Chapter 7: White Shirt, Navy Dress
The car idled at the curb, engine humming low and patient. Zay killed the ignition but didn't get out. Just sat there, one hand on the wheel, watching the building.
He'd been early. Twenty minutes early. Sat in the driver's seat like a fucking teenager picking up his prom date, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror more times than he'd ever admit.
The white button-down was crisp. Fresh from the cleaners. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, top two buttons open. Black jeans that fit right. The Cuban link sat against his collarbone, catching the streetlight every time he moved. The Rolex was a gift from a deal three years back—real gold, real diamonds, real fucking expensive. He didn't wear it often. Only when he wanted to make an impression.
Tonight, he wanted to make an impression.
His phone buzzed.
Here.
He looked up. And there she was.
Nova stepped out of the building, and the world went quiet. The traffic, the distant sirens, the bass thumping from a passing car—all of it faded to nothing.
The dress was navy. Deep, dark blue that looked almost black in the shadows. It hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto her body. Maxi length, but with a slit up the thigh that showed off one long, brown leg with every step she took.
Her hair was down. Curls framing her face. Gold hoops catching the light.
She walked toward the car like she owned the street. Like she knew exactly what she looked like and didn't give a fuck who noticed.
Zay's jaw tightened.
His cock twitched.
He got out of the car. Stood by the passenger door. Watched her approach.
She stopped a few feet away. Looked him up and down. Slow. Deliberate.
"Damn," she said.
"What?"
"You clean up nice."
"So do you."
She smiled. Stepped closer. Close enough that he could smell her perfume—something warm, something sweet, something that made him want to bury his face in her neck.
"You're early," she said.
"I know."
"Eager?"
"Don't push it."
She laughed. Soft. Low. Then she reached out and straightened his chain. Let her fingers linger on his chest.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Been ready."
He opened the door for her. Watched her slide into the passenger seat, the dress riding up just enough to show him the curve of her thigh.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
Then he got in the car and drove.
The rooftop was in downtown. Twenty floors up. Glass and steel and string lights wrapped around every available surface. The music was loud but not deafening—some blend of Afrobeat and house that made you want to move whether you knew how or not.
Zay parked in the lot across the street. Came around to open her door. Held out his hand.
She took it. Let him help her out. Didn't let go when she was standing.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"Being a gentleman."
"Don't tell anyone."
She laughed. And they walked into the building together, fingers still intertwined.
The elevator ride was quiet. Just the two of them and a mirrored wall that showed him exactly how good they looked together. Her in that dress. Him in that shirt. Both of them with that look—the one that said they'd rather be somewhere else. Alone.
The doors opened on the twentieth floor.
And the party hit them like a wave.
People everywhere. Music thumping. Drinks flowing. A DJ in the corner spinning tracks that made the floor vibrate under their feet.
Zay felt Nova's hand tighten around his.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah." She looked up at him. "Just a lot of people."
"We don't have to stay long."
"We just got here."
"So?"
She smiled. "Let's at least get a drink first."
He led her to the bar. Ordered two whiskeys—neat for him, rocks for her. They found a spot near the edge of the rooftop, leaning against the railing, looking out at the city lights.
"This is nice," she said.
"It's alright."
"You don't like parties?"
"I like you."
She turned her head. Looked at him.
"That was smooth."
"I know."
She laughed. Took a sip of her drink. The whiskey made her wince, just a little, and he caught it.
"Not a whiskey girl?"
"I'm a whiskey girl. Just—" She shook her head. "It's strong."
"Want something else?"
"No." She took another sip. "I'm good."
They stood there for a while. Watching the crowd. Watching each other. The music shifted—something slower now, something with a groove that made you want to press up against someone and forget the world existed.
Zay finished his drink. Set the glass on a nearby table.
"Dance with me," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Nova set her glass down. Let him take her hand. Let him lead her to the middle of the floor.
And then they were moving.
Her body against his. Her hips finding the rhythm like she'd been born to it. His hands on her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric of her dress.
She smelled like lavender and something else—something darker. Something that made his head spin.
"You're a good dancer," she said.
"I'm a lot of things."
"Modest?"
"Never."
She laughed. Turned in his arms. Pressed her back against his chest. Her ass fit against his crotch like it belonged there.
His hands slid down to her hips. Gripped them.
She rolled her body. Slow. Deliberate. And he felt every inch of it.
"Fuck," he breathed against her ear.
She didn't respond. Just kept moving. Kept grinding. Kept making him harder than he'd ever been in his life.
