Chapter 5: The Interrupted Moment
The silence in the dorm room was thick, syrupy, the only sound the faint traffic from the street below and the rustle of Abby’s bedsheets. The air still carried the ghost of diner food and cheap coffee, but underneath was something sharper, a charge that hadn’t been there before lunch. Leo’s heart was a slow, heavy drum in his chest, not from panic now, but from a focus so absolute it narrowed his world to the span of skin under his fingertips.
He was sitting on the edge of her rumpled bed, Abby kneeling before him, facing the wall. Her back was to him, a pale canvas of intricate ink. The gold and blue dragon coiled from the small of her back up her spine, its tail flicking over her shoulder blade. He’d been tracing it for minutes, maybe longer, time dissolving. His touch was feather-light, following the sinuous curve of its body, the sharp tip of a wing, the fiery detail of its maw. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He was just feeling.
With each pass of his finger, Abby reacted. A soft, nearly silent inhale as he traced the sensitive dip beside her spine. A slight shudder, a ripple under her skin, when his thumb brushed the wing near her ribs. Her shoulders were relaxed, her head bowed slightly, white-blonde hair falling forward. She was completely still, yet alive with these tiny, electric responses.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her shoulder. He could see the fine goosebumps rising around the vivid ink. He dragged a single finger slowly up the length of the dragon’s spine, from the base of her back to the nape of her neck.
Abby let out a quiet, shaky sigh.
She began to turn, a slow pivot on her knees. Her jeans, unbuttoned and pushed down, were tangled around her thighs, restricting the movement. She looked over her shoulder, her profile sharp and beautiful in the afternoon light. A small, private smile played on her lips, her eyes heavy-lidded. She was about to speak. He saw the words forming, something tender, something filthy, he didn’t know.
The dorm door burst open.
Chloe exploded into the room like a firecracker, a whirlwind of dyed red hair and jangling bracelets. “Abby! You have to hear what Darren just fucking said to me, I swear to god, the audacity of that—”
She stopped. Skidded to a mental halt. Her eyes, wide and expressive, darted from Leo’s frozen form to Abby’s kneeling one.
The scene processed.
Abby, topless, the curve of her small breasts visible in profile, her skin flushed. Her jeans bunched at her knees, the black lace of her thong stark against her pale skin. Leo, his hands suspended inches from her back, his face a mask of sheer, unadulterated terror. The intimate space between them, still vibrating from touch, now flooded with chaotic, unwanted light.
A beat of pure silence.
“Oh,” Chloe said, the single syllable dripping with delight. Her shock melted into a grin so wide it looked painful. “Oh, wow. Okay.”
Abby moved first, scrambling, grabbing her discarded black crop top from the bed and holding it to her chest. “Chloe, for fuck’s sake—”
“No, no, don’t stop on my account!” Chloe chirped, dropping her bag and leaning against the doorframe she’d just violated. She crossed her arms, her gaze bouncing between them like a tennis match. “I just need the details. All of them. Immediately. Starting with your name, Tattoo Boy.”
Leo jerked his hands back as if burned, shoving them into the pockets of his hoodie. He felt his face ignite. “Leo,” he mumbled.
“Leo!” Chloe repeated, as if naming a newfound species. “Right, from the party. The quiet one. Abby, you minx, you didn’t tell me you were bringing him home for a… private art appreciation session.” She waggled her eyebrows at the dragon tattoo.
“We were just talking,” Abby said, her voice tight with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. She hadn’t put her top on, just held it defensively. Leo couldn’t help but look, saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
“Talking,” Chloe deadpanned. “With your tits out. And his hands all over your dragon. A very immersive conversation.” She pushed off the doorframe and took a step into the room. “So. How was the date? Was he a gentleman? Did he pay? Did you make him blush? He looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust.”
“Chloe,” Abby warned.
“What? I live here. I have a right to know who’s seeing my roommate in a state of undress. It’s basic security.” She turned her laser focus back to Leo. “So, Leo. Was she nice to you? Abby can be a bit of a carnivore when she wants something.”
Leo’s brain had short-circuited. He stared at a poster of a bleeding-heart saint on the wall behind Chloe, wishing for divine intervention. “The, uh. The diner was good. The grilled cheese.”
“The grilled cheese,” Chloe nodded solemnly. “A strong start. And then what? You just had to see the rest of the tattoo collection up close?”
Abby finally yanked her top over her head, the fabric catching on her hair for a frustrating second. “We were listening to music. It’s not a fucking inquest.”
