Chapter 6: Morning Light and Surrender
Morning light came slow through the blinds, slat by slat, painting gold stripes across the rumpled sheets. Zay had been awake for twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.
He didn't move. Didn't want to. Nova was curled against him, one leg thrown over his thigh, her breath warm and even against his chest. The oversized t-shirt she wore had ridden up in the night, exposing the soft dip of her waist, the gentle curve of her hip.
He watched her sleep.
The way her lips parted, just slightly. The way her lashes fanned against her cheeks, dark and thick. The way her fingers twitched against his ribs, like she was dreaming of something she wanted to hold onto.
He'd never done this before. Not really. Not the staying. Not the watching. He'd always been the one to leave before the sun came up, to slip out while the sheets were still warm, to disappear before anything could take root.
But here he was.
Here she was.
He reached up, brushed a strand of hair from her face. She stirred, mumbled something he couldn't understand, and burrowed deeper into his chest.
His chest tightened.
He leaned down. Pressed his lips to her forehead. Then her temple. Then the corner of her mouth.
She made a sound—soft, sleepy, almost a purr.
He kissed her again. On the mouth this time. Soft. Gentle. Just a brush of lips against lips.
She kissed him back.
Not waking up, not really. Just responding. Instinct. The way her mouth opened under his, the way her tongue flicked out to meet his, lazy and warm.
He deepened the kiss.
Her hand slid up his back. Fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. Pulling him closer.
He shifted his weight. Moved over her. His thigh pressed between hers, and she gasped into his mouth—a small, sharp sound that went straight to his dick.
"Good morning," she murmured against his lips.
"Morning."
She opened her eyes. Blinked up at him. Her pupils were wide, dark, still heavy with sleep.
"You're still here," she said.
"I'm still here."
"I didn't dream it."
"No."
She reached up. Touched his face. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the edge of his mouth.
"You watched me sleep," she said.
"How'd you know?"
"I could feel it." She smiled. Sleepy. Real. "You're warm."
"So are you."
He kissed her again. Deeper this time. His tongue sliding against hers, tasting the faint sweetness of sleep. She moaned into him, her hips shifting under his, her leg hooking around his calf.
The heat between them built fast. His cock was hard, pressed against her thigh through the thin cotton of his boxers. He could feel the warmth radiating from between her legs, even through her shorts.
He pulled back. Just enough to look at her.
Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were half-closed. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.
"Trust me?" he asked.
She didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"Good." He brushed his thumb along her jaw. "Lay back for me. Stop me whenever you want."
She nodded. Sank back into the pillows.
He started at her neck.
Kissed the hollow of her throat. The pulse point behind her ear. The soft skin where her neck met her shoulder. He dragged his teeth along her collarbone, and she shivered, her fingers finding his hair, tangling in the dark strands.
He moved lower.
Kissed the curve of her breast through the t-shirt. Took her nipple into his mouth through the fabric—wet, warm, teasing. She arched into him, a moan slipping past her lips.
"Zay—"
"Shh." He kissed his way down her stomach. "Let me take care of you."
He reached the waistband of her shorts. Hooked his fingers under the elastic. Pulled them down. Slow. Deliberate.
Her panties came with them.
She lifted her hips to help him. He slid the fabric down her legs, over her knees, past her ankles. Dropped them on the floor.
She was bare from the waist down. Legs slightly parted. The morning light caught the slickness between her thighs, and his mouth watered.
"Fuck," he breathed.
"What?"
"Nothing." He positioned himself between her legs. "Just—you're so fucking pretty."
She laughed. Soft. Nervous.
Then he put his mouth on her.
Her laugh turned into a gasp.
He started slow. Long, flat strokes of his tongue, dragging through her folds, tasting every inch of her. She was wet—so fucking wet—and she tasted like honey and salt and something he couldn't name.
"Shit," she whispered. Her fingers tightened in his hair.
He licked up to her clit. Circled it with the tip of his tongue. Then sucked.
Her hips bucked off the bed.
"Fuck—Zay—"
He pulled back just enough to speak.