The song changed. Something faster. Something filthier. The bass hit different, and so did she—bending her knees, dropping low, coming back up in a way that made him want to drag her off the dance floor and find the nearest dark corner.
He leaned down. Pressed his lips to her ear.
"I'm about to take you home," he said.
"Already?"
"I'm not asking."
She turned. Slow. Met his eyes.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
He didn't answer.
Just took her hand. Led her through the crowd. Down the stairs. Out the door.
They didn't speak in the elevator. Didn't speak in the lobby. Didn't speak in the parking lot. Just walked fast, hands locked together, the tension between them thick enough to choke on.
He opened the car door for her. Closed it after she got in. Walked around to the driver's side.
Got in.
Started the engine.
"Your place or mine?" he asked.
"Mine."
He drove.
The streets were quiet. Streetlights flashed by in streaks of orange and yellow. The radio played something low, something forgettable. Neither of them listened.
Zay's hand rested on her thigh. High. Higher than it should have been. His thumb traced small circles on her skin.
She didn't stop him.
Didn't want to.
They reached her building in fifteen minutes. Parked in the same spot he'd parked earlier that night. Sat there for a moment in the dark.
"Zay," she said.
"Yeah."
"Are you coming up?"
"I was planning on it."
"Good."
They got out. Walked inside. Took the stairs because the elevator was too slow, too small, too public.
Her apartment was dark when they walked in. Mei's door was closed. A light under the crack—she was home, but she wasn't coming out.
Smart girl.
Nova led him to her room. Closed the door behind them. Turned to face him.
And then neither of them moved.
Just stood there. Staring at each other. Breathing.
Zay reached up. Touched her face. His thumb traced her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he said.
"I know."
He laughed. Low. Rough.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't soft. Wasn't gentle. It was hungry. Desperate. Like he'd been starving for her all night and was finally getting to eat.
Her hands found his chest. Pushed the buttons open. One. Two. Three. Until his shirt was hanging loose and she could slide her hands up his bare skin.
He groaned into her mouth.
"Fuck," he said. "You don't know what you do to me."
"Show me."
He pulled back. Looked at her.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He didn't need to hear it twice.
His hands found the zipper of her dress. Pulled it down. Slow. Deliberate. The fabric parted, and he watched it fall—watched her step out of it, standing there in nothing but a black lace thong and heels.
No bra.
His mouth went dry.
"Fuck," he said again.
She smirked. "You keep saying that."
"Because I keep looking at you."
She stepped closer. Reached for his belt. Undid it. Pulled it through the loops. Tossed it on the floor.
Then she unbuttoned his jeans. Pushed them down. Along with his boxers.
His cock sprang free. Thick. Hard. Already leaking.
She looked at it. Licked her lips.
"Can I—"
"No." He grabbed her wrist. "Not tonight. I need to be inside you."
She didn't argue.
He picked her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist. He carried her to the bed. Laid her down. Crawled over her.
His mouth found her neck. Her collarbone. Her breast. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, and she gasped, arching against him.
"Zay—"
"Shh."
He kissed down her stomach. Reached her thong. Hooked his fingers under the lace. Pulled it down. Slow.
She was soaked. Dripping. The smell of her hit him like a drug.
"Look at you," he said. "So fucking wet. Is this all for me?"
"Yes—"
"Say it."
"It's for you. All for you."
He kissed her inner thigh. Then the other. Then finally—finally—he put his mouth on her.
She screamed.
He licked up her slit. Slow. Long. Tasting every inch of her. Then he found her clit. Sucked. Nipped. Flicked it with his tongue until she was writhing beneath him.
"Zay—Zay—please—"
"Please what?"
"I need—I need you inside me—"
"Not yet."
He pushed two fingers inside her. Pumped them slow. Curled them up. Found that spot that made her back arch off the bed.
"You're going to come for me first," he said. "And then I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."
She shattered.
Her thighs clamped around his head. Her hands fisted in the sheets. She came with a cry—long, loud, broken—and he didn't stop. Kept licking. Kept finger-fucking her. Until she was pushing at his head, begging him to stop.
He pulled back.
Licked his lips.
"Coconut," he said.
"What?"
"That's what you taste like. Coconut."
She laughed. Breathless. Wrecked.
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
He crawled up her body. Positioned himself between her legs. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance.
"Ready?" he asked.
"I've been ready."
He pushed inside.
She was tight. Hot. Wet. And he had to stop halfway just to breathe.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel—"
"I know. Keep going."
He pushed the rest of the way in. Bottomed out. Held still.
Her nails dug into his back.
"Move," she said.
He moved.
Slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. Watching her face. Watching her mouth fall open. Watching her eyes roll back.
"You like that?" he asked.
"Yes—"
"You like my cock inside you?"
"God—yes—"
He picked up the pace. Harder. Faster. The headboard hit the wall. The bed creaked. She was chanting his name—Zay, Zay, Zay—like a prayer.
"Fuck," he said. "You're so fucking tight. So fucking perfect. Made for me."
She clenched around him.
"Say that again," he said.
"What?"
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm—I'm yours—"
"Say it like you mean it."
"I'm yours, Zay. I'm yours."
He fucked her harder.
His thumb found her clit. Pressed. Circled. She screamed again. Came again. Soaked his thighs. Soaked the sheets.
He kept going.
Flipped her over. Pulled her to her knees. Entered her from behind.
This time was rougher. Rawer. His hands on her hips. His body slapping against hers. The sound of skin on skin filling the room.
"You like this?" he growled. "You like taking it from behind?"
"Yes—yes—don't stop—"
"I'm not stopping. Not until you come again."
He reached around. Found her clit. Fingered it while he fucked her.
She came apart.
Screaming. Shaking. Collapsing on the bed. He followed a moment later—pulling out just in time, spilling on her back, her ass, the curve of her spine.
He collapsed beside her.
For a long time, neither of them moved. Just lay there. Breathing. Sweating. Staring at the ceiling.
Then Nova turned her head.
"You got come on my sheets," she said.
"It's your fault."
"My fault?"
"You shouldn't be so fuckable."
She laughed. Weak. Tired.
"Shut up."
He kissed her shoulder. Soft. Tender.
"Give me five minutes," he said.
"For what?"
"Round two."
She turned. Looked at him.
"You're serious?"
"Always."
She shook her head. But she was smiling.
"You're going to kill me."
"At least you'll die happy."
He pulled her close. Let her rest her head on his chest. Felt her breath slow. Felt her body relax against his.
And for the first time all night, Zay felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Peace.
He didn't know how long it would last. Probably not long.
But for now—for this moment—it was enough.
"Zay?" she murmured.
"Yeah."
"Stay."
"I'm here."
"I mean—stay. Tonight."
He kissed the top of her head.
"I'm not going anywhere."
And he meant it.
He meant it when he said it, and he meant it when he woke up alone.
The sheets beside him were cold. Rumpled, but empty. The indent of her body still pressed into the mattress, the pillow still carrying the faint scent of lavender.
Zay blinked at the ceiling. Listened to the silence.
Then he heard it—the soft clink of ceramic from the kitchen. The gentle hiss of the coffee maker.
He sat up.
His body ached in ways it hadn't in years. His back. His thighs. The muscles he'd forgotten he had because he spent too many nights behind a desk, counting money, rolling blunts, pretending he was still twenty-two.
He pulled on his boxers. Didn't bother with anything else.
The hallway was quiet. Mei's door was still closed—no light underneath. Either she was asleep or she'd already left.
Didn't matter either way.
He found Nova in the kitchen.
She was standing at the counter, her back to him. The robe she wore was thin. Silk. Short. It barely covered the tops of her thighs, and when she reached up to grab a mug from the cabinet, it rode up just enough to show him the curve of her ass.
His dick twitched.
She hadn't heard him yet. Was humming something—some melody he didn't recognize, some tune she was working out in her head. Her hair was a mess. Tangled curls falling down her back. The morning light caught the gold in her skin, and for a second, he just stood there.
Watching her.
Then he moved.
His arms wrapped around her from behind. His chest pressed against her back. His lips found her neck.
She jumped—just a little—then melted into him.
"Morning," she murmured.
"Morning."
He kissed her neck. Slow. Open-mouthed. Let his teeth graze the skin just below her ear.
She tilted her head. Gave him more room.
"You're warm," she said.
"So are you."
His hands slid down her sides. Over her hips. Resting on her stomach. She leaned back into him, and he felt every inch of her—the softness of her body, the heat of her skin through the thin silk robe.
She turned her head. Caught his mouth with hers.
The kiss was slow at first. Lazy. The kind of kiss that didn't need to go anywhere. But then her tongue slid against his, and her hand reached back to cup the nape of his neck, and something shifted.
He deepened the kiss.
She moaned into his mouth.
His cock hardened against her ass. Pressed into the soft curve of her body. She felt it—he knew she felt it—and she pushed back against him. Just a little. Just enough.
"Zay," she breathed.
"Yeah."
"Mei's still here."
"I know."
"She's in her room."
"I know."