“It absolutely is,” Chloe said cheerfully. She plopped down in her own desk chair, spinning it to face them. “I’m the judge and jury. Now, Leo. Important question. Have you ever been with a girl who has more ink on her skin than you have in your entire notebook?”
“Jesus Christ,” Abby muttered, pulling her knees up to her chest.
Leo felt a strange, defensive spike pierce through his humiliation. He looked from Abby’s curled, irritated form to Chloe’s gleeful, interrogating face. The dynamic was clear. This was a test. Not from Abby, but from her world. A world of loud noises and brutal honesty.
He met Chloe’s eyes. His voice was quieter than hers, but it didn’t shake. “No.”
Chloe’s smile softened, just a fraction. She saw something in his answer—the simple truth, maybe. The lack of pretense. “Huh,” she said. She looked at Abby. “And you? Having a nice time before I so rudely interrupted?”
Abby rested her chin on her knees. Her eyes found Leo’s, and the connection from before, the one shattered by the door, flickered back to life. Annoyance faded, replaced by a shared, weary amusement at the chaos. “Yeah,” she said, her voice low. “I was.”
Chloe watched the look that passed between them. She saw the unspoken words, the quiet understanding. She clapped her hands together once, making them both jump. “Good! That’s all I needed to know.” She stood up, surprisingly decisive. “I’m going to go… wander the hall. For an hour. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She headed for the door, then paused, looking back at Leo. “But just so you know? I’ve done some pretty fucking depraved things in this room. Just saying. For context.”
With a final wink, she was gone, pulling the door shut with a firm, deliberate click.
The silence rushed back in, but it was different now. Charged with embarrassment, yes, but also with a strange new solidarity. They were in this together. The evidence of their interrupted intimacy was still palpable in the air, in Abby’s state of half-dress, in the heat on Leo’s fingertips.
Abby uncurled. She didn’t move to rebutton her jeans. Instead, she slid off the bed and walked the two steps to the door, twisting the lock with a definitive thunk. The sound echoed in the quiet room.
She turned around. Her eyes were dark, no longer amused. The shyness from before was gone, burned away by the intrusion and the sudden, protective barrier of the locked door. The energy had shifted, compressed, turned urgent.
“Where were we?” she asked, her voice a low scrape.
She didn’t wait for an answer. She crossed the room back to him, but she didn’t kneel this time. She stood before him where he sat on the bed, and placed her hands on his shoulders. Her thumbs brushed the sides of his neck.
“You,” she said, “are going to stop thinking about her. You’re going to stop thinking about anything.” She pushed, gently, and he fell back onto the mattress, looking up at her. The dragon on her back was hidden now, but the tail on her collarbone was visible, peeking above her top. Her eyes held his. “Just feel.”
She climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips, her weight settling onto him. The denim of her jeans was rough against the inside of his thighs. She leaned down, her hair falling around their faces like a curtain, and kissed him. It wasn’t like the tentative diner kiss or the exploratory ones from minutes before. This was deep, hungry, all tongue and heat and claiming. He could taste the sharpness of her lip gloss, smell the ink and her skin.
His hands came up, gripping her hips, feeling the sharp bones through the fabric. A groan tore from his throat, muffled by her mouth. All the overthinking, the terror, the awkwardness, it all fused and melted into a single, driving need. His body, hesitant and ignorant, was learning fast. He bucked his hips up against her, a clumsy, desperate grind.
Abby broke the kiss with a wet sound. “Fuck,” she breathed, her own composure cracking. She ground down against him, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that made him see stars. The friction, even through their clothes, was maddening. “You’re so hard already. Is that for me?”
He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, gripping her tighter.
“Good.” She sat up, still straddling him, and pulled her crop top off in one swift motion, tossing it aside. Her small breasts were bare, pale with pink nipples already tight and peaked. The tattoos swirled over her shoulders and down her arms. She was a vision of savage, inviting beauty. She watched him look, a smirk on her swollen lips. “Touch me.”
His hands shook as he lifted them. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasped, her head tipping back, a shudder running through her whole frame. “Yeah,” she hissed. “Just like that.”
He learned her rhythm quickly, following the cues of her body. When he pinched gently, she moaned. When he leaned up and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him there. “Holy shit, Leo,” she panted. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He licked and sucked, one hand roaming down her stomach, over the lace of her thong, to the heat between her legs. He pressed the heel of his hand against her, and she rocked against it, a ragged, continuous motion.
“Off,” she demanded, tugging at his hoodie. “Get this off.” He struggled to sit up, to pull it over his head, breaking contact for a few frustrating seconds. When his shirt was gone, her hands were on his chest, her nails scratching lightly down his pale skin. “Now you,” she said, her fingers going to the button of his jeans.
