A/N: Smut in this chapter.

Thursday passes by slowly. Underwood—Hayden, Seph reminds herself—doesn't show up, but she figures that's a good thing, because it only makes the anticipation for her date with him grow.

With all her giddiness, she can't think straight, and the physics problem sitting in front of her might as well be written in Ancient Greek for how little she can understand it. She chews on the end of her pencil.

"Hey Jess, did you finish the third one yet? It's giving me trouble."

"Yeah, here. I'm not sure if I did it right, but you can double-check."

"Thanks, boobear."

"No problem...Hey, Seph?"

Seph eyes the problem and the solution Jess came up with. None of it makes any sense. "Yeah, Jess?"

"Do you mind if I rant?"

"Only if you don't mind me half-listening. I need to finish this problem set."

"That's chill. I just need to vent."

Seph nods; she definitely knows the feeling. "Vent away."

A cool breeze forces Jess to tuck her hair behind her ears. The weather is mild today, though perhaps not mild enough to warrant sitting outside. Still, as long as a rogue gust doesn't kidnap her homework, Seph will enjoy the cool air of summer now shifting into fall.

"See, it's like this," Jess says, finally deciding to pull her hair into ponytail, "I was at the LGBT resource center, and I noticed that the staff there was printing out new posters that said, 'LGBTQA,' with each letter having the term it stands for printed next to it. I thought, 'awesome, our resource center is finally gonna stop participating in asexual and aromantic erasure,' but fuck no. Do you know what they had printed on the poster, Seph?"

"Nope. What'd have printed there?"

Jess throws her hands into the air. "They had 'Ally' printed next to the 'A'! Ally! Are you freaking kidding me?! Like, I wouldn't have such a problem with them putting 'Ally' on there, if they actually deigned to put what the 'A' in LGBTQA really stands for: asexual and aromantic, and if they put 'Ally' behind those two labels. Like, that'd still be a little irritating, a little problematic, but allies want their cookie, so whatever; they can have their cookie. No offense, boo."

"None taken."

"And, like, this is a poster for the resource center. If the resource center prints out stuff that proliferates asexual and aromantic erasure, how the fuck can people like us expect to be taken seriously by the rest of the student body? We might as well be unicorns for how much people believe in our existence, us aces and aros—and bisexuals, too, although at least their part of the sign didn't get screwed up. And don't get me started on the weaksauce stuff they've been pulling with the administration about gender-neutral bathrooms. Ugh. I fucking can't right now. I can't." Jess stands, screams at the sky. Peripheral vision articulates to Seph that several people have turned their heads towards them to gawk. After about a minute of non-stop guttural rage against the heavens, Jess sits back down, and the passersby who were staring a moment ago have moved onto more interesting sights. Strange occurrences are a dime a dozen in the city; this one was just one of many.

"Feel better?" Seph asks. Aha! She's figured out the problem. Took me long enough.

"I guess. I don't know...I just—I just don't want my identity erased. Like, I'm tired, Seph. My parents won't take me seriously at all. They think I'm going through a 'phase,' or whatever. For the longest time they thought I was lesbian because I never had any interest in boys, but now that I've told them that I'm asexual, they keep pestering me to get a boyfriend and get engaged. First of all, fuck that. I'm not getting married anytime soon, if I ever do. And, like, it's impossible for them to understand that it's not easy for me to do that. I just don't feel attraction in that way. And, like, it's just so dismissive of me as a person, and the one safe space designated for people like me fucks it up too, you know?"

Seph nods, feels relief as she solves the next problem of her homework. "Girl, you know it get it. You know why I quit the Black Student Association."

"All the politics and colorism."

"Yeah. And I got tons of shit for it, too. So don't worry—I feel you."

Jess sighs, leans back onto the grassy earth of the National Mall. "Man. Being woke sucks. I gotta tell you, Seph, sometimes…sometimes I wish I were still sleeping."

"Don't ever wish for that, Jess. Someone's gotta work to change things."

"True, true. It's just. Ugh, it's exhausting sometimes. But whatever. Hey, you done with that one problem yet?"

"Oh, yeah! Sorry about that, here's your sheet."

"Thanks. So, in other news…there's a party tomorrow night."

Seph stops writing. "Jess, that sounds great, but—"

"Hang on, hang on—don't say you can't go just yet. I know your mom gets cray-cray over stuff like this, but you can tell her that you're crashing at my place for a movie night."

"It's not that," Seph says, shaking her head, "It's just, well, I made plans already."

Jess sits up, pulls her knees to her chest. "Wait—really? With who?"

"Uhm…" Crap. How am I supposed tell Jess I'm going on a date with the guy who sent her crush to the hospital? Seph swallows, tries her best to look sheepish. "The rando."

