Chapter 3: Confessions
The door clicked shut behind them, and the party became a distant thing—a muffled thrum through the floorboards, a vibration in the walls, nothing more than background noise in a world that had shrunk to the size of this room.
Zoe stood near the desk, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her Cyberpunk jacket, and tried to remember how to breathe normally. The room smelled like lavender and something else—wine, maybe, or the faint sweetness of perfume. Silk scarves draped over the back of the desk chair caught the lamplight, and a half-empty glass of red wine sat next to a stack of textbooks, its rim smudged with the ghost of Izie's lipstick.
The bed was a disaster. Clothes everywhere—some tossed, some folded, all of it smelling faintly of sweat and fabric softener. Zoe's eyes snagged on the framed photos lining the walls, Izie grinning beside her parents at some sun-drenched resort, all of them tanned and beautiful and effortless.
And then she saw it.
Tucked beneath the bottom shelf of the bookshelf, almost hidden behind a stray sneaker, a stack of dog-eared strategy guides. Cyberpunk 2077. The spines were cracked, the corners bent, the pages soft from use.
Zoe's heart did something complicated in her chest.
"You really are a nerd," she said.
Izie followed her gaze and winced. "I told you."
"You told me, but I didn't—" Zoe shook her head. "There's a difference between saying you're a nerd and having a collection of strategy guides that look like they've been through a war."
"They have been through a war." Izie crossed the room and dropped onto the edge of the bed, the mattress groaning under her weight. "I've logged over three hundred hours in that game. I know every glitch, every exploit, every hidden ending. I could write a dissertation on the political subtext of Night City."
Zoe stared at her.
"What?" Izie's cheeks flushed. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I just grew a second head."
Zoe crossed the room and sat down beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. The contact sent a warm spark through her, and she leaned into it, letting herself feel the solid reality of Izie next to her.
"I'm looking at you like you just became ten times more attractive," Zoe said. "There's a difference."
Izie laughed, but it came out breathless. "You're ridiculous."
"You're the one with three Johnny Silverhand Funko Pops."
"Four, actually. One's in the closet."
"Four." Zoe shook her head. "I can't believe I'm sitting next to the biggest secret nerd on campus."
"Hey." Izie bumped her shoulder. "You're the one wearing a Samurai jacket to a frat party."
"It's a statement piece."
"It's a target."
Zoe laughed, and the sound felt good in her throat. Real. She looked down at their hands, which had somehow found each other again, fingers intertwined on the gray comforter.
"I'm glad I came tonight," she said.
"Me too."
"I almost didn't. I was standing outside for like ten minutes, trying to talk myself into leaving."
"What changed your mind?"
Zoe thought about it. "I don't know. I just… I got tired of being scared."
Izie's thumb traced slow circles on the back of Zoe's hand. "I know that feeling."
They sat in silence for a moment, the bass from the party thudding through the floor like a second heartbeat. Zoe could feel the warmth of Izie's skin through the thin fabric of her dress. Could smell the faint trace of jasmine that clung to her hair.
"I keep thinking about the rooftop," Zoe said quietly.
"Me too."
"I keep thinking about the kiss."
Izie turned to look at her. Her eyes were dark in the lamplight, pupils wide, lips slightly parted. "Which one?"
Zoe's breath caught. "Both."
She turned, shifting her body to face Izie fully. Their knees bumped, and neither of them pulled away. The air between them felt charged, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Zoe reached up and touched Izie's cheek. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft.
"I want to kiss you again," Zoe whispered.
"Then do it."
She did.
The first touch of their lips was soft, tentative—a question more than an answer. Zoe closed her eyes and let herself feel it. The warmth. The pressure. The way Izie's breath hitched against her mouth.
Then Izie's hand found the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair, and the kiss deepened.
Zoe made a sound she didn't recognize—something low and needy—and pressed closer. Her tongue traced the seam of Izie's lips, and Izie opened for her without hesitation. The taste of her flooded Zoe's senses. Wine and something sweet, maybe chapstick, maybe just the taste of her mouth.
It was intoxicating.
Zoe climbed into Izie's lap without thinking, her knees bracketing Izie's thighs, her jacket crinkling as she moved. Izie's hands found her hips immediately, fingers digging into the denim of her shorts, pulling her closer.
"Fuck," Izie breathed against her mouth.
Zoe grinned. "Yeah."
She kissed down Izie's jaw, lips brushing over the sharp line of it, then lower. The column of Izie's throat was warm and smooth, and Zoe pressed her mouth to the pulse point just below her ear, feeling the rapid flutter of Izie's heartbeat against her lips.