Her fingers fumbled only for a second before the button gave way. The zipper’s rasp was deafening in the quiet room. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and his boxers, her eyes locked on his, a question in them that her hands were already answering. He lifted his hips, a clumsy, necessary cooperation.
His jeans hit the floor with a muffled thud.
Abby followed them down, sinking to her knees between his legs. The worn wood floor was hard under her knees. Her hands went to the elastic of his boxers. Leo’s breath caught, his whole body tensing. The reality of it, her on her knees, him exposed, was a physical shock. His mind, that sharp analytical machine, finally stuttered and went blank, overwhelmed by sensation and a terror so acute it felt like vertigo.
He’d never even kissed a girl until last night with her. He’d never seen one naked, not in person, not like this. He was still a virgin. Abby had been with a lot of guys. The math was brutal and humiliating.
She felt his tension, the rigid lock of his thighs. She stopped, her fingers still curled in the cotton. She looked up at him, her gaze clear and unjudging. “We don’t have to go any further,” she said, her voice softer now. “Seriously. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
He did want to. More than he’d ever wanted anything coded or solved or understood. But the fear was a cold stone in his gut—the fear of embarrassing himself, of being clumsy, of hurting her.
“I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered, the confession torn from him.
A faint smile touched her lips, not mocking but real. “I know you don’t. That’s kind of the point.” She leaned her forehead against his knee for a second, a strangely tender gesture. “And you’re not going to hurt me. I’m okay. I’m hard to hurt.”
With that, she leaned back on her heels. Her own hands went to the waistband of her jeans. In one fluid motion, she stood just enough to shove them down her legs, kicking them away. She knelt again, clad now only in her black lace thong and her black socks. The contrast was stunning: the delicate, intentional fabric between her legs, the practical wool on her feet, and all that wild, pale skin and ink in between.
She didn’t hesitate this time. She pulled his boxers down. The cool air hit his erection, followed a heartbeat later by the warm, shocking wetness of her mouth.
He cried out, a short, sharp sound. His hands flew to her hair, tangling in the white-blonde strands. It was nothing like he’d imagined in his lonely dorm bed. It was hotter, wetter, more visceral. She didn’t just kiss him there; she took him in, her tongue flattening against the sensitive underside as her head began to bob.
“Oh, god,” he gasped. “Abby. Fuck.”
She hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight up his spine. Her eyes were open, watching his face contort. She took him deeper, her throat working, and he felt the impossible tightness, the slick heat. She deep-throated him, and the sight of it—her lips stretched around him, her nose pressing into his pelvis—unmade him. He moaned, a continuous, shaky stream of sound, whispering shocked, broken words. “Jesus… so good… how… oh, Christ.”
His hips twitched, trying to thrust. She held him down with a firm hand on his stomach, controlling the pace, taking him exactly as deep as she wanted. He was lost in the wet suction, the obscene sounds, the feel of her scalp under his clutching fingers. Pleasure coiled, tight and urgent, in his gut.
She sensed it. Just as he was trembling on the very edge, she pulled off with a soft, wet pop. He groaned in desperate protest.
“Not yet,” she breathed, her lips swollen and glistening. She stood up on trembling legs. Taking his hands, she guided them to the sides of her thong. “These. Off.”
His fingers fumbled with the lace, but he managed to hook them and pull the fragile garment down her thighs. She stepped out of it. Now she was just in her socks, completely naked, more beautiful and terrifying than any fantasy. The dragon tattoo seemed to shift and breathe with the flex of her back muscles.
She climbed onto the bed, straddling him again, but this time there was nothing between them. She kissed him, deep and filthy, letting him taste himself on her tongue. The intimacy of it was staggering. She rocked against him, the wet heat of her rubbing against his length, and he groaned into her mouth.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered against his lips, her voice ragged. “Okay? Tell me it’s okay.”
“Yes,” he hissed. “God, yes.”
She reached between them, her hand guiding him. Then she sank down, taking him in one slow, inexorable slide.
They both cried out. For Leo, it was a blinding, white-hot sensation of tight, clutching warmth. For Abby, it was a sharp gasp that melted into a long, satisfied moan. She was so wet he slid in easily, but she was tight, her inner muscles fluttering around him as she settled fully onto his lap.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her head falling back. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
She began to move, lifting herself up almost all the way before sinking back down. He could only watch, his hands gripping her hips, feeling the powerful flex of her thighs. His eyes darted between her face, screwed up in pleasure, and the mirror on the back of her door. In the reflection, he saw the magnificent dragon on her back come alive, its muscles coiling and releasing with the rhythm of her ride. He saw his own pale hands, stark against her skin, gripping her as she used him.
