Kai suggested it like a dare.
"No games," she said. "No teasing. No watching. Just... us. A normal day."
The word felt foreign in her mouth--normal. Like a costume neither of us had ever worn.
But I said yes. Maybe because I needed to know what we were without the edge. Maybe because part of me still wanted to believe that underneath all the tension and exhibitionism and carefully curated chaos, there was something real.
We met at a café. She wore jeans and a grey sweater. No lipstick. No exposed skin. Hair tied back. It threw me--how beautiful she was without trying. How much more dangerous she looked when she wasn't asking to be seen.
We drank coffee. Talked about music, about books. She told me she used to write poetry in high school and hated all of it. I told her I once wanted to make films but never turned the camera on.
We laughed.
And then we walked.
Through a park, past couples with strollers and joggers with earbuds. Kai slipped her arm into mine like she'd done it a hundred times before.
But there was a silence between us that hadn't been there before--not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.
I wasn't watching her.
And she wasn't performing for me.
We were just... there.
And somehow, that was harder.
Every time our hands brushed, I felt it--this itch under my skin. The need to grab her, to pull her somewhere hidden, to feel her press against me without rules, without permission.
I caught her looking at me once, that gleam in her eyes returning for a second before she looked away.
We made it almost three hours.
We reached a narrow alley between two old buildings. Cracked pavement, shadows stretching long in the afternoon light. She stopped walking.
Turned to me.
"I can't do this," she said. Not angry. Not upset. Just honest.
"Me either," I breathed.
And then her mouth was on mine.
Not slow. Not sweet.
Desperate.
She was frantic.
Fingers clumsy, breath ragged, yanking at my belt like it had personally offended her. All the restraint from earlier, the calm, the café, the laughter--it was gone. Shattered the second our mouths met in that shadowed alley.
She didn't whisper. Didn't tease. She just needed.
"Fuck," she hissed under her breath, frustrated when the buckle caught. "Why do you always wear so many layers?"
I tried to help, but she slapped my hand away, biting my lower lip as punishment. "Let me."
And I did.
My back hit the cold brick wall, her hands tugging my pants low, one knee slipping between mine. Her mouth never stopped--trailing from my lips to my jaw to my neck, teeth grazing, tongue hot.
She wasn't performing.
She wasn't putting on a show.
There was no one watching.
And somehow, that made it more intense.
This wasn't for the world. This was for us.
She sank to her knees--not slow, not like the first time, not calculated. Just raw hunger, messy and immediate.
And when her mouth closed around me--warm, wet, desperate--I groaned so loud it echoed off the alley walls.
She didn't look up.
Didn't wait for praise or permission.
She took.
Frantic. Focused. Frightening in how much she wanted it.
And for the first time, I wasn't thinking about who could see. I wasn't thinking about anything at all.
Just her.
Just this.
Just us.
My hands found her hair--tangled, wild, damp with sweat and city mist--and I didn't guide her. I just held on.
Because Kai wasn't stopping.
She devoured me. Not graceful, not smooth--frantic. Like something had cracked open in her, like all the times she'd watched others, all the games, all the teasing, had built to this barely-contained storm.
Her head moved fast, uneven, breath choked through her nose as she pushed deeper, again and again. Each sound she made vibrated through me, each flick of her tongue, each drag of her lips, setting my nerves on fire.
My knees buckled.
I gasped her name like a prayer I didn't know I believed in.
And she moaned around me.
Fucking moaned.
It vibrated straight through my core, and I felt the heat build, dizzy, electric.
"God--Kai, I'm gonna--"
She didn't stop.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't slow down.
If anything, she went harder. Like she wanted it. Like she needed to feel me unravel in her mouth.
And I did.
I shattered.
It ripped out of me, my hips jerking forward, breath torn from my lungs as I spilled into her, hands clenched in her hair, body locked in place while she took every last drop.
No flinch. No hesitation.
When I was nothing but shaking legs, she finally pulled back, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her wrist.
Her eyes found mine.
She smiled, satisfied.
No words.
Just that fucking smile.
Then she stood, smoothed her skirt down, and kissed me once--soft this time. Gentle.
Possessive.
"You lasted longer than I thought," she whispered. "But we're not done."
She grabbed my wrist.
And just like that, we were walking again--me dazed, spent, undone.
And her?
Still hungry.
I began to wonder if she had staged it all.
The café. The park. The gentle quiet of a hand slipped into mine. A carefully constructed lullaby of normalcy.
An elaborate performance.
A new stage. A new act.
To show me what life looks like. What it could be if I played by the rules.
And then--
The alley.
That wasn't a performance. That was the curtain tearing wide open. That was the truth underneath everything she wears.
And now? Now she was leading me again.
We didn't go far.
Just a few blocks off the main road, she tugged me toward a building neither of us lived in. Plain concrete. Windows glowing faint and yellow with other people's lives.
She pulled open a side door--unlocked, unguarded--and led us into the basement.
The laundry room.
