just as gone. Her eyes wandered over Paige's exposed skin, the hem of her crop top riding up from the way she was slouched. It bunched at her ribs, barely covering the hard lines of her stomach. Abs hidden and revealed in folds that looked good enough to bite.

Soraya licked her lips unconsciously. She imagined dragging her tongue along every ridge. She wanted to touch and she wanted to taste. But instead, she brought the joint to her lips again and took one last, deep hit.

Then, her hand reached forward, fingers curling under Paige's jaw, tilting her face up gently. Her touch was careful, reverent. And then she leaned in, slow and dangerously close.

Her mouth hovered just above Paige's.

And she exhaled.

Smoke poured from her lips directly into Paige's mouth—warm, thick, tasting of weed and chocolate and something maddeningly Soraya. Their lips never touched, but it didn't matter. The space between them sizzled. Paige's hands found her hips, fingers digging into her waist, like holding her was the only way to stay grounded.

Their mouths lingered there. A breath apart.

Close enough that Paige could feel the heat of her. Could feel Soraya's breath catching. Her pulse racing. Could see every detail in her eyes, dilated and bloodshot.

There was a beat where Soraya didn't move. She just stared at Paige, pupils blown wide and chest rising in quick, shallow breaths. The weed clouded her thoughts, but not enough to drown out the way her body screamed for something more. Something to answer the ache now burning low in her stomach, in the space between her thighs where Paige's thigh rested.

She wasn't used to this. The silence between wanting and taking.

Soraya Mensima wasn't afraid. She rarely was. But this felt different. Not because she didn't want it—but because she wanted it too much. And in this moment, she needed to let go of the wheel.

So she leaned in, close enough that Paige could feel the brush of her breath again.

‘Fuck it.’

The words never left her lips, but Paige could see them pass through her expression. In the way her shoulders dropped. In the way her lips parted slightly, expectantly. In the way she looked at Paige like she was giving permission—not out of submission, but necessity.

Paige didn't hesitate.

She grabbed Soraya's face like she'd been dying to. Like her hands had been twitching to do it all night. One hand slid behind her neck, the other gripping her jaw, fingers spread wide like she was anchoring herself. And then she pulled her in.

Their lips met in a kiss that was anything but tentative.

It started soft, yes—testing the waters for the briefest second, a flicker of hesitation—and then it devoured.

Open mouthed. Desperate. Hungry.

Like Paige had been starved for a taste and Soraya was the meal she hadn't known she'd been craving until now. She kissed her like she needed it to breathe, like she'd been wandering through a desert and Soraya was the first drink of water she'd found.

Soraya melted into her immediately. Her hands gripped Paige's arms, nails digging through the fabric of her shirt, holding on like the kiss was threatening to pull her under. The soft clink of bracelets on her wrist echoed faintly as her hands started to move—grabbing at Paige's shoulders, her chest, her waist. Anywhere.

There was nothing gentle about it. They kissed like they'd waited too long and now had too little time. Lips clashing, tongues tangling, breath catching between them in broken little gasps. They didn't pull away. Not even to breathe. Only long enough to change angles, to kiss deeper, harder, hungrier.

Paige's grip tightened at Soraya's waist, blunt nails digging in to drag her closer, grind her down just enough that they both felt it. A strangled sound slipped from Soraya's throat, caught between a whimper and a moan, and Paige swallowed it like she wanted to collect every sound Soraya could give her.

Soraya's mouth tasted like smoke and watermelon gum and heat. And Paige kissed her like she wanted to memorize every bit of it with her tongue. One of Soraya's hands buried in Paige's hair now, tugging just enough to make the blonde groan into her mouth, and god—if she'd known it would feel like this, she would've said yes days ago.

The music in the background had long faded into white noise. The playlist still spun sensual tracks on shuffle, The Weeknd humming some filthy lyric in the background, but neither of them heard it now.

There was only heat. Skin. Lips. Tongue. The rustle of clothing. The sharp inhale when Paige grabbed Soraya's ass through her skirt and pulled her flush against her.

And Soraya? She didn't stop it. Didn't slow it. Didn't even try to tame the wildfire they'd sparked. Her body moved on instinct now, chasing friction, chasing sensation, chasing her.

She wasn't thinking anymore. She was feeling.

And Paige's hands, mouth, and body were giving her everything she didn't know she needed.

Eventually, Paige broke the kiss, breath ragged and eyes searching, her hands still holding Soraya's face like something precious. The world felt quiet, everything dulled except for the pounding of their hearts and the warmth between their bodies.

