Chapter 6: Drunk Confession
The days between were a form of torture. Ryli moved through them like a ghost in her own life. School was a blur of white noise. Kamora’s gossip and Audrey’s dramas bounced off her without landing. Her phone, usually a buzzing extension of her hand, felt like a loaded device. She stared at Cadence’s contact—just her name, no emoji, nothing—a hundred times without typing a word. What did you say to the person who had dismantled you on a reservoir road and then calmly licked your come from her fingers?
The memory was a live wire, rewiring her every thought. She’d wake up hard, aching, her body craving a touch that had been exploratory, not exploitative. It was the curiosity in Cadence’s eyes that undid her. The reverence. Nobody had ever handled her like she was a fascinating discovery. A priceless artifact. It fucked with her head more than the physical release.
Saturday arrived with the sluggish certainty of a verdict. She showed up at 1:58 PM, parked behind the familiar Ford. She was dressed defensively: a baggy vintage hoodie, grey sweatpants. Armor.
Cadence opened the door before she could knock. She was in soft-looking jeans and an oversized white t-shirt, her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. She looked like she’d just woken up, and she was still the most breathtaking thing Ryli had ever seen.
“You’re early,” Cadence said, stepping back to let her in.
“Traffic was light,” Ryli mumbled, shoving her hands in her hoodie pocket.
The house was quiet, empty. “My dad’s at work. Laney’s at the mall.” Cadence led her into the living room, where a blanket and pillows were already piled on the couch. A laptop sat on the coffee table. “I was thinking we could just… exist.”
That sounded both terrifying and perfect.
They ended up with a movie playing, something with bright animations and talking animals that neither of them watched. Ryli was hyper-aware of every point of contact: their ankles touching on the couch cushion, the brush of Cadence’s arm as she reached for her water.
“You’re thinking so loud,” Cadence said, pausing the movie twenty minutes in.
“I’m not.”
“You are. Your face does this thing.” Cadence mimicked a tense, scowling concentration that was probably accurate. “It’s about the car, right?”
Ryli stared at the frozen, smiling cartoon on the screen. “Is that all it was? A thing in a car?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. Cadence shifted, turning her whole body to face Ryli, tucking her feet underneath her. “It was a start. I told you, I want to know you. That was… data collection.”
A surprised, choked laugh escaped Ryli. “Data collection?”
“Yeah. First-hand research. Vital.” Cadence’s eyes were sparkling, but her tone was utterly serious. “Now I have a baseline.”
“A baseline for what?”
“For how you feel. How you taste. How you sound.” She listed it off like a scientist. “Now I can form hypotheses.”
Ryli’s mouth went dry. The casual, intellectual framing was somehow more intimate than any whispered dirty talk. “What’s your hypothesis?”
Cadence leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That you’re scared of how much you liked it. That you’ve spent your whole life being looked at, but you’ve never actually been seen until now. And it terrifies you.”
The accuracy was a physical blow. Ryli looked away, her throat tight.
“Hey.” Cadence’s finger hooked under her chin, gently guiding her gaze back. “It’s just a hypothesis. I could be wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“I know.” Cadence smiled, a little sadly. “It’s okay to be terrified. I am too.”
“You are?” Ryli couldn’t picture it. Cadence seemed like a steady, deep ocean. Unfathomably calm.
“Of course. I’ve never done this either. I’ve never wanted to know someone this way.” She slid her hand from Ryli’s chin to her cheek, her thumb stroking the sharp line of her jaw. “But the curiosity is bigger than the fear. Isn’t it?”
It was. That was the terrifying, glorious truth of it. The need to be known by this specific person was a hunger that outweighed every defensive instinct. Ryli nodded, just a slight dip of her head.
Cadence’s smile widened. “Good.” She leaned in and kissed her.