Jess' purple eyeliner nearly disappears. "You're going on a date with the guy who beat up Frankie? Seriously?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds pretty messed up…"

"It is messed up! What the hell, Seph? Why would you do that? How could you?"

Seph sighs, puts her homework back in her messenger bag. She's not going to get any more work done right now. "I don't know. He asked me out to lunch yesterday to apologize about what happened during the fight—"

"Because apologizing automatically excuses what he did."

"I know how it sounds; I was skeptical too, at first. For what it's worth, he told me that he also wanted to apologize to you. Don't look at me like that, Jess, come on. We just started talking, okay? I know what you're thinking, but he's…he's really sweet, to be honest. He asked me to go dancing with him tomorrow."

Jess stares at her. "Unbelievable."

"It's just a date, Jess." Seph chews on the inside of her lip, observes the Capitol Building shining brilliantly in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Thoughts of her mother tug at her heart, attempt to distress her, but overall she feels good. "Besides, I kinda doubt anything serious is gonna come from it." Still, hope springs eternal…

"Oh? Why's that?"

"He's older than me."

"Well, yeah."

"No, Jess—like, a lot older. Like, 18 years older."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah." Seph can't stop the bubbling laughter that's built up. "Yeah," she giggles, "it really is a 'holy shit' revelation."

"But, Seph, like, are you sure it's a good idea to go on a date with this guy? First the thing with Frankie, and now you tell me he's old enough to be your dad…I don't feel good about this, girl."

Jess definitely has a point, and Seph's thought long and hard about the implications and power differential in dating a man so much older and established than her. He's a nice guy and all, but Seph's cynical side nevertheless makes her extremely wary that he might be fixing to take advantage of her in some way. At this point, she's heard enough horror stories that she'd be a total idiot not to be at least a little cautious of him. And Seph is no fool: she can and will take care of herself, should she have to. "I'll be fine, Jess, I promise."

"If you say so." Jess frowns. "Where are you guys going?"

"I think it's called Habana Village? Not sure if that's the place. It's a Cuban restaurant and dance club in Adams Morgan. He's going to pick me up from the student union at 9:00."

"You haven't told your mom." It's not a question.

"Pffft, hell no. I mean, I'm gonna tell her; I just haven't figured out how to break it to her yet. This is the same woman who refused to teach me how to drive until last year, y'know. Plus, we just had a huge fight a couple nights ago, so things are a little precarious. Could you cover for me if she goes cray?"

Jess sighs, lies back down on the wet grass. "Does a bear shit in the woods?"

"I love you, bae."

"I know. I love me, too."

Hayden stares at himself in the mirror and grimaces. "This is stupid. I should've never agreed to do this."

"What's wrong?" his sister asks. She's sitting at his desk, rubbing Cerberus behind his floppy ears. As soon as she got into his apartment, she asked if he could get a fire going in his fireplace.

"But it's not really that cold yet, Sis."

"I'd just feel better with it on. Be a dear, little brother, would you?"

"…All right."

It was an odd exchange, but she had put up with him calling her by the wrong name at least seven times without making a huge fuss, so he let it go. The time for snooping would come later, he figured; tonight, she'd do her best to make him feel at ease.

He pulls his tie off in frustration, throws it on the floor.

"Hayden?"

"What was I even thinking, inviting a girl like that to go out with me? I'm twice her age!" Arms crossed, legs stride him around the room at a worried pace.

"Hayden—," his sister begins, but it's too late; he's off to the races.

"She's got her whole life ahead of her, and here I swoop in like a dirty old man. I need to call her; I need to cancel this. I can't do it."

Small hands grip his shoulders: another anchor he can't ignore.

"Hayden. Look at me. Look at me right now. You need to relax. Whoever this girl is—"

"She's a barista," Hayden says, eyes blank and staring off into space. "She thinks that Beauty and the Beast is the best Disney movie, even though it's so obviously Fantasia. Her favorite flavor of ice cream is strawberry, but if she has a chance to order a milkshake, she'll get chocolate. She likes to garden in her spare time and her favorite flower is the Narcissus. She's a little girl in college and I asked her out. She's 21, Sis! Twenty-one! She wants to be an Imagineer—I'm not even sure what that is! Someone who designs rides for Disney? I don't even know! I'm going to ruin the life she's building for herself. What kind of terrible person am I?"

"HAYDEN!" She shakes him, gets control of his attention again. "You need to get a grip, or so help me, I will make you watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians and The Real Housewives of New Jersey with me."

Hayden's eyes spread into pale, blue saucers. "Please don't."

His sister grins: friendly, satisfied, and above all, mischievous. "Oh yeah, now I've got your attention. Here's the deal, little brother: was asking such a young woman out a good idea? Probably not, but I don't know. Are you two at very different points in your lives? Yes…yes you definitely are, and yes