Izie shivered.
"Zoe—"
"Shh." Zoe kissed lower, trailing her lips down the curve of Izie's neck, over her collarbone, to the hollow of her throat. "Let me."
She found the zipper at the back of Izie's dress. It was small and delicate, and her fingers fumbled for a moment before catching it. The sound of it sliding down was loud in the quiet room.
Izie's breath caught.
Zoe pulled back just enough to look at her. "Okay?"
Izie nodded, her eyes bright. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay."
The dress loosened, and Zoe's hands slid beneath the fabric, finding the warm bare skin of Izie's back. No bra. Just smooth, soft skin, the muscles shifting under her palms as Izie arched into her touch.
"Fuck," Zoe whispered.
She pushed the dress off Izie's shoulders. It pooled at her waist, exposing her breasts—small and perfect, nipples already hard in the cool air of the room. Zoe's mouth watered.
"God, you're beautiful."
Izie's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. "You're wearing too many clothes."
"I know."
Zoe slid off her lap and onto her knees on the floor. The concrete was cold through her tights, but she barely noticed. She was too focused on the sight in front of her—Izie sitting on the edge of the bed, half-undressed, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
Zoe leaned in and kissed the inside of Izie's knee.
Izie gasped.
Zoe smiled against her skin and kissed higher. The inside of her thigh was soft and warm, and Zoe took her time, pressing her lips to every inch of skin she could reach. She could smell Izie now—musky and sweet, the scent of her arousal growing stronger as Zoe moved higher.
"Izie," she murmured against her thigh.
"Yeah?"
"Tell me if you want me to stop."
"I don't want you to stop."
Zoe kissed higher, her lips brushing the edge of Izie's panties. They were dark blue, simple cotton, damp in the center. Zoe's mouth watered.
And then Izie's hand was on her shoulder, pushing her back.
"Wait."
Zoe stopped immediately. Her heart lurched, but she pulled back, sitting on her heels, looking up at Izie with concern.
"What's wrong?"
Izie's face was flushed, her eyes bright with something that looked like fear. "I—I don't know. I just—"
She pulled her dress back up, covering herself. Her hands were trembling.
Zoe stood up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. "Hey. It's okay."
"I'm sorry." Izie's voice cracked. "I don't know why I—"
"You don't have to apologize." Zoe sat down beside her on the bed, close but not touching. "We don't have to do anything. I told you that."
Izie nodded, but she wouldn't look at Zoe. Her hands were twisted in the fabric of her dress, knuckles white.
"I've never—" She stopped, took a breath. "I've never done this before. With a girl. Not really."
Zoe's heart ached. "That's okay."
"I thought I was ready. I thought I wanted it. But then you were—and I just—" Izie's voice broke. "I panicked."
"That's okay." Zoe reached out and took Izie's hand, gently prying her fingers from the twisted fabric. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. I meant what I said. I'm happy just being here with you."
Izie finally looked at her. Her eyes were wet, lashes clumped with unshed tears.
"You're too good," she whispered. "You're too fucking good, and I don't deserve—"
"Stop." Zoe squeezed her hand. "Don't do that. Don't do the thing where you beat yourself up for having feelings."
Izie laughed, a wet, broken sound. "I'm not—"
"You are. I can see it." Zoe reached up and brushed a tear from Izie's cheek. "You're allowed to be nervous. You're allowed to change your mind. That doesn't make you broken."
Izie stared at her.
"What?" Zoe asked.
"Nothing. I just…" Izie shook her head. "No one's ever said that to me before."
"Then the people in your life have been slacking."
Izie laughed again, and this time it was real. She leaned in and kissed Zoe—soft and slow, a thank you more than anything else.
When she pulled back, her eyes were still bright, but the fear was gone. Replaced by something else. Something hungry.
"I want to try again," she said.
Zoe's heart stuttered. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Izie nodded. "I'm sure. But this time…" She reached for the zipper on Zoe's jacket. "I want to see you."
Zoe's mouth went dry.
She let Izie undress her. The jacket came off first, then the tank top, then the shorts. Her tights. Her bra. Piece by piece, until she was sitting on the bed in nothing but her underwear—plain black cotton, functional and boring.
Izie looked at her like she was something precious.
"You're so beautiful," she breathed.
Zoe's cheeks burned. "I'm really not."
"You are." Izie traced a finger down Zoe's collarbone, over her sternum, between her breasts. "You have no idea, do you?"
"Idea of what?"
"How fucking gorgeous you are."