“Touch my tits,” she commanded, and he obeyed, squeezing and pinching her nipples until she swore. “Harder. Yeah, like that.” She rode him faster, her breaths coming in sharp pants. “You’re so deep. Christ, Leo.”
He was beyond words, just animal sounds and the slap of skin. His own climax was building again, a tidal wave this time, unavoidable. She saw it in his face.
She climbed off him suddenly, the loss of sensation so acute he whimpered. “Come here,” she said, her voice smoky. She got on all fours at the edge of the bed, presenting herself to him. The dragon was fully displayed now, a creature in motion. She looked back over her shoulder, her hair stuck to her sweaty temple. “Take me from behind. Now.”
He scrambled off the bed, his legs weak. He moved behind her, his hands on the swell of her hips. He guided himself into her, and the new angle was even deeper, more primal. He pushed in with a groan.
“Yeah,” she grunted, pushing back against him. “Fuck me. Just like that.”
He started to move, thrusting into the wet, tight clutch of her body. It was less rhythmic now, more frantic. He bent over her, kissing her shoulder, her neck, the dragon’s tail. He was mumbling nonsense, filthy praise, helpless affirmations. “You’re so perfect. So tight. Abby, I’m gonna…”
“Do it,” she urged, reaching a hand between her own legs. “Cum inside me. I want to feel it.”
That was all it took. His thrusts became ragged, short, and then he froze, buried to the hilt as his orgasm ripped through him with a force that blackened the edges of his vision. He cried out, a raw, broken sound, as he emptied himself into her, his body shuddering uncontrollably.
She clenched around him, milking him through it, until he was spent and hypersensitive. He slumped over her back, panting, his face pressed against her sweat-slick dragon. He felt her own body still quivering beneath him. He’d done it. And in the silent, breathing aftermath, with her still impaled on him, he wasn’t thinking about embarrassment or inexperience. He was just feeling the brutal, beautiful truth of their connected bodies.
He was just feeling the brutal, beautiful truth of their connected bodies. His weight became too much, and he slipped from her, collapsing onto the messy bed beside her. The room smelled sharply of sex and sweat. Abby curled into him immediately, her back against his chest, her small frame fitting perfectly into the hollows of his.
She was trembling. So was he. She reached back, her fingers finding his hip and gripping it tight. “Fuck, Leo,” she whispered, her voice wrecked. “That was… Jesus.” She turned her head, her lips finding his shoulder. “No one’s ever just… let me be in charge like that. They always try to flip me over or jackhammer like they’re in a porn. You just… felt it with me.”
Her praise was a warm flood in his chest, more intimate than what their bodies had just done. He kissed her temple, his lips sticking to her damp skin. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted, the truth simple and stark.
“That’s why it was good,” she said. She turned fully in his arms, facing him. Her eyeliner was smudged into dark shadows, her lips swollen. She looked thoroughly used, and brilliantly alive. She kissed him, slow and deep, a communion of taste and breath. “I’ve never felt that with anyone. Just so… present.”
Her phone, discarded on the nightstand, buzzed against the laminate wood. Then buzzed again. And again.
With a sigh, she broke the kiss and reached for it. Leo watched her face as she read the screen. A smirk tugged at her mouth, then a full, eye-rolling grin. She held the phone out for him to see.
The screen showed a string of messages from CHLOE.
CHLOE: okay so I went to the vending machine on THREE.
CHLOE: I could still hear you.
CHLOE: like, the headboard was hitting the wall. a rhythmic THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
CHLOE: and then I heard Abby scream “FUCK ME” and I almost dropped my fucking diet coke.
CHLOE: so. congratulations.
CHLOE: also the RA is doing rounds in an hour so wrap it up, cowboy.
Leo felt the heat explode across his face and chest, a blush so profound it felt like a sunburn. He buried his face in Abby’s pillow with a groan. “Oh my god. We’re monsters.”
Abby laughed, a rich, unfiltered sound. She tossed her phone aside and pulled the rumpled duvet over them both, creating a dark, warm cave. The world, with its judgments and eavesdropping roommates, was shut out. She wriggled, her cold toes brushing his shins, and arranged herself atop him, her weight a perfect anchor.
“Forget her,” Abby murmured, her lips hovering over his. “Forget everyone.”
She kissed him again, and in the muffled silence under the covers, with the scent of their own bodies enveloping them, the kiss was everything. It was an end, and a beginning, and a promise of more chaos to come.