"She could come out."
"She won't."
"How do you know?"
He kissed her shoulder. Then her neck. Then the spot behind her ear that made her shiver.
"Because I'll be quick," he said. "As long as you're quiet."
She laughed. Breathless.
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
His hands found the hem of her robe. Lifted it. Slow. Deliberate.
She wasn't wearing anything underneath.
His fingers found her hip. Her thigh. The crease where her leg met her body. She was already wet—he could feel it before he even touched her.
"Fuck," he whispered. "You're already ready for me."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
He lined himself up. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance. She gasped—sharp, quiet—and her hand shot out to grip the edge of the counter.
"Zay—"
"Shh."
He pushed inside.
Slow. Steady. She was tight, and wet, and so fucking warm that he had to close his eyes just to keep from losing it right there.
"Fuck," he breathed.
"Be quiet," she hissed.
"You be quiet."
He pulled out. Pushed back in. Deeper this time. His hips found a rhythm—slow, deliberate, the kind of pace that made her feel every inch of him.
His hand slid around her waist. Found her clit. Fingered it in slow circles.
She bit her lip. Hard.
"Good girl," he whispered. "Keep it quiet."
She nodded. Couldn't speak.
He fucked her deeper.
The counter creaked. The coffee maker gurgled. And Nova's breath came in short, sharp gasps that she tried—and failed—to swallow.
He sped up.
Her moans got louder.
"Zay—"
"Shh."
"I can't—"
"You can."
He pressed his thumb harder against her clit. Fucked her faster.
She whimpered. A high, desperate sound that she tried to muffle with her own hand.
"Quiet," he reminded her. "Before Mei comes out."
She nodded. Bit down on her knuckle.
He fucked her harder.
Her body started to shake. Her thighs trembled. She was close—he could feel it in the way she clenched around him.
"Come for me," he whispered. "Come on my cock. Quietly."
She shattered.
Her whole body tensed. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. She came—trembling, gasping, soaking his cock—and he kept going.
Kept fucking her. Kept rubbing her clit. Didn't stop until she was pushing at his hand, begging him without words to give her a break.
He didn't.
"One more," he said.
"I can't—"
"You can."
"Zay—"
"One more, Nova. Then I'll stop."
She shook her head. But her hips were still moving. Still meeting his thrusts.
He sped up.
The counter banged against the wall. The mug she'd been holding tipped over—rolled off the counter, shattered on the floor. Neither of them cared.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel so good. So fucking good. Taking my cock like it's nothing."
She moaned. Louder this time. She couldn't help it.
He clapped his hand over her mouth.
"I told you," he said. "Quiet."
She nodded against his palm.
He fucked her harder.
Her second orgasm hit her like a truck.
She screamed into his hand. Her body convulsed. Her pussy clamped down around him so tight he saw stars.
And that's when the bedroom door opened.
Mei stepped out.
Hair a mess. Eyes half-closed. Wrapped in that same blanket from the day before.
She froze.
Zay froze.
Nova—still bent over the counter, still impaled on his cock, still trembling—didn't notice until Mei spoke.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Nova's eyes flew open.
She looked over her shoulder. Saw Mei standing in the doorway. Saw the look on her face.
"Oh my God—"
Zay didn't move.
Mei didn't move.
The coffee maker gurgled.
"I—" Nova started.
"Don't," Mei said. "Don't say anything."
She turned. Walked back into her room. Slammed the door.
Silence.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Zay leaned down. Pressed his lips to Nova's ear.
"I told you to be quiet," he whispered.
She laughed. Shaky. Mortified.
"Shut up."
He pulled out. Slow. She winced.
"We should—" she started.
"Yeah."
She straightened up. Pulled her robe down. Turned to face him.
Her cheeks were red. Her lips were swollen. Her hair was everywhere.
"I'm never going to be able to look at her again," she said.
"You'll survive."
"I won't."
"You will."
She shoved his chest. He caught her hand. Kissed her knuckles.
"Worth it," he said.
She stared at him.
"What?"
"Worth it," he repeated. "Getting caught. Worth it."
She shook her head. But she was smiling.
"You're unbelievable."
"I know."
He let go of her hand. Walked to the coffee maker. Poured two mugs like nothing had happened.
"You want cream?" he asked.
She laughed. Grabbed the mug. Drank it black.
From behind Mei's door, they heard a muffled voice.
"I'm never eating in that kitchen again!"
Zay raised his mug.
"Cheers," he said.
Nova clinked her mug against his.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn't worry about what came next.
Because whatever it was, she wasn't facing it alone.