Zoe didn't know what to say to that. So she kissed Izie instead—deep and hungry, pouring everything she couldn't say into the press of her lips.
Izie kissed her back with equal fervor, her hands roaming over Zoe's back, her sides, her hips. Pulling her closer. Pulling her on top.
Zoe straddled Izie's lap again, this time with nothing but thin cotton between them. The heat of Izie's body radiated up into her, and she could feel the dampness of her own underwear, the ache building low in her belly.
"Fuck," Izie whispered.
"Yeah."
They made out for a long time. Zoe lost track of everything—time, space, the distant thud of the party below. There was only Izie's mouth, Izie's hands, Izie's soft gasps and the way her hips bucked up when Zoe bit her lower lip.
And then Zoe's thigh slipped between Izie's legs.
The sound Izie made was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. Her hips jerked, pressing up against Zoe's thigh, and Zoe felt it—the heat, the wetness, even through the layer of fabric.
"Zoe—"
"It's okay." Zoe kissed her neck. "It's okay. Just let it happen."
She shifted her weight, pressing her thigh more firmly between Izie's legs. Izie's breath hitched. Her hands gripped Zoe's hips, nails digging in.
"Fuck."
"Yeah." Zoe kissed lower, her mouth finding the hollow of Izie's throat. "That's it. Just like that."
She moved her thigh in slow, deliberate circles. Izie's hips followed, rolling up to meet her, a rhythm building between them. The damp fabric of Izie's panties grew wetter, and Zoe could smell her now—thick and musky, the scent of her arousal filling the small room.
"Zoe, I—"
"Shh." Zoe's hand slid down Izie's stomach, over the damp fabric, pressing lightly against her clit. "I've got you."
Izie cried out, her back arching, her entire body shuddering.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Zoe watched her face. The way her eyes screwed shut. The way her mouth fell open. The way her hips bucked and rolled, desperate for more.
"You're so beautiful like this," Zoe whispered. "So fucking beautiful."
She pressed harder, moving her fingers in tight circles through the wet cotton. Izie was shaking now, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Come for me." Zoe's voice was low and steady. "Come for me, Izie."
And she did.
Izie's back arched off the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her hips jerked and spasmed against Zoe's hand, and Zoe watched every second of it—the way her face contorted with pleasure, the way her body shuddered and shook.
It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
When it was over, Izie collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air. Zoe pulled her hand back and lay down beside her, propping herself up on one elbow.
"Hey."
Izie's eyes fluttered open. They were dazed and glassy.
"Hey," she managed.
Zoe smiled. "You okay?"
"I don't know." Izie laughed, breathless. "I think I just died."
"You didn't die."
"Are you sure?"
Zoe kissed her forehead. "Pretty sure."
They lay there in the aftermath, tangled together, the lamp casting golden pools of light across the room. The party still thumped below, a distant heartbeat, but it felt like another world now.
"Izie?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
Izie turned her head to look at Zoe. "For what?"
"For letting me see you. The real you."
Izie's expression softened. She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Zoe's face.
"Thank you for seeing me."
Zoe smiled. She lay her head on Izie's chest, listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat, and felt something settle in her chest. Something warm and bright and terrifying.
She didn't have a name for it yet.
But she knew it was real.
The night stretched on, quiet and soft, and for the first time in a long time, Zoe felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
The lamp flickered, casting shadows across the ceiling. Izie's fingers traced lazy patterns on Zoe's back, and Zoe closed her eyes, letting herself drift.
"Hey," Izie murmured.
"Yeah?"
"Stay."
Zoe smiled against her skin.
"Always."
Izie's fingers kept moving through Zoe's hair, slow and rhythmic, nails scraping lightly against her scalp in a way that made Zoe's eyes want to close. The lamp cast its golden glow across the rumpled comforter, catching the curve of Izie's shoulder, the hollow of her throat, the faint sheen of sweat still cooling on her skin. Outside, the party had shifted—the bass deeper now, more erratic, the distant sound of someone shouting something incoherent into the night.
Zoe tilted her head up and kissed the underside of Izie's jaw.
"You're still trembling," she murmured against her skin.
"Shut up." Izie's voice was soft, but her fingers tightened in Zoe's hair. "That's your fault."
"I know."
Zoe kissed her again, higher this time, catching the corner of her mouth. Izie turned into it, lazy and unhurried, the kind of kiss that had nowhere to be and nothing to prove. Their lips slid together, parted, found each other again. Zoe tasted the wine on Izie's tongue, felt the sharp edge of her teeth when she smiled into the kiss.