"Look at me," Paige murmured, and Soraya did—her lashes heavy, lips swollen, pupils so blown out her eyes looked nearly black. Her breath caught in her throat at the way Paige was looking at her, gaze simmering with restraint and need all at once.

"I need you," Paige said, voice low and husky with emotion and hunger. "But only if you want this too."

The air felt too still, too thick. Soraya's mind, already fogged from the weed and the ache between her legs, didn't hesitate. Her nod came first, slow and sure. Then her voice followed, soft but steady.

"Yeah."

One word, but it sealed everything.

Paige didn't move right away. She watched Soraya for a few more seconds, eyes scanning her face like she was double checking every detail. For sincerity. For a reason to stop.

But she found none.

So Paige's hands slid down to Soraya's hips again, curling under her ass as she rose to her feet in one smooth motion, lifting Soraya with her like it was second nature. Soraya's legs instinctively wrapped around her waist, her hands bracing against Paige's shoulders.

As the blonde turned and gently sat her back on the couch, she leaned in to kiss her again—deeper this time, but somehow slower and more deliberate. Her hands roamed, sliding up the curve of Soraya's waist beneath the material of her top that barely covered anything anyway, fingertips dragging over her warm skin, memorizing it.

With one knee between Soraya's legs, Paige hovered over her, just close enough that their breaths mixed again. She kissed her slowly, like she could lose herself in the taste. Soraya let her, let herself fall deeper and deeper into it, until Paige began trailing down, her mouth ghosting down her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat.

Then Paige pulled back.

She knelt.

Right in front of the couch, between Soraya's open legs, hands caressing the smooth skin of her thighs. Soraya could hardly breathe as she looked down at her, breath caught like a stone in her chest. The heat of Paige's hands, the intimacy of her position—so close, so reverent—left her lightheaded.

Paige placed a soft kiss on Soraya's left knee. Then the right. Gentle, like prayer. Like worship.

It made Soraya dizzy.

"You're fucking killing me," Soraya whispered, the first thing she'd said since the yes.

Paige's lips curled into a smirk against her skin. "Good."

She spread Soraya's thighs slowly, her hands firm but tender. The sight that met her had Paige cursing under her breath—purple lace, slightly damp, so soft and delicate it almost felt unfair. Her mouth watered.

"Fuck..." she murmured, almost to herself. "You're so pretty like this."

She kissed the inside of Soraya's left thigh, then right, inching higher with each kiss, her voice low and warm against her skin.

"I've been thinking about this since the second I saw you."

Another kiss, even higher.

"Since the first time you invited me up."

Higher still. Paige's voice dropped even more, practically a whisper.

"Since the way you looked at me across the room tonight like you wanted me to ruin you."

Soraya's breath stuttered. Her thighs twitched in Paige's hands.

Paige looked up then—just for a second. Her lips brushed over the crease where thigh met hip, dangerously close.

"Y’do want me to ruin you , don't you?"

And Soraya could only nod again, barely able to form the words, her fingers curling into the couch beneath her.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Fuck, yeah."

Paige's lips didn't stop moving, trailing further up the inside of Soraya's thighs with each kiss, each brush of her mouth a new promise. Soraya's skirt had already started to ride up with how wide her legs were spread, the leather bunched around her hips, and Paige took her time.

Her hands moved with purpose, sliding along the hem until they found the small side zipper. With one hand she tugged it down, slow and deliberate, the metallic sound of it unzipping breaking through the heavy silence like a warning bell. The built-in belt hung uselessly, never meant to be functional. Paige didn't touch it. She didn't need to.

She peeled the skirt down Soraya's legs inch by inch, letting her knuckles brush along the soft skin of her thighs as she did. When it finally slipped off completely, she tossed it to the floor without looking away from her. Her eyes stayed locked on Soraya like she was studying something sacred. Like she wanted to remember every reaction, every shift of breath.

Paige leaned back in, her breath warm against the front of Soraya's purple panties. That shade—pale and light, her exact favorite kind of purple—caught her off guard. Of all the colors in the world, of course it was that one. It made her blink slowly, almost like the universe was mocking her with how perfect this felt.

She looked up, locking eyes with Soraya, her voice low and full of restrained hunger.

"Can I take these off, ma?"

Soraya's breath hitched, her lips parting as her chest rose with the weight of her anticipation. Her eyes were already glassy, breath shallow.

She exhaled. “Mhm.”

Paige's fingers moved to the waistband, hooking around the delicate fabric so gently it made Soraya's stomach twist. She pulled them down slow—agonizingly slow—making sure the brunette felt every second of it. The way her fingers dragged down her hips, her thighs. The way the fabric caught momentarily on her skin before giving in.

