Chapter 6: Friday Night, Takeout and Tension
The skirt was a mistake.
Not because it looked bad—Luna had stood in front of her mirror for twenty minutes, turning this way and that, watching the way the fabric moved around her thighs. It was a simple thing. Black. Soft. Ended just above her knees. Nothing scandalous.
But it was the first time in months she'd worn anything that showed the shape of her legs. The first time she'd left the house without armor.
She'd paired it with a fitted top—dark green, long-sleeved, hugged the curve of her waist in a way that made her feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like everyone who looked at her could see exactly what she was thinking.
She'd almost changed three times.
Almost grabbed the hoodie off her bed. Almost texted Leo that she wasn't feeling well. Almost retreated back into the safety of oversized fabric and invisible edges.
But she hadn't.
She'd walked out the door. Drove across town with her hands tight on the steering wheel. Parked outside his building and sat in the car for five minutes, breathing.
Now she was here.
Third floor. Apartment 3B. The door was dark wood, slightly scuffed near the bottom, a welcome mat that said "Come Back With a Warrant" in faded letters.
Luna raised her hand.
Lowered it.
Raised it again.
Knocked.
The door opened almost immediately. Like he'd been standing on the other side, waiting.
Leo filled the frame. He was wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was damp—fresh from a shower—and he smelled like soap and something warm underneath it.
His eyes went dark.
Not metaphorically. Not in a way she was imagining. The green of his irises seemed to deepen, pupils swallowing the color, as his gaze moved over her.
Slow. Deliberate. Starting at her face, then down—her throat, her collarbone, the curve of her waist under the fitted top, the bare skin of her legs above the skirt's hem.
He didn't say anything for a long moment.
Then: "Fuck."
Luna's face burned. "Hi to you too."
"I was going to say something smooth." He stepped back, held the door open. "Something like 'you look nice.' But that would be a lie."
She stepped past him into the apartment. "It would?"
"You don't look nice." He closed the door behind her. The lock clicked. "You look like you're trying to kill me."
Luna turned. The apartment was exactly as she remembered—exposed brick, warm lamplight, the chessboard still half-finished on the armchair. A record player hummed in the corner, something old and jazzy, the kind of music her grandfather used to play.
"I'm not trying to kill you," she said.
"Could've fooled me." Leo leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching her. "The skirt. The shirt. The—" He gestured vaguely at her hair, which she'd left down. "You're not playing fair."
"I didn't know we were playing a game."
"Everything's a game." He pushed off the door, crossed to her in three steps. Stopped close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his skin. "But I'm not complaining."
Luna tilted her head back to look at him. He was so much taller than her. It should have felt intimidating. It didn't.
"You said you'd cook," she said.
"I said I'd order takeout."
"Same thing."
"It's really not." He stepped back, gestured toward the kitchen. "Come on. It's getting cold."
The takeout was spread across the floor of his living room.
Thai food—noodles, curry, spring rolls, something with peanuts that smelled incredible. Two plates. Two glasses. A bottle of whiskey between them.
"No table?" Luna asked, settling onto the floor. She tucked her legs under her, careful not to flash him.
"The table's covered in manuals." Leo dropped down across from her, cross-legged. His knee brushed hers. "I was studying for a check ride. Didn't have time to clean up."
"What's a check ride?"
"A test. Basically." He cracked open the whiskey, poured a finger into each glass. "Someone sits in the back of the plane while I fly. Watches everything I do. Pass or fail."
"Have you done it before?"
"Twice. Passed both times." He handed her a glass. "But this one's different. This is for a promotion. If I pass, I move up."
"And if you don't?"
"Then I try again in six months." He shrugged. "It's not the end of the world. Just feels like it."
Luna took a sip of whiskey. It burned going down. "What would you do if you weren't a pilot?"
Leo paused. Fork halfway to his mouth.
"No one's ever asked me that," he said.
"Is it a secret?"