It was their first real kiss. Not a brush of lips on a temple, but a proper, sealing kiss. It was soft and searching, a gentle inquiry. Cadence tasted like mint and the faint, ever-present sweetness of her lip balm. Ryli kissed back, her hands coming up to cradle Cadence’s face, her thumbs tracing the delicate dusting of freckles on her cheeks.
The movie was forgotten. The afternoon light slanted across the floor. They kissed until they were breathless, until Ryli’s hoodie was pushed off her shoulders and Cadence’s t-shirt was rucked up at the waist. They explored with hands and mouths, a slower, sweeter mapping than in the car. Ryli learned the sensitive spot behind Cadence’s ear, the way her back arched when Ryli’s palm slid up her ribcage. Cadence learned the hard planes of Ryli’s stomach, the way she shivered when teeth grazed her neck.
It was Cadence who finally broke away, her lips swollen, her eyes dark. “The party,” she breathed. “Hunt is having people over tonight. You should come.”
A party. A crowd. The idea of performing her usual persona, of being ‘Ryli’ in front of others after this, felt impossible. “I don’t know.”
“Come with me.” Cadence’s fingers traced the waistband of Ryli’s sweats. “Be my date. In front of everyone.”
The challenge, and the promise, in those words were clear. This wasn’t hiding in a car or on a private couch. This was a statement. Ryli’s heart hammered against her ribs. She thought of Makayla, of the gossip that would explode through their connected social webs. She thought of the looks, the whispers.
She looked at Cadence, at her blown pupils and kiss-reddened lips, and the fear shrank to a tiny, insignificant thing.
“Okay,” Ryli said. “I’m your date.”
The party was a contained riot in Hunt’s split-level house. The bass was a physical presence, thumping up through the soles of Ryli’s clean white Nikes. She’d changed into her armor: baggy black jeans, a tight black tank top, a chain around her neck. Her uniform. She stood with a red solo cup of something too-sweet in her hand, trying to remember how to be who she was supposed to be.
Cadence moved through the chaos like a serene ghost. She introduced Ryli to Hunt, a tall guy with sharp eyeliner who hugged Cadence fiercely and gave Ryli a look of appraising curiosity. “The famous Ryli,” he shouted over the music. “Cadence has been weirdly quiet about you. Which says everything.”
She met Auddy and Briley and Annie, a orbit of girls who seemed nice, if slightly stunned that Cadence Stover had brought the Ryli as her plus-one. The looks were there, just as she predicted. Whispers behind cupped hands. Eyes tracking their linked fingers.
Cadence just held her hand tighter.
Ryli drank. The cheap vodka punch was a familiar burn, a welcome distraction from the exposed feeling. She drank more than she meant to, the alcohol blurring the sharp edges of her anxiety, replacing it with a warm, reckless confidence. She could feel Cadence watching her, a calm, grounding presence as Ryli fell back into old patterns—loud laughter, commanding space, holding court by the kitchen island.
But it felt hollow. The attention felt cheap. Her eyes kept finding Cadence across the room, talking quietly with Hunt, a soft smile on her face. That was where she wanted to be. Not here, performing.
Another cup. The room began to tilt, just slightly. The music pulsed in her teeth. Someone mentioned Makayla, and a spike of irrational panic shot through her. She needed air. She needed Cadence.
She found her by the sliding glass door to the backyard, a halo of cool night air around her. Without a word, Ryli grabbed her wrist. Her grip was too tight, her movements uncoordinated.
“Ryli?” Cadence’s voice was laced with concern.
“C’mere. Need to talk. Not here.” The words were slurry, pushed through numb lips.
She pulled Cadence down a hallway, away from the heart of the storm, shouldering past a couple making out against a wall. She saw a door, slightly ajar, a dark room beyond. She pushed it open and dragged Cadence inside, kicking the door shut behind them with her heel.
The noise dropped to a muffled, throbbing hum. The room was small, a guest bedroom lit only by the fractured green and pink of neon glow sticks someone had tossed in the corner. The air smelled of stale perfume and dust.