Once they were off, Paige let them fall to the floor beside the skirt, and then she returned to her knees.

She lifted Soraya's legs gently, draping them over her shoulders with careful hands like she was setting up something sacred. The weight of them grounded her, but the sight in front of her nearly knocked the air from her lungs.

Face to face with Soraya's core, glistening and inviting, Paige could do nothing but stare for a long, suspended moment. She swallowed hard, lips parting, a soft curse slipping out under her breath.

"Fuck..."

She was completely, utterly entranced. And she hadn't even tasted her yet.

Paige didn't move at first. Just took her in, like Soraya was something holy and intoxicating all at once. Her lips were barely an inch away, and when she finally spoke, it was with a rasp that made Soraya's hands curl against the couch cushions.

"Just wanna kiss it," Paige muttered, almost to herself, eyes glued to Soraya's glistening cunt. "Just one little kiss."

And she did. Soft. Barely there. Like a whisper of a touch, like she was trying to memorize the feeling and taste in slow motion. Then another, with more pressure and less restraint. It had Soraya twitching, breath catching in her throat as her hips lifted slightly in response.

But that was all it took. Paige let out a quiet groan, deep and low in her throat like it physically hurt to hold back. Her hands tightened around Soraya's thighs and then she was in it—mouth open, tongue flattening against her with no shame, no patience.

Every slow flick and lick turned greedy. Every drag of her tongue became more intense, messier. Paige was absolutely gone.

"Goddamn," she breathed against her, voice wet and muffled. "You taste so fuckin' good, mama..."

Soraya whimpered—an honest, unfiltered sound—and it only made Paige work harder, tongue lapping at her with messy, unrelenting strokes like she was starving. She wasn't just eating—she was devouring. Worshipping.

Spit and slick, her mouth moving with purpose as she moaned into it, like she needed Soraya to know how much she loved every single second of this. She mumbled filth between licks, words slurred and drunk with need.

"Fuck, you're perfect. So sweet. So wet. All f'me, huh?"

Soraya couldn't answer. Not with words. Just breathless cries and quiet moans that got louder every time Paige's lips wrapped around her clit and sucked, again and again. Her fingers clenched the cushions, legs trembling around Paige's shoulders.

Whenever Paige let out a "That's it, mama," or "You like that, huh, baby?", it lit the other girl up from the inside out. Made her stomach clench. Made her thighs shake. That nickname in Paige's voice, drenched in lust, had her head spinning.

Paige didn't stop. Didn't want to stop. She was lost in it—pussy drunk, completely feral. Her hands gripped tighter, mouth moving faster, sloppier. Like the taste of Soraya was the only thing tethering her to the ground.

And Soraya? She was gone too. Unraveled. Floating somewhere above the room with every flick of Paige's tongue and every ragged moan whispered against her. Her whimpers turned into cries, the kind that echoed off the walls and left her unable to hold anything back.

She'd never been devoured like this. Worshipped like this. Fucked like this without even needing to be fucked.

Paige was the whole experience. And she wasn't even done.

She didn’t come up for air.

Not when her jaw started to ache. Not when her arms started to shake from holding Soraya so close, so still, so completely spread for her. Her mouth was messy, her face soaked with spit and slick.

She was ravenous and adorned with greed—tongue working in slow, then fast strokes, dragging and curling as she devoured the girl above her like she was the only thing she’d ever eat again.

There was nothing sweet about the way she moved. Just pure hunger. Like she needed to claim every inch of her, mark her with her mouth. She groaned into her again, louder this time, tongue pressing deep and curling, nose brushing Soraya’s clit in just the right rhythm.

Soraya gasped, hand flying to the back of Paige’s head, not to pull her away—no. To pull her closer. Her voice came out shaky, breathless, almost ruined. “Fuck… Paige…”

That alone earned her another deep groan from between her legs, like Paige needed to hear her name fall apart on her tongue.

And then—quiet but clear—Soraya exhaled, “That’s it, Paige. You’re so good at this.”

That broke something in Paige. Shattered any sliver of control she had left.

She hummed into Soraya’s pussy, sucking on her clit now, tongue flicking harsh and fast as her hands gripped the girl��s thighs like she could fuse them to her skull. She was fully unhinged. Greedy. Possessed.

“Say that shit again,” Paige rasped between sucks, eyes wild when she glanced up, her voice strained and hoarse. “Say it again, mama. Tell me whose pussy this is.”

Soraya was barely breathing, her words tumbling out between moans, “Yours… all yours, don’t stop—”

Paige didn’t. She dove back in like a woman starved, moving with messy precision, chasing every moan like it was oxygen. Her hips subtly rolled into the couch from underneath, lost in the rhythm of what she was doing.