"You're doing that thing," Izie said.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you kiss me like you're trying to memorize it."
Zoe's chest tightened. "Maybe I am."
Izie pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but there was something else there too—something softer, more vulnerable.
"Zoe."
"Yeah?"
"Nothing." Izie shook her head. "I just like saying your name."
Zoe's throat constricted. "That's—"
"What?"
"That's really gay."
Izie burst out laughing, the sound bright and sudden in the quiet room. "You're the one with the Samurai jacket and the undercut, and I'm the gay one?"
"The jacket is irony."
"The jacket is a personality."
Zoe shoved her shoulder, but she was laughing too, the tension in her chest loosening into something warm and liquid. Izie caught her hand and brought it to her lips, kissing her knuckles one by one.
"You're ridiculous," Zoe said.
"You're still here."
"Where else would I be?"
Izie didn't answer. She just pulled Zoe down into another kiss, this one hungrier than before, less lazy and more deliberate. Her hands slid up into Zoe's hair again, holding her in place, and her tongue pushed past Zoe's lips with an insistence that made Zoe's stomach flip.
Zoe made a sound—something between a gasp and a moan—and let herself be pulled under.
She kissed Izie's jaw, her neck, the dip between her collarbones. The dress was still bunched around Izie's waist, her breasts bare and warm against Zoe's cheek. Zoe pressed her mouth to the top of one, then the other, feeling the nipple harden against her lips.
Izie's breath hitched.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Zoe took her time. She kissed the underside of Izie's breast, the curve of it, the place where it met her ribs. Her tongue traced a slow circle around Izie's nipple before she pulled it into her mouth, sucking gently.
Izie's hips bucked off the bed.
"Zoe—"
"You like that?"
"Yes—fuck—don't stop."
Zoe didn't stop. She sucked harder, scraping her teeth just enough to feel Izie shiver, while her hand found the other breast and rolled the nipple between her fingers. Izie's hands were in her hair again, gripping tight, and the little sounds she was making—high and breathless—sent heat pooling low in Zoe's belly.
Then Izie's hand moved.
She grabbed Zoe's ass through her underwear, fingers digging in, and pulled their mouths together with a hunger that surprised them both. The kiss was messy, teeth clicking, tongues sliding, and Zoe's breath came in short, sharp gasps against Izie's lips.
"Fuck," Zoe managed.
Izie rolled them over.
The world tilted, and suddenly Zoe was on her back, staring up at the ceiling, with Izie straddling her hips. The dress had finally fallen away completely, pooling somewhere on the floor, and Izie was above her in nothing but those dark blue cotton panties, her hair a mess, her chest heaving.
"You okay?" Izie asked.
Zoe nodded. She couldn't seem to find words.
Izie smiled—slow and wicked—and leaned down.
Her mouth found Zoe's neck. Then her collarbone. Then her breasts, which she kissed and licked and sucked with the same reverence Zoe had shown her moments before. Zoe arched into the touch, her hands fisting in the sheets, her breath coming in these little hitching sounds that she couldn't control.
"Fuck, Izie—"
"You like that?"
"Yeah—yes—"
Izie's mouth moved lower, over Zoe's stomach, the dip of her navel, the jut of her hip bone. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of Zoe's underwear.
She paused.
Zoe could feel her hesitation—the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her breath caught. She reached down and covered Izie's hand with her own.
"Hey."
Izie looked up. Her eyes were wide, uncertain.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to." Izie's voice was steady, but her hand was shaking. "I just… I don't know what I'm doing."
Zoe sat up, cupping Izie's face in her hands. "You don't have to know. I'll tell you."
"But what if I—"
"Izie." Zoe kissed her, soft and slow. "You literally just came on my hand. You've got the basics down."
Izie laughed, a little breathless. "That was different. That was through my underwear."
"Okay, fair point." Zoe kissed her again. "But here's the thing—I don't care if it's perfect. I just want to feel you. I want your mouth on my pussy."
Izie's breath caught.
"That's what I want," Zoe said. "Can you do that for me?"
Izie nodded. She looked dazed, overwhelmed, but she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
She pulled Zoe's underwear down her legs, slow and careful, until it dropped to the floor. Zoe fell back against the mattress, her heart pounding, and watched as Izie settled between her legs.
"You're so wet," Izie murmured.
"Yeah, that tends to happen when someone's been sucking on my tits for ten minutes."
Izie laughed, but her eyes were fixed on Zoe's cunt, and the laughter faded into something hungrier. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the inside of Zoe's thigh.