"No, I just—" He set the fork down. Considered. "I don't know. I've never thought about it. Flying isn't a job for me. It's not something I do. It's something I am."
"That sounds kind of beautiful."
"It sounds kind of sad."
Luna watched him. The lamplight caught the edge of his jaw, the line of his throat. He looked younger suddenly. Less sure of himself.
"Why sad?" she asked.
"Because if it's who I am, then what happens when I can't do it anymore?" He picked up his glass, swirled the whiskey. "What am I then?"
"That's a heavy question for dinner."
"Yeah." He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry. I'm not usually—I don't know. You make me think about weird shit."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"Haven't decided yet."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. The record had moved on to something slower, smoother—a woman singing about love and loss and the spaces between.
Luna watched Leo eat. The way he held his chopsticks. The way he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
"You're interesting."
"I'm eating noodles."
"You're eating noodles in a way that's interesting."
He looked at her. That grin. The one that made her stomach flip.
"You're weird," he said.
"I know."
"I like it."
She reached for a napkin.
His hand caught hers.
Not hard. Not fast. Just—there. His fingers curling around hers, warm and rough, holding her in place.
Luna's breath caught.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at her. That dark, intent look from the doorway. The one that made her feel like she was being seen all the way through.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Okay," she said.
He moved.
One hand released hers, slid up her arm, her shoulder, the side of her neck. The other wrapped around her waist and pulled—tugged her forward, across the floor, into his lap.
She went willingly.
Her knees landed on either side of his hips. Her hands found his chest. His mouth found hers.
The first kiss was hard. Hungry. All teeth and tongue and the taste of whiskey. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back, deepening the angle. She moaned into his mouth without meaning to.
He pulled back. Just far enough to look at her.
"I've been thinking about this all week," he said. Voice rough. "Every day. Every night. I couldn't sleep."
"You're not the only one."
"I know." His thumb traced her bottom lip. "You sent me that photo. Fucking ruined me."
"Good."
He laughed. Low and dark. Then his mouth was on her throat, biting, sucking, and she forgot how to breathe.
"Leo—"
"Tell me what you want."
She wanted everything. Wanted him. Wanted this. Wanted to stop thinking for five goddamn minutes.
"You," she said. "Just you."
He stood.
Just like that—one motion, lifting her with him, hands under her thighs. She yelped, wrapped her arms around his neck, and he carried her across the apartment like she weighed nothing.
The bedroom was dark except for a sliver of light from the living room. Gray sheets. A rumpled duvet. A window with the blinds half-open, streetlight leaking through.
He laid her down.
Soft. Careful. Like she was something that might break.
Luna reached for his shirt, but he caught her wrists.
"Not yet," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I want to take my time."
He kissed her again. Slower this time. Less urgent. His hands moved down her body, finding the hem of her top, sliding underneath.
His palms were warm against her stomach.
She shivered.
"Cold?"
"No."
"Good."
He pulled the top over her head. Tossed it somewhere she couldn't see. Then his mouth was on her collarbone, her sternum, the curve of her breast above her bra.
"Leo—"
"Shh."
He unhooked her bra with one hand. Competent. Practiced. But when his mouth found her nipple, she stopped caring about how many other women he'd done this with.
He sucked. Hard. Her back arched off the mattress.
"Fuck—"
He smiled against her skin. "There she is."
He was learning her. Finding the spots that made her gasp, the sounds she made when he bit down, the way she squirmed when he dragged his tongue across her ribs.
"Please," she said.
"Please what?"
"Please stop teasing."
He lifted his head. That grin. The one that promised trouble.
"But teasing is my favorite part."
"Leo."
"Say my name again."
She grabbed his hair, pulled his mouth back to hers. "Leo. Stop being an asshole."
He laughed. Kissed her deep. Then his hands were on her skirt, sliding it up her thighs, and she forgot how to speak.
He found her through her underwear. Two fingers pressing. Moving. Her hips jerked.
"Already wet," he said. Not a question.
"Shut up."
"Not my fault you're easy."