“Look at you,” Paige murmured darkly against her, licking a fat stripe from slick to clit, “fuckin’ fallin’ apart just for me. So wet, so fuckin’ good…”

She kissed it, then licked again, then sucked—loud and wet. Soraya cried out, hips arching upward instinctively, the sound guttural and raw. Paige grinned into it.

“You like that, mama?” she rasped, her voice wrecked, wet and swollen lips brushing against Soraya’s core with every syllable. “You gonna cum for me just like this? Let me taste all of it?”

“God—keep talking,” Soraya whined, eyes rolling back as her hands trembled in Paige’s hair. “You’re fucking sick.”

Paige chuckled lowly and quietly, tongue sliding deep again before she pulled back to kiss the inside of her thigh—just once—before diving back in. “Maybe. But you fucking love it.”

Her fingers slid up, spreading Soraya open even more, and her tongue worked like she had something to prove. Like she’d die if she didn’t make her cum in her mouth. She didn’t care how soaked her chin was, didn’t care about anything except the taste, the sounds, the way Soraya moaned her name like she owned it. Like it was a prayer.

“Shit, maybe,” she breathed, half-laughing, half-moaning, her legs tightening around Paige’s head. “You—fuck, Paige, I can’t—”

“You can,” Paige corrected. “Wanna feel all of it, baby.”

Soraya whimpered, dragged one hand up to her mouth where she bit down on her knuckles before yanking it away and reaching for Paige again.

The rookie latched back on to her clit, moaning into her as her hands gripped Soraya’s thighs tight. Her mouth moved with a rhythm and power that should’ve been illegal, and all Soraya could do was fall apart.

Paige could feel it. The way Soraya’s thighs clenched, how her moans dissolved into whimpers, her hips twitching—every inch of her trembling and on the edge.

“Cum for me, mama,” Paige murmured, licking through her like sin. “Let me taste how good I make you feel.”

And Soraya did.

With a cry that ripped from her throat and a body that buckled under pleasure, she let go. Paige didn’t stop, not even as she came, licking her through it, drinking down every drop with a greed that was almost frightening.

And when Soraya finally collapsed back into the couch, chest heaving, skin flushed and trembling—Paige licked her lips and looked up at her like she just found a new religion.

Soraya couldn’t think.

Her body was still humming, strung out in the best way, chest heaving as if she’d just run a marathon with no finish line in sight. The room felt thick with heat, smoke, and the echo of her own voice, moans she barely recognized as her own still ringing in her ears.

Paige was still between her legs, eyes heavy and mouth glistening, and Soraya didn’t dare move. Couldn’t. She was stuck in the moment, pulse fluttering in her throat, legs twitching involuntarily.

The only sound was their breathing. Paige looked wrecked. Flushed cheeks, wet chin, swollen lips parted as she was still catching her breath. But her eyes stayed locked on Soraya, never once breaking contact, as if she were trying to memorize every inch of her.

Soraya hated how much she liked being looked at like that.

And even worse? She didn’t want her to stop.

She swallowed hard, reaching down with fingers that barely felt steady enough to move. They brushed through Paige’s hair gently, grounding herself. Paige leaned into the touch.

The softness of that moment nearly broke something open in Soraya.

She blinked, tried to slow the rush of thoughts that flooded her—what the hell just happened, why did it feel like that, why did she already want more?

“Uh…” she started, but her voice was raw. She didn’t even know where she was going with it.

Paige looked at her, raising a brow, a lazy little smile playing on her lips. “Uh?”

Soraya huffed a breath, her smile barely there. “I don’t know what to say.”

Paige chuckled, dragging her hands slowly up Soraya’s thighs, light and reverent. “It’s fine. Just breathe. Don’t want you passing out on me.”

That should’ve made Soraya laugh. Or roll her eyes. Or something.

But all she could do was stare.

Her body was still buzzing. Her mind was a mess. She didn’t know what this meant, didn’t want to think about it too hard—but Paige’s presence between her thighs, the burn in her lungs, the ache still blooming in her stomach—it all screamed that something had changed.

And yet, Soraya didn’t pull away. Didn’t move to cover herself. Didn’t speak.

She just let Paige’s fingers trace slow patterns into her skin, let the silence stretch between them like a thread pulled too tight. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was risky.

She didn’t want to admit how much she liked it. How she wanted to reach down, pull her back in, let her do it all over again.

But she didn’t. Because that would mean admitting she wanted her in some way. And Soraya wasn’t ready for that.