"You taste so good," he said. His voice was low, rough. "You know that? So fucking good."
She didn't answer. Just moaned.
He went back in. Faster this time. Harder. His tongue working her clit in tight, relentless circles while his fingers slid inside her—one, then two—curling up to find that spot that made her see stars.
"You're so wet for me," he murmured against her. "So fucking wet. You like this? You like my mouth on your pussy?"
"Yes—God—yes—"
He pumped his fingers in and out. Matched the rhythm of his tongue. She was climbing now—he could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
"That's it," he said. "That's it, baby. Give it to me."
She shattered.
Her back arched off the bed. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her thighs clamped around his head, and she came—hard—a gush of wetness flooding his mouth, his chin, the sheets beneath her.
He didn't stop.
He kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking her with his fingers until she was shaking, until she was pushing at his head, until she was begging him to stop.
"Please—please—I can't—"
He lifted his head.
His mouth was slick. His chin was dripping. He wiped it with the back of his hand and grinned.
"You squirted," he said.
She covered her face with her hands. "Oh my God."
"Don't hide." He crawled up her body. Pulled her hands away. "That was the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
"Shut up."
"I'm serious." He kissed her. Let her taste herself on his lips. "You soaked the sheets. That's fucking incredible."
She was blushing. He could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks.
"I've never—" She stopped. Swallowed. "That's never happened before."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Means I did something right."
She laughed. Shaky. Breathless.
He kissed her again. Softer this time. Then he rolled onto his back and pulled her against his chest.
"We're not done," he said.
"We're not?"
"No." He stroked her hair. "I just need a minute."
She nestled into him. Her cheek against his shoulder. Her hand on his stomach.
"You're still hard," she observed.
"I know."
"You want me to—"
"Not yet." He kissed the top of her head. "Let me take my time with you."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Zay?"
"Yeah?"
"Where'd you learn to do that?"
He laughed. "What kind of question is that?"
"A curious one."
"Practice," he said. "Lots of practice."
"With who?"
He turned his head. Looked at her.
"You really want to know?"
"No." She pressed her face into his chest. "Forget I asked."
"Too late."
"Zay—"
"I'm kidding." He rubbed her back. "It's not important. What's important is that I'm here. With you. Right now."
She lifted her head. Met his eyes.
"You're really here," she said.
"I'm really here."
She kissed him. Slow. Sweet. Then she pulled back and looked at the clock on her nightstand.
"It's almost nine," she said.
"So?"
"I have a session at eleven."
"Cancel it."
"I can't cancel it."
"Yes, you can."
"Zay—"
He kissed her. Deep. Hungry. His hand sliding down her back, over her ass, squeezing.
"I'm not done with you," he said against her lips.
She moaned.
"You're not playing fair," she said.
"I never do."
He rolled on top of her. Settled between her thighs. His cock pressed against her, still covered by his boxers, but she could feel every inch of him.
"Tell me you want this," he said.
"I want this."
"Tell me you want me."
"I want you."
"Good."
He kissed her neck. Her collarbone. Her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth—bare this time, no fabric in the way—and sucked hard.
She gasped. Her hips bucked up against him.
"Zay—please—"
"Please what?"
"Just—fuck me already."
He pulled back. Looked at her.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He reached down. Pushed his boxers off. Kicked them onto the floor. His cock sprang free—thick, hard, already leaking.
He positioned himself at her entrance.
"Last chance to stop me," he said.
"Zay."
"Yeah?"
"Fuck me."
He pushed inside.
She was tight—so fucking tight—and wet, and warm, and he had to stop halfway just to breathe.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel—"
"I know." She gripped his shoulders. "Keep going."
He pushed the rest of the way in. Bottomed out. Held still.
She was breathing hard. Her nails dug into his back.
"Okay?" he asked.
"More than okay." She rocked her hips. "Move."
He moved.
Slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. Savored the way she gasped. The way she clenched around him.
"You feel so good," he said. "So fucking good. Like you were made for me."
She moaned. Wrapped her legs around his waist.
"Harder," she said.