She hit his shoulder. He laughed again, kissed her nose, then slid down her body.
Slow. Kissing her stomach. Her hip. The inside of her thigh.
"Leo—"
"What?"
"You don't have to—"
"Shut up."
He pulled her underwear off. Tossed it aside. Then his mouth was on her.
Luna's whole body tensed.
His tongue moved slowly. Deliberately. Long strokes from base to clit, then circles around the tip, then back down again. He held her thighs open with both hands, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
"Don't stop," she gasped.
He didn't.
He worked her like he had all night. Like this was the only thing he wanted to do. He found a rhythm—steady, relentless—and when she tried to grind against his face, he pinned her hips down and kept going.
"Leo—I'm—"
He hummed against her. The vibration pushed her over.
She came with a broken cry. Body arching. Fingers fisted in the sheets. He didn't stop until she pushed at his head, oversensitive and trembling.
He kissed his way back up her body.
"You're pretty when you come," he said.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't be nice." She grabbed his face, pulled him close. "I want you to fuck me."
His eyes went dark.
"You sure?"
"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."
He moved fast then. Jeans off. Condom on. Kneeling between her legs, looking down at her like she was something he couldn't quite believe.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Leo. If you don't—"
He pushed inside.
Slow. Deep. Her body stretched around him, taking him inch by inch, until he was fully seated and they were both breathing hard.
"Fuck," he said.
Luna wrapped her legs around his waist. Dug her heels into his back.
"Move," she said.
He did.
The first few thrusts were slow. Gentle. Like he was still holding back.
Luna pulled him closer. "I said move."
"So bossy."
He slammed into her.
The bed creaked. Her nails dug into his shoulders. He fucked her hard and fast, deep strokes that hit something inside her that made her see white.
"Harder," she said.
He gave her harder.
She could feel every inch of him. Every ridge. Every vein. He filled her completely, stretched her completely, and when he angled his hips just right, she saw stars.
"You feel so good," he said. The words came out rough. Broken. "So fucking tight."
She pulled his mouth to hers. Kissed him sloppy. Desperate. He bit her lip and she tasted copper.
"Close," she said.
"Already?"
"Shut up."
He reached between them. Thumb on her clit. Circles. Pressure.
She came again. Harder than before.
Her whole body clenched around him, and he swore, low and filthy, and his rhythm broke apart—fast, uneven, desperate. He drove into her once, twice, three times, then buried himself deep and spilled with a groan.
Silence.
Breathing.
The weight of him on top of her.
He didn't move for a long time. Just lay there, face buried in her neck, breath hot and uneven against her skin.
"You okay?" he asked eventually.
"I don't know."
He lifted his head. Looked at her. His face was soft. Open. Not the cocky pilot from the bar. Just a boy. A person.
"That didn't sound reassuring," he said.
"I'm okay," she said. "I just—I don't know what this is."
He pulled out. Tied off the condom. Tossed it. Then lay down beside her, face to face on the pillow.
"What do you want it to be?"
"I don't know."
"That's fair."
She reached out. Touched his face. Ran her thumb along his jaw.
"I don't do this," she said quietly.
"Do what?"
"Sleep with people. I don't—I don't let people in."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
He smiled. Small. Sad.
"Because you flinch. When people get too close. You flinch."
Luna's throat tightened.
"And you don't flinch with me," he said.
"No."
"Why?"
"I don't know." She pulled her hand back. Pressed it against her own chest. "That's what scares me."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Can I tell you something?" he asked.
"What?"
"You're the first person I've wanted to see again. In a long time."
She looked at him.
"A long time?" she repeated.
"A long time."
The record had stopped. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic.
"I don't know how to do this," she said.
"Me either."
"That's not reassuring."
"No." He smiled. "But we can figure it out."
He pulled her against his chest, and she let him. For a while they just breathed together, her cheek pressed to the steady thump of his heart, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder. The sweat cooled on their skin, and the silence settled around them like a blanket. She should have felt awkward. She should have been looking for her clothes, making excuses, finding the door.