After Soraya directed Paige towards the bathroom and she disappeared down the hall, the room felt strangely quiet. Too quiet. Soraya leaned back against the couch, her chest still rising and falling, skin tingling, nerves flickering like a live wire. The haze of weed and release hadn’t cleared yet, but the first hints of post-climax clarity were creeping in.

She swallowed hard. Her legs fell a little heavier against the cushions now that Paige wasn’t holding them up. The absence was loud. Almost too loud.

By the time Paige returned, a damp washcloth in one hand and something unreadable behind her red, half-lidded eyes, Soraya was still—watching. Thinking too hard. Feeling too much.

Paige knelt again, silent, gentle. She didn’t say anything as she ran the cloth over sensitive skin, careful and slow, as if Soraya might break. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t sigh or smile either. She just watched. Her lips parted once, maybe to say something—thank you, maybe? But nothing came out.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Paige murmured lowly, almost like she was checking in, like the lines of care were still being drawn.

Soraya just shook her head, a nearly imperceptible movement. “It’s fine.”

And it was. But it also wasn’t.

When Paige finished, she sat back on her heels, wiping her hands dry on her thigh. “I should let you sleep,” she said, quiet but casual.

Soraya hesitated, then nodded, before slipped her panties back on with slow, practiced movements, her fingertips grazing the sides of her thighs where Paige’s hands had just been. The air felt thick around her, heavy with heat and haze, and though her breathing had started to settle, her thoughts hadn’t.

She didn’t say anything at first, just quietly rose from the couch, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward her bedroom.

“Guest room’s just down the hall,” she said over her shoulder, not quite looking back.

Paige, still kneeling on the floor and catching her breath, nodded in silence, lips parted like she’d thought about saying something but stopped herself.

Inside her room, Soraya quickly changed into her pajamas. The room was dimly lit, and for a second, she caught her reflection in the mirror: cheeks still flushed, lips still swollen, a familiar unreadable expression settled in her eyes. She didn’t look away. Not yet.

She grabbed a folded shirt and a pair of cotton shorts from her drawer—simple, loose, soft. The hem on the shorts reached her knees, and she figured they’d fit Paige just fine. Close enough. She hesitated before grabbing a fresh set of sheets from the closet, cradling the bundle against her chest as she walked back down the hall.

Paige was standing in the guest room now, just inside the doorway. Her arms were loosely crossed over her chest, like she didn’t quite know what to do with them—an unfamiliar awkwardness that tugged gently at Soraya’s chest. She didn’t say anything as Soraya walked past her and to the bed, setting the clothes down carefully.

“These should fit just fine,” Soraya murmured, smoothing out the shirt with her hand.

Paige’s eyes flicked to the clothes, then to Soraya. Her voice was soft, quiet in a way that felt strangely intimate. “Thank you.”

It was just two words, but it made something in Soraya tighten.

She focused on the sheets instead, methodically stripping the bed and remaking it with clean linens. Paige watched her the whole time, not out of expectation, but as if watching was the only thing she could do. The silence between them wasn’t tense, it was full, almost thoughtful. But it pressed down on Soraya all the same.

She stood at the doorway once she was done, her hand resting lightly on the frame. She didn’t say anything right away. The words felt heavier now that they were here, standing in this new version of space between them.

“Goodnight,” she finally said, eyes not quite meeting Paige’s. “Sleep well.”

And then she turned before Paige could reply, disappearing down the hall and back into her own room.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, Soraya exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the entire time.

She crossed the room and sat at the edge of her bed, her head falling forward into her hands. Jiggy was already curled on the pillows, small body tucked into a loaf beside where Soraya usually lay.

Soraya didn’t move at first. Her heart was still beating too fast, a low, steady thump echoing through her chest, her throat, her wrists. She stripped back the covers and climbed beneath them, laying flat with her eyes wide open, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Jiggy shuffled closer and pressed into her side.

What the hell did I just do?

The thought came sharp and cold, slicing through the soft warmth that lingered from Paige’s touch. Her hands rose slowly, covering her face as she groaned softly into the empty room.

She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She hadn’t wanted it to happen.

Except… she had.

That was the worst part. She hadn’t just let it happen—she’d wanted it. She’d wanted Paige’s mouth on her, her hands on her skin, her voice murmuring things Soraya should never let herself crave.

And now the air between them was different. Something irreversible had bloomed in the silence, and she’d thrown her own rules—rules she set for a reason—out the window for a night of hungry, breathless want.

She rubbed her hands down her face, forcing herself to breathe.

The ceiling fan spun in lazy circles. The bedsheets felt too hot. Her skin still tingled. And her mind was spinning in cruel, chaotic loops.

She’d fucked up. Big time.

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#anabanana 🦈

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