In the semi-dark, Ryli’s bravado crumbled. The alcohol had stripped away everything but the raw, desperate truth. She backed Cadence against the door, her hands coming up to cup her face. They were shaking.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she slurred, the confession tumbling out in a rushed, messy heap. “It’s in my head all the time. Your mouth. Your hands. The fucking… the data. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”
Cadence’s eyes were wide in the gloom, her breath catching. She didn’t pull away from the frantic grip. “Ryli, you’re really drunk.”
“I know I am. So what?” Ryli pressed her forehead against Cadence’s, her eyes squeezed shut. “Doesn’t make it less true. I’m so fucking gone on you and I don’t know what to do with it.”
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing and the distant, indistinct roar of the party. Then Cadence’s hands came up, covering Ryli’s where they held her face. Her touch was cool, steadying.
“Show me,” Cadence whispered.
The two words cut through the drunken fog like a laser. Ryli’s eyes flew open. Cadence wasn’t looking at her with pity or caution. Her blue eyes were dark, intent. An invitation.
Ryli’s breath hitched. She fumbled with the button of her jeans, her fingers thick and clumsy. It popped open. The zipper snarled down. She shoved the fabric over her hips, and her cock sprung free, hard and aching in the cool air.
Cadence didn’t look away. Her gaze dropped, studied. Then her hand followed, her fingers tracing the length of her with that same reverent curiosity she’d had in the car. A shudder wracked Ryli’s whole body.
“See?” Ryli gasped. “This is you. This is what you do.”
“I know,” Cadence murmured. Her thumb swept over the tip, collecting the bead of moisture there. She never broke eye contact as she brought her thumb to her mouth, tasting her. A repeat of the experiment. A confirmation of the data.
Then she sank to her knees.
The sight alone nearly brought Ryli to her knees too. Cadence Stover, in her pretty jeans and soft t-shirt, on her knees in a messy, dark bedroom at a party, looking up at her with those ocean eyes. She didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward and took her into her mouth.
The heat was devastating. The wet, silken pressure. The careful, exploring swirl of her tongue. Ryli’s head thumped back against the door with a dull crack. A low, guttural groan was torn from her chest, lost in the bass shaking the walls. Her hands flew to Cadence’s hair, tangling in the messy bun, not to guide, just to hold on.
Cadence was methodical. Learning. She found a rhythm, her hands bracing on Ryli’s thighs. She’d pull off, catch her breath, whisper “okay?” into the skin of Ryli’s stomach, and when Ryli would nod, frantic, she’d dive back in, deeper, more confident.
It was too much. The alcohol, the emotional chaos, the sublime physicality of it. Ryli felt the coil in her gut tighten beyond bearing. “Cadence, I’m gonna—”
A hum of acknowledgment vibrated against her. Cadence’s hands tightened on her thighs.
The climax wasn’t a shockwave this time. It was a tidal pull, a slow, deep unraveling that seemed to go on forever. Ryli bit down on her own fist to stifle the cry, her body bowing over Cadence’s head as she spilled into the warm, accepting darkness of her mouth.
Silence. The ragged sound of Ryli’s breathing. The distant, laughing scream from the party.
Cadence slowly pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stayed on her knees for a moment, looking up, her face unreadable in the fractured light. Then she stood, her movements graceful and sure. She gently tugged Ryli’s jeans back up, her fingers deftly doing the button and zipper.
She took Ryli’s face in her hands. Ryli was boneless, wrecked, tears of overwhelming feeling pricking the corners of her eyes.
“The data is conclusive,” Cadence whispered, her lips brushing Ryli’s. “You’re mine. And everyone out there,” she nodded toward the door, toward the world, “is going to know it.”
She took Ryli’s hand, lacing their fingers together. She opened the bedroom door, and the wall of sound and light hit them anew. And she led her, dazed and undone, right back into the heart of the roaring crowd, holding on as if she’d never let go.