She didn't.
"That thing you said," she murmured against his skin. "About me flinching."
"Yeah."
"Ethan." His name tasted like ash in her mouth. "He was—" She stopped. Started again. "I was with him for a year. And for most of it, I thought I was happy. I thought we were happy."
Leo's hand stilled on her shoulder.
"And then he got bored." She kept her voice flat. Facts, not feelings. "He didn't even break up with me. Just stopped calling. Stopped texting. I found out from someone else that he'd been seeing three other girls the whole time. I was just—convenient."
Leo's jaw tightened. She felt it against her forehead.
"I'm not telling you this for sympathy," she said. "I'm telling you so you understand. When I say I don't do this, I mean it. I don't know how to trust anyone."
He shifted. Rolled onto his side, tugged her with him until they were face to face. His eyes were hard. Angry. Not at her.
"His name," he said. "The ex."
"Why do you want to know?"
"So if I ever meet him, I know who I'm breaking in half."
Luna laughed. It surprised her. Bubbled up from somewhere she'd forgotten existed.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough." He touched her face. Feather-light. "I know you flinch when strangers get close, but you rode me like you'd been waiting your whole life for it. I know you hide behind hoodies, but tonight you wore a skirt. I know you're scared. I know you're here anyway."
Her throat closed.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
"What isn't?"
"You're making me feel things."
"Good." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "That's the point."
She kissed him.
Not soft. Not tentative. She kissed him like she was drowning and he was air, pressing into him, pulling his body against hers. He groaned into her mouth, and she felt him twitch against her thigh. Already half-hard again. Already wanting.
"Already?" she breathed.
"Blame yourself." His voice was rough. "You're naked in my bed. What did you expect?"
She reached down. Wrapped her fingers around him. Stroked slowly, feeling him swell and stiffen in her palm.
"Fuck," he hissed.
"I want to be on top."
"Then get on top."
She pushed at his chest. He went willingly, sprawling back against the pillows, watching her with that dark, hungry look. She straddled him, knees on either side of his hips, and looked down at him. His chest. His stomach. The trail of hair disappearing beneath the sheet. The thick length of his cock, already hard again, curved up toward his abs.
She reached over. Yanked open the drawer of his dresser. Found the foil square and tore it with her teeth.
"Smooth," he said.
"Shut up."
She rolled the condom onto him. Slowly. Deliberately. Watching his face as she worked it down his shaft, feeling him pulse under her fingers.
His hands found her ass. Gripped hard. Pulled her closer.
"You're going to kill me," he said.
"Promises."
She lifted herself up. Lined him up. Sank down.
They both groaned.
He filled her completely. She'd forgotten how much. How full she felt with him inside her, stretching her, hitting that spot deep inside that made her want to scream.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, you feel—"
She didn't let him finish.
She started to move.
Slow at first. Learning the rhythm. Then faster, harder, her hips rolling and grinding against his. His hands gripped her thighs, her ass, encouraging her, spanking her lightly when she slowed down.
"That's it," he rasped. "Ride me. Fuck, you look incredible."
She leaned back. Rested her hands on his thighs. The angle changed—deeper, sharper—and she moaned, loud and shameless.
Her tits bounced with every thrust. Her hair stuck to her forehead. She didn't care. She felt wild. Powerful. Free.
"You like that?" she gasped.
"I love it." His hands moved to her hips. Guided her. Helped her. "You're so tight. So fucking tight. I could stay inside you forever."
"Don't stop."
"I'm not stopping." He slapped her ass. The sting made her gasp. "Not until you come. Then I'm gonna bend you over and pound you into this mattress."
His words hit her like a punch. Her body clenched around him, tight and sudden, and she came with a broken cry. Shuddering. Shaking. Collapsing forward onto his chest.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get off."
She rolled onto her stomach.
Spread her legs.
Showed him exactly what she wanted.
He moved behind her. She heard the condom come off. Craned her neck to look at him—at the raw, heavy length of him, wet and slick and already touching her.
