Chapter 7: White Dress, Pink Lace
The stream had been a disaster from the first minute.
Not because of technical issues—the audio was clean, the lighting was decent, the game loaded without a hitch. But Luna couldn't focus. Her eyes kept drifting to her phone, propped against her monitor, where Leo's name sat at the top of her notifications. Three messages in the last hour. Each one shorter than the last. Each one making her pulse do something stupid.
Thinking about last night.
Can't stop.
Friday.
The chat noticed.
They always noticed.
"luna you're literally staring at your phone every 30 seconds"
"who is he"
"SHE'S BLUSHING"
"bestie we need ANSWERS"
"is this why you ended stream early last week"
"LUNA"
She killed the stream with thirty minutes left on the clock. Didn't even bother with a proper goodbye—just hit the button and watched the screen go dark.
The chat exploded one last time before disappearing. Hearts. Question marks. A cascade of "WAIT" and "NO" and "COME BACK."
She ignored all of it.
Her phone buzzed.
Leo: You okay?
Luna: Yes. Just couldn't focus.
Leo: Me either. Been useless all day.
Luna: Good.
Leo: Cruel.
She smiled. Set the phone down. Stood.
Her closet stared back at her.
Hoodies. Leggings. Jeans that hadn't seen daylight in months. A row of band tees she'd stolen from her brother before he left for basic training. Everything safe. Everything invisible.
She pushed past them.
Behind the winter coats, shoved to the back like a shameful secret, hung the white dress.
Luna hadn't worn it since before Ethan.
She'd bought it for a party junior year—something her friends had dragged her to, some fraternity thing she'd hated every second of. But the dress had been perfect. Short. Low-cut. The kind of thing that made people look twice.
She'd worn it once. Felt beautiful for exactly three hours. Then Ethan had told her, "You look like you're trying too hard," and she'd never put it on again.
She pulled it off the hanger.
The fabric was soft. Slightly wrinkled. She'd have to iron it, but that was fine. That was manageable.
She stripped out of her clothes—the oversized hoodie, the ratty sweatpants, the plain black sports bra—and stood in front of the mirror in nothing but her underwear.
The girl looking back at her was a stranger.
Short. Curvy. Pink hair falling past her shoulders in messy waves. A body she'd spent years hiding, camouflaging, apologizing for.
She turned to her dresser. Opened the bottom drawer. Dug past the practical cotton underwear, the sensible sports bras, until her fingers found the pink lace.
She'd bought these on a whim. A middle-of-the-night online shopping spree fueled by insomnia and a dangerous burst of self-confidence. They'd arrived in a plain box, and she'd shoved them in the drawer and never thought about them again.
Until now.
The bra fit like it was made for her. The lace was delicate, almost translucent, and it pushed her tits up in a way that made her look… powerful. The matching thong was barely there—a scrap of pink fabric that left nothing to the imagination.
She pulled the dress over her head.
It settled against her body like a second skin. The hem hit mid-thigh. The neckline dipped low, showing the lace of her bra, the swell of her breasts. It hugged her waist, her hips, every curve she'd spent years trying to flatten.
She looked good.
She looked like someone else.
Someone who wasn't afraid.
Luna grabbed her phone. Took a breath. Snapped a picture in the mirror—dress on, ankle socks, trainers, bag slung over her shoulder, hair falling in her face.
She sent it to Leo without a caption.
His reply came before she could put the phone down.
Leo: You're trying to kill me.
She grinned.
Luna: Maybe.
Leo: What time is he picking you up?
Luna: He's already outside.
Leo: Liar.
Luna: Check your messages in ten minutes.
She grabbed her keys. Paused at the door.
Her heart was hammering. Her palms were sweaty. Every instinct screamed at her to change—to grab a hoodie, to put on something safe, to disappear back into the shadows where she belonged.
She opened the door.
Leo's truck was parked at the curb.
She could see him through the windshield—leaning back in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other holding his phone. His jaw was sharp in the golden afternoon light. His hair was perfectly messy, like he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times.
He looked up.
Saw her.
His face did something complicated. Shock. Hunger. A slow, spreading grin that made her stomach flip.
She walked down the steps. Across the driveway. To his window.
He rolled it down.
"You're early," she said.
"I've been parked here for twenty minutes."
"You said eight."
"It's 7:40."
She checked her phone. He was right.
"I was nervous," she admitted.
"Me too."
He opened the door. Stepped out. He was wearing dark jeans and a fitted button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He smelled like cedar and something clean, and when he looked at her, his eyes went dark the way they did when he was thinking about things he shouldn't say out loud.