Zoe shivered.
"Like that?"
"Yeah." Zoe's voice was hoarse. "Just like that. Take your time."
Izie kissed higher. Another kiss. Another. She moved slowly up Zoe's thigh, her lips soft and warm, her breath hot against Zoe's sensitive skin. By the time she reached the crease of Zoe's leg, Zoe was trembling.
"Izie—"
"Yeah?"
"Stop teasing."
Izie grinned. "You said take my time."
"I lied."
Izie didn't need to be told twice.
She pressed her mouth to Zoe's cunt, and Zoe's entire body jolted. The first touch was clumsy—too soft, off-center—but it didn't matter. What mattered was the heat, the wetness, the fact that Izie's mouth was on her and Izie was trying.
"Fuck," Zoe gasped.
Izie pulled back. "Was that—"
"It was good. Keep going. A little higher."
Izie leaned in again. This time her tongue found Zoe's clit, hesitant but curious, and Zoe's hips bucked off the bed.
"Right there. That's it. Fuck, Izie, right there."
With direction, Izie found her rhythm. She licked up and down, then in circles, then focused, and Zoe's hand flew to her own mouth, muffling the sounds that were spilling out of her. The other hand found Izie's hair and held on.
"Harder," Zoe gasped against her palm. "Press harder—yeah—just like that—"
Izie obeyed. She was still sloppy, still unsure, but she was eager, and that eagerness translated into something that felt incredible. Her tongue was hot and wet, and her fingers dug into Zoe's hips, pulling her closer, and the sounds she was making—little hums and moans against Zoe's cunt—sent vibrations through Zoe's entire body.
"Fuck, you're doing so good," Zoe panted. "Such a good girl, Izie—eating me out like you're starving—"
Izie whimpered against her, and the vibration made Zoe's eyes roll back.
"Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop."
Izie didn't stop. She sucked Zoe's clit between her lips and flicked it with her tongue, and Zoe's hand on her mouth was the only thing keeping the entire floor from hearing her moan. Her hips were rolling now, grinding against Izie's face, and she could feel it building—that tight, hot pressure in her belly, the inevitable crest approaching.
"I'm close," Zoe gasped. "Fuck, I'm so close—"
Izie doubled down. Her tongue moved faster, her lips sealed around Zoe's clit, and her hands—those hands that had been so tentative—held Zoe's hips with a certainty that made Zoe's heart stutter.
"Fuck—fuck—fuck—"
She came with a cry muffled against her own palm, her back arching off the bed, her thighs clamping around Izie's head. The pleasure crashed through her in waves, hot and electric, and she rode it out with Izie's mouth still on her, still working, drawing it out until Zoe had to push her away.
"Okay—okay—too much—"
Izie pulled back, her face wet, her eyes bright. She was grinning.
"I did it."
Zoe laughed, breathless. "You did it."
"I made you come."
"You absolutely did."
Izie crawled up the bed and collapsed beside her, and Zoe pulled her close, their bodies tangled together, sweat cooling in the lamplight. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just breathed.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Izie said eventually.
Zoe snorted. "Don't get cocky."
"Too late." Izie turned her head and kissed Zoe's shoulder. "I'm feeling very cocky right now."
"You're impossible."
"And yet you're still here."
Zoe looked at her—really looked. At the mess of her hair, the flush on her cheeks, the swollen lips still shiny with Zoe's wetness. At the dog-eared strategy guides hidden beneath the bookshelf, the framed photos of a life that didn't tell the whole story, the girl beneath the image who had been hiding in plain sight for months.
"Yeah," Zoe said softly. "I'm still here."
Izie's expression shifted. The playful smirk faded into something more serious, more searching.
"Why?" she asked.
"Why what?"
"Why me? You could have anyone. You're smart, you're funny, you're—" Izie gestured vaguely at all of Zoe. "—you. Why would you want to deal with all my bullshit?"
Zoe was quiet for a moment.
"Because you're not bullshit," she said finally. "The image is bullshit. The party-girl thing is bullshit. But you—the girl who reads strategy guides and gets nervous about sex and hides her Funko Pops in the closet—that's not bullshit. That's the real thing."
Izie's eyes glistened.
"I want the real thing," Zoe said. "I've been looking for it my whole life."
Izie kissed her. Hard. Desperate.
"You have it," she whispered against Zoe's lips. "You have me."
Zoe pulled her closer, and they lay there in the golden lamplight, tangled together, the party finally winding down below. The bass had faded to a distant murmur. The night had gone quiet.
And somewhere in the stillness, something new was beginning.