"Leo—"
"You said you wanted it."
"I do. I want it. I want you."
He pushed inside her.
Bare.
Skin against skin.
She cried out. Loud. Shameless. He was so much hotter without the condom. So much slicker. She could feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, dragging against her walls as he pulled out and slammed back in.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Fuck, you feel—"
"Harder."
He gave her harder.
His hips snapped against her ass. The sound of their skin meeting—sharp, obscene—echoed through the room. He gripped her hips, pulled her back into him, used her like he owned her.
"You look so good like this," he said. "Bent over for me. Taking my cock like you were made for it."
She moaned. Words were beyond her.
"I'm gonna come inside you." He leaned over her back. His breath was hot against her ear. "You want that? You want me to fill you up?"
"Yes. Yes. Please—"
He wrapped an arm around her throat.
Not hard. Just enough. Just enough to make her feel held, controlled, safe.
She bit his arm. Lightly. Playfully. He groaned.
"You like that?" he rasped.
"Yes."
"Fucking hell."
He fucked her faster. Deeper. His hips slammed into her, relentless, and she could feel herself building again. The pressure. The heat. The way everything narrowed down to this—to him, inside her, around her, everywhere.
"Close," she gasped.
"Me too."
"Cum in me. Please. I want to feel it."
He shouted.
His whole body tensed. His hips stuttered. And then he was coming—deep inside her, flooding her, filling her up in a way she'd never felt before.
She came with him.
The feeling of it—of him finishing inside her, of being so completely joined—pushed her over the edge. She screamed into the pillow. Shuddered. Collapsed onto the mattress.
He followed her down.
Lay on top of her. Inside her. Still connected. Both of them panting like they'd run a marathon.
She didn't know how long they stayed like that.
Minutes. Maybe longer.
Eventually he pulled out. She whimpered at the loss. He kissed her shoulder.
"Stay," he said.
It wasn't a question.
She rolled onto her side. Looked at him. His hair was a mess. His chest was heaving. There was a red mark on his arm where she'd bitten him.
"You're going to be sore tomorrow," she said.
"So are you."
She smiled.
"Stay," he repeated.
"I already said yes."
"You didn't say yes. You said 'I already said yes.' That's different."
She laughed. Reached for him. Pulled him close.
"Fine. Yes. I'll stay."
He kissed her forehead. Then her nose. Then her mouth.
"Good," he said. "Because I wasn't letting you leave."
She should have been scared. Should have felt the walls closing in.
She didn't.
She felt safe.
And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
They lay together in the dark, tangled in sheets that smelled like sweat and sex and each other. The streetlight cut through the blinds, casting pale stripes across his face. His hand was on her hip. His thumb moved in lazy circles.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Anything."
"Why me?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"You flinched," he said finally. "And then you looked at me like you were deciding whether I was worth the risk."
"And you decided you wanted to be?"
"I decided you were worth the risk." He turned his head. Met her eyes. "I'm not good at this. Relationships. I haven't had one in years. People either want the uniform or they want the adventure. They don't want the person."
"And you think I want the person?"
"I think you don't know what you want yet." He smiled. Soft. "But I'm okay with that. I'm not going anywhere."
She kissed him. Slow. Tender.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"Okay. Let's figure it out."
He pulled her closer. She rested her head on his chest, and his heartbeat became her lullaby. Before she closed her eyes, she thought about her mother. About the question in the kitchen. About the way her mother had said he better be good to you.
She thought about Ethan. About how she'd never felt safe with him. About how she'd learned to brace herself for the pain.
She didn't brace with Leo.
She just let go.
The last thing she heard before sleep claimed her was his voice, low and warm.
"I've got you."
And for the first time in a long time, she believed it.
When she woke, the sun was golden through the blinds and Leo was still asleep beside her.
She could get used to this.
The thought should have scared her. Instead, she nestled closer and closed her eyes again. Friday had become Saturday. Saturday could wait.