"You look—" He stopped. Swallowed. "There's no word for what you look like right now."
"Try."
"Like I'm going to have to fight every guy in the restaurant."
She laughed. Stepped into him. "You won't have to fight anyone."
"Good." He hooked a finger through one of her belt loops, tugged her closer. "Because I'd win, but it'd be inconvenient."
"Cocky."
"Honest."
She kissed him.
It was supposed to be quick—a hello, a brush of lips before they got in the truck and drove to dinner. But the second their mouths touched, something shifted. His hand came up to cup her jaw, tilting her head back, and he kissed her like he'd been waiting all day. Like she was water and he was dying of thirst.
His tongue slid against hers. His teeth caught her bottom lip. She moaned into his mouth without meaning to, and he swallowed the sound, pulled her tighter.
Behind them, someone cleared their throat.
Loudly.
Luna broke the kiss. Turned.
Her father stood in the doorway.
Colonel Hartley wore his civilian clothes—khakis and a polo shirt—but he still looked like he was inspecting troops. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Eyes fixed on Leo with the kind of intensity that had made grown men flinch.
Leo went rigid.
Not from fear—his spine straightened, his shoulders squared, and his face settled into something calm and controlled. The way he'd probably looked in every briefing room, every flight review, every moment where he had to prove he was good enough.
"Dad," Luna said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "This is Leo."
Colonel Hartley didn't move.
"Leo," he repeated.
"Maddox, sir. Leo Maddox."
The 'sir' hung in the air between them. Automatic. Instinctive. A soldier's reflex, even in civilian clothes.
Her father's eyes narrowed. "Air Force?"
"Yes, sir."
"Rank?"
"First Lieutenant. Pilot. 94th Fighter Squadron."
A pause.
"F-22s?"
"Yes, sir."
Her father nodded slowly. Not approval—assessment. The same look he gave when reviewing performance reports.
"Your CO?"
"Lieutenant Colonel Harrison."
"Hmm." Another pause. "Harrison's a good man. Strict. Fair."
"Yes, sir."
Luna watched her father's face. The hard lines. The tension in his jaw. And underneath it—something she recognized.
Fear.
The same fear that lived in her chest. The same fear that had kept her awake for months after Ethan. The fear of watching someone you love walk into danger and never knowing if they'd come back.
Her father had spent his whole career in the Air Force. He knew what it meant to be a pilot. Knew the risk. Knew the statistics.
He wasn't just being protective.
He was terrified.
"Sir," Leo said, "I know this isn't—I know you have concerns. And you should. I'm not going to pretend I'm something I'm not."
Her father raised an eyebrow.
"I've made mistakes. I've been careless with people's feelings. I'm not proud of it." Leo's voice stayed steady. Unflinching. "But your daughter isn't a mistake. She isn't a distraction. And I'm not going to treat her like one."
Silence.
Long and heavy.
Then, finally, her father uncrossed his arms.
"You hurt her," he said quietly, "and I'll make sure your next deployment is in Alaska."
Leo nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Not a joke."
"No, sir. I didn't take it as one."
Luna's heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. She stepped forward, took Leo's hand, and squeezed.
"We're going to be late for our reservation," she said.
Her father looked at her. His expression softened—just a fraction, just enough to show her the man beneath the commander.
"Be careful," he said.
"I will."
"Not you." He looked at Leo. "You."
Leo met his eyes. Didn't look away.
"I will, sir. I promise."
Luna pulled him toward the truck before her father could say anything else.
They drove in silence.
One mile. Two.
The streetlights flickered past. The radio was off. Leo's hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles pale.
Luna replayed the conversation in her head. The way her father had looked at Leo. The way Leo had stood his ground. The way she'd just walked out the door without waiting for permission.
She'd never done that before.
Never defied her father. Never ignored his judgment. Never chosen someone else over his approval.
And now—for Leo—she had.
She started to laugh.
Leo glanced at her. "What?"
"I just—" She laughed harder. Covered her face with her hands. "I've never done that before."
"Done what?"
"Stood up to him." She pulled her hands away, looked at him. "I've never—he's always been right. About everything. Even Ethan. He told me Ethan was bad news and I didn't listen, and then—" She shook her head. "But this. With you. I didn't even hesitate."
Leo reached over. Took her hand. Kissed her knuckles without looking away from the road.
"There's a first time for everything."
"I guess so."
Another mile.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"I was thinking Italian."