He gave her harder.
His hips snapped against hers. The headboard hit the wall. The bed creaked. She was chanting his name now—Zay, Zay, Zay—like a prayer.
"You like that?" He was breathless. "You like my cock inside you?"
"Yes—God—yes—"
"You going to come for me again?"
"I—I don't know—"
"You are." He drove deeper. Hit that spot that made her eyes roll back. "You're going to come all over my cock. Just like you came on my mouth."
She shattered again.
This time it was louder. Messier. Her whole body shook, and she screamed—actually screamed—and he felt her gush around him, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything.
He kept going.
He fucked her through it. Fucked her until she was limp, until she was boneless, until she was clinging to him and begging him not to stop.
"Zay—Zay—I can't—"
"One more," he said. "Give me one more."
"I can't—"
"You can." He reached down. Pressed his thumb against her clit. "Come for me, Nova. One more time."
She came.
And this time, so did he.
He pulled out just in time—spilling on her stomach, her thighs, the mess of sheets beneath them. His body shuddered. His vision went white.
He collapsed on top of her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just lay there, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
Then Zay lifted his head.
"I could get used to mornings like this," he said.
She laughed. Breathless. Wrecked.
"You're a mess," she said.
"So are you."
"Mmm." She ran her fingers through his hair. "We both are."
He kissed her. Soft. Tender.
"I'm going to clean you up," he said.
"With what?"
"Shower." He rolled off her. Stood. Held out his hand. "Come on."
She took it.
He led her to the bathroom. Turned on the water. Stepped in with her. Washed her body with her lavender soap, his hands gentle, reverent.
Then he kissed her under the spray.
"I meant what I said," he murmured against her lips.
"What?"
"I want to do this again."
"Sext?"
"This." He pulled back. Looked at her. "All of it. The mornings. The showers. The mess."
She stared at him.
"Zay—"
"I'm not asking for a relationship," he said. "I'm not asking for labels. I'm asking for you. Just you. However you want to give yourself."
She was quiet.
"I don't know how to do this," she said.
"Do what?"
"Trust someone."
"I know." He kissed her forehead. "That's why I'm going to earn it."
"Every day?"
"Every day."
She closed her eyes. Let the water run over her face.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Okay?"
She opened her eyes. Looked at him.
"Okay."
He smiled.
Then he kissed her again.
And for the first time in a long time, Zay let himself hope.
And for the first time in a long time, Zay let himself hope.
He stayed for another hour.
They didn't talk much. Just lay tangled in the sheets, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder. The sun climbed higher, and the room got warmer, and neither of them moved.
He kissed her forehead when he finally got up. Said he had to handle something at the store. Didn't say what, and she didn't ask.
"You'll text me later?" she said.
"I'll text you later."
He pulled on his clothes. Found his keys on her nightstand. Stopped at the door and looked back at her—naked, tangled in sheets, hair a wreck, looking like something out of a dream he didn't want to wake from.
"Don't wash those sheets yet," he said.
She laughed. Threw a pillow at him. Missed.
He was gone before it hit the floor.
Nova lay there for a while after the door clicked shut. Listening to the silence. Feeling the absence of him like a warmth that had been pulled away.
Then she got up.
Her legs were shaky. Her thighs ached. There was a tenderness between her legs that made her smile every time she moved.
She pulled on a robe and padded to the kitchen.
The apartment was quiet. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching dust motes in the air. The coffee maker gurgled as she filled it with water. She grabbed eggs, butter, a loaf of bread.
Comfort food. Something warm.
She was halfway through scrambling the eggs when she heard the footsteps.
Mei appeared in the doorway. Hair a mess. Eyes heavy with sleep. Wrapped in a blanket like a burrito.
She didn't say anything at first. Just stared at Nova.
Nova kept her eyes on the pan.
"Morning," she said.
Mei didn't answer.
The eggs sizzled. The toast popped up. Nova reached for a plate.
"So," Mei said finally.
"So?"
"That was Zay."
It wasn't a question.
Nova flipped the eggs onto the plate. Added the toast. Still didn't look up.
"Yeah," she said. "That was Zay."
Mei walked to the counter. Sat on a stool. Pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
"I heard him," she said.
"I figured."
"I heard you."
Nova's face went hot. She grabbed the coffee pot and poured two mugs.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize we were that loud."
"The headboard was hitting the wall."
"I know."
"For like twenty minutes."
"I know."
Mei took the mug Nova offered. Blew on the steam.
"He put it down on you," she said.
Nova choked on her coffee.
"What?"
"He put it down. On you." Mei took a sip. "That's what I'm saying."
Nova set her mug down. Covered her face with both hands. Laughed—embarrassed, giddy, mortified.
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Be honest." Mei leaned forward. "How good was it?"
"Mei—"
"How. Good. Was. It."
Nova dropped her hands. Looked at her roommate. Her friend. The girl who'd seen her cry over bad dates and bad mixes and bad men.
"Amazing," she said.
"Amazing?"
"Amazing."
Mei grinned. "I knew it."
"You knew what?"
"I knew he'd be good in bed." She took another sip of coffee. "He has that energy."
"What energy?"
"You know. That quiet, intense, I-don't-talk-much-but-I'll-ruin-your-life energy." Mei pointed at her. "That man has been wrecking you since the day he showed up on our doorstep."
Nova didn't deny it.
"His head game is insane," she said.
Mei choked on her coffee.
"Excuse me?"
"His head game." Nova was eating now, fork in hand, talking between bites. "Like, insane. And his dick—"
"Okay, okay—"
"Is great. Like, perfect size. Not too big, not too small. And he knows how to use it."
Mei was laughing now. Head thrown back, blanket slipping off her shoulders.
"I cannot believe we're having this conversation at nine in the morning."
"You asked."
"I didn't ask for specifics."
"You asked how good it was."
"I didn't ask for a review."
Nova shrugged. "You got one anyway."
She finished her eggs. Drank the rest of her coffee. Put her plate in the sink.
"I need to get ready," she said. "I have a session at eleven."
Mei raised an eyebrow. "You're walking normal and everything?"
"I'm walking fine."
"Uh-huh."
Nova left the kitchen. Made it halfway to her room before she heard Mei call out.
"Hey, Nova?"
She turned. "Yeah?"
"Make sure he uses a towel next time. I don't want to hear that headboard again."
Nova laughed. Closed her door.
She stood in front of her closet for a long time. Staring at the rows of clothes she'd worn a hundred times. None of them felt right.
She picked a sweater. Ripped jeans. Sneakers. Simple. Comfortable.
Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Her hair was wild. Her lips were still a little swollen. There was a mark on her neck—faint but visible—that hadn't been there last night.
She touched it. Smiled.
Then she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
Mei was still at the counter. Still wrapped in her blanket. Still grinning.
"Tell Zay I said hi," she called.
"I'm not telling him anything."
"Tell him I said thank you for the breakfast money."
"He'll think you're weird."
"I am weird. Tell him anyway."
Nova shook her head. Opened the door.
But before she stepped out, she paused. Turned back.
"Mei?"
"Yeah?"
"You were right."
"About what?"
"About him." She shifted her bag on her shoulder. "He's not like the others."
Mei's grin softened. "I know."
"How'd you know?"
"Because he made you a sandwich at six in the morning, Nova." She shrugged. "That's not a game. That's a man who's serious."
Nova didn't respond. Just nodded. Then she walked out the door, down the stairs, into the morning.
The sun was bright. The air was cold. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out.
A text from Zay.
You sore?
She typed back: A little.
Good.
She rolled her eyes. Then she smiled.
What are you doing tonight?
His reply came fast.
Whatever you want.
She stopped walking. Stood on the sidewalk, phone in her hand, heart beating a little faster than it should.
She typed: I want you to come over.
Then she hit send before she could change her mind.
The dots appeared right away. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
I'll be there at eight.
She didn't text back. Just kept walking. Kept smiling.
The studio was six blocks away. By the time she got there, her cheeks hurt from grinning.
She didn't care.