Chapter 14: The Morning After
The first thing Y/n became aware of was the scent—lemon cleaner and sex and Margot’s shampoo, a mix that was somehow already familiar. The second was the weight and warmth of another body against hers. Dawn had turned the skyline a hazy indigo, stripping the neon to faint ghosts. The room was cool, but under the duvet, they were a furnace.
Margot was still asleep, curled back against Y'n's chest, Y/n’s arm slung possessively over her waist. Y/n didn’t move. She watched the slow rise and fall of Margot’s breathing, felt the steady beat of her heart through the thin skin of her back. This peace was a tangible thing, heavy and sweet. She pressed her lips to the knob of Margot’s shoulder, just a whisper of contact.
Margot stirred with a soft sigh, pushing back into her. “You’re awake,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
“For a while.”
“Thinker.”
“Sometimes.”
Margot’s hand came up and covered the one Y/n had on her stomach, lacing their fingers. The silence stretched, comfortable. Y/n’s body, however, was thrumming with a low, persistent awareness. The curve of Margot’s ass against her, the soft skin of her inner thigh under Y/n’s palm. The memory of how she’d felt last night, hot and tight around her.
Almost without conscious thought, Y/n’s hand drifted lower from Margot’s stomach, fingers slipping through damp, downy curls. Margot’s breath hitched. She was already wet, a slick heat that made Y'n's own body clench in response.
“Good morning,” Margot whispered, arching her back just slightly.
In answer, Y/n shifted her hips, nudging Margot’s leg up and over her own. She aligned herself, the head of her cock pressing against Margot’s entrance. They both groaned at the contact. Y/n pushed in slowly, a smooth, relentless slide that made Margot gasp and clutch at the arm wrapped around her.
“God,” Margot breathed out, her head falling back against Y/n’s shoulder.
Y/n buried her face in Margot’s hair, inhaling. She began to move in a deep, lazy rhythm, less about pursuit and more about possession. It was unhurried, almost meditative. Each slow thrust was a reaffirmation. You’re here. I’m here. This is real.
“You feel…” Y/n started, but words failed.
“I know,” Margot panted. “Me too.”
Y/n’s hand slid up from Margot’s hip, over the flat of her stomach, to cup her breast. She rolled a nipple between her thumb and forefinger, feeling it peak into a hard bud. Margot whimpered, her own hand coming up to cover Y/n’s, pressing it harder against her.
The room was filled with the soft, wet sound of their joining, the rustle of sheets, their ragged breathing. Y/n set a languid, devastating pace, each movement rocking Margot back into her. She could feel the tension coiling in Margot’s belly, the way her inner muscles were beginning to flutter.
That’s when the phone rang.
The harsh, generic trill was a physical shock, a blade slicing through the warm haze. Margot jolted in her arms. “Ignore it,” she muttered, pushing her hips back.
Y/n slowed, but didn’t stop. The phone kept ringing. It was on Margot’s nightstand, lighting up the dim room.
“It might be important,” Y/n murmured against her ear, her thrusts becoming gentle, almost teasing rocks. “Could be your people. From last night.”
“Fuck my people,” Margot groaned, but she was already twisting, stretching an arm out to fumble for the device. She snatched it up, swiping to answer without looking. “This better be a fucking emergency, Leo.” Her voice was breathless, strained.
Y/n stayed buried inside her, perfectly still, her lips trailing along the tense line of Margot’s neck. She could hear the tinny, anxious voice of a man on the other end.
“No, I’m—I’m fine. What? Yes, she’s… she’s with me.” Margot’s eyes fluttered closed as Y/n began to move again, just a subtle, torturous shift of her hips. “What about her?”
Y/n froze, listening.
Margot took a shaky breath. “A what? Calvin Klein? Are you serious?” She looked back over her shoulder, her blue eyes wide. Y/n’s expression was unreadable. Margot turned her attention back to the phone. “They saw the… the pictures? From last night? And they want her?”
A long pause. Y/n could feel her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, a sudden cold dread mixing with the heat in her gut.
“No, I don’t have her… her agent’s info. She doesn’t have one.” Margot listened, her face a mask of disbelief. “Look, I’ll—I’ll have to talk to her. I’ll call you back in an hour. Don’t… don’t call anyone else. Just sit on it.” She ended the call and dropped the phone onto the duvet as if it had burned her.
The silence that followed was different. Charged.
“Calvin Klein,” Y/n said flatly. It wasn’t a question.
“They want you to model. For an upcoming campaign. Their in-house scout saw the paparazzi shots from the gala. The ones of us by the truck. They’re calling it ‘authentic grit meets timeless glamour’ or some such bullshit.” Margot was talking fast, watching her. “They want to fly you to New York. For a test shoot.”
Y/n didn’t move. She didn’t pull out, but the intimacy of a moment ago had curdled into something else. The outside world hadn’t just knocked; it had kicked the door down.
“Model,” Y/n repeated. The word felt absurd in her mouth. She was a construction worker. She got paid to lift heavy things and swear in the heat. Her image was on building permits, not billboards.
“You’re stunning, Y/n. You know you are. In a way they don’t even know how to manufacture.”
“I’m a woman who works with her hands. I’m not a model.” There was no bitterness in it, just a stark statement of fact.
“That’s why they want you.” Margot finally turned in her arms, forcing Y/n to slip out of her. The loss of contact felt symbolic. Margot faced her, propped up on an elbow. “It’s not just your face. It’s the story. The… the reality of you.”
Y/n sat up, the duvet pooling around her waist. She ran a hand over her short curls. The city outside was fully light now, brutal and exposing. “My story isn’t for them to sell underwear.”
“It could be an opportunity.”
“For what? To be their token? The ‘brave,’ ‘groundbreaking’ pick? I break ground for a living, Margot. Literally. I don’t need to do it metaphorically for a paycheck.”
Her tone wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. It was the voice of someone who’d had a lifetime of being looked at as a concept, not a person.
Margot sat up too. She reached out, her fingers tracing the hard line of Y/n’s bicep, the tattoo of a coqui frog nestled there. “What if it wasn’t about them? What if it was just about you? Seeing yourself like that?”
Y/n looked at her, her grey-blue eyes clouded. “Last night you said you wanted all of me. The private me. The one who smells like motor oil and falls asleep on your couch. That me doesn’t want a test shoot. That me wants to go make coffee and pretend the world isn’t insane for five more minutes.”
The truth of it hung between them. This was the collision they’d both been nervously waiting for. Margot’s world, vast and demanding, was reaching in to pluck Y/n right out of her life.
Margot leaned forward and kissed her. It was soft, a peace offering. “Okay,” she whispered against her lips. “Okay. No decisions now. Just… come here.”
She pulled Y/n back down, guiding her on top, legs wrapping around her waist. It was different this time. The ease was gone, replaced by a raw, almost desperate need to reconnect, to overwrite the uncertainty with feeling. Y/n entered her again with a rough groan, and the pace they found was harder, faster, a physical argument.
“Tell me you’re here,” Margot demanded, her nails digging into Y/n’s back.
“I’m here,” Y/n grunted, driving into her, each thrust pushing the phone, the offer, the future, further away. For now, there was only this: skin, sweat, and the frantic, beating truth of their bodies trying to outrun the dawn.