"Good."
Silence.
Then: "Pull over."
Leo glanced at her. "What?"
"Pull over."
He signaled. Turned into an empty parking lot. Killed the engine.
"Why are we—"
She climbed over the console.
Landed in his lap.
His hands came up automatically—one on her waist, one on her thigh. His eyes were wide. His mouth was open.
"Luna—"
"Shut up."
She kissed him.
It was different this time. Harder. Needier. She was still buzzing from the confrontation with her father, still high on the feeling of choosing. Choosing him. Choosing this.
She ground down against him, and he groaned against her mouth.
"Fuck," he breathed. "We're in a parking lot."
"I know."
"Someone could—"
"Let them."
She reached between them. Found his belt. Yanked it open.
"Luna."
"Back seat," she said. "Now."
He didn't argue.
They tumbled into the back, all elbows and knees and breathless laughter. The seats were leather, cold against her bare legs. Leo pulled her on top of him, and she straddled his hips, her dress rucked up around her waist.
His hands found her thighs. Rode up. Found the lace of her thong.
"Fuck," he said again. "Is this what you were wearing under that dress?"
"Yes."
"All night?"
"All day."
He groaned. His fingers hooked around the thin fabric, pulled it aside. She felt cool air against her cunt, then his fingers, rough and warm.
"You're soaked."
"I know."
"Since when?"
"Since you kissed me in the driveway."
He pushed a finger inside her. She gasped. His thumb found her clit, circled it slowly, deliberately.
"You're going to kill me," he said.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
She pulled his hand away. Reached down. Unbuttoned his jeans, pulled them open, found his cock already hard and straining against his boxers.
She freed him. Stroked him once, twice.
He hissed through his teeth.
"Condom?"
"Pocket," he managed. "Wallet."
She reached back. Found it. Rolled it on with shaking hands.
Then she sank down.
He filled her completely.
They both moaned.
Luna braced her hands on his chest and started to move.
Slow at first. Learning the angle. The back seat was cramped—her knees hit the door, her head brushed the ceiling—but she didn't care. She rode him like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"You feel—" He gripped her ass. "Fuck."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
She leaned forward. Kissed him. Bit his lip. He groaned and thrust up into her, hard, and she cried out against his mouth.
The windows fogged.
Her dress was soaked with sweat—hiked around her waist, the neckline pulled down so he could see her tits. He reached up, pulled one cup of her bra aside, and sucked her nipple into his mouth.
She moaned. Loud. Shameless.
"Faster," she said.
He grabbed her hips. Held her steady. Fucked up into her with a rhythm that made her see stars.
"Like that?"
"Yes—yes—don't stop—"
"I'm not stopping." His voice was rough. Broken. "Not until you come all over my cock."
She did.
The orgasm hit her like a wave. Her whole body clenched, shuddered, and she buried her face in his neck to muffle the scream.
He kept going. Harder. Faster. Chasing his own release.
"Luna—"
"Come. Come in me. Please."
He did.
His hips stuttered. His back arched. He spilled inside her with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from his chest.
They stayed like that for a long moment. Panting. Sweating. Tangled together in the back seat of his truck while the windows slowly cleared.
"Holy shit," he said.
"Yeah."
"We're going to be late."
"I don't care."
He laughed. Kissed her forehead.
"We should still go," he said. "I'm hungry."
"Me too."
"Then get off me, woman."
She climbed off. Fixed her dress. Ran her fingers through her hair, which was hopeless.
Leo pulled his jeans up. Tucked himself away. Found his wallet and disposed of the condom in a napkin, which he shoved into a cup holder.
"Classy," she said.
"Resourceful."
They climbed out of the back seat. Stood in the parking lot, looking at each other.
Her hair was a mess. Her dress was wrinkled. Her lips were swollen.
He looked exactly the same. Disheveled. Flushed. Grinning like an idiot.
"We look like we just fucked," she said.
"We did just fuck."
"I know."
He reached out. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Shut up."
"I mean it."
She kissed him. Soft this time. Quick.
"Let's go eat," she said.
They walked into the restaurant holding hands.
The hostess looked at them. Looked at their disheveled clothes, their flushed faces, their tangled fingers.
"Table for two?" she asked.
"Please."
She led them to a booth in the corner. Handed them menus. Disappeared.
Luna looked at Leo across the table.
"We're going to have sex again tonight," she said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a promise or a threat?"
"Both."
He grinned. Picked up his menu.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
She smiled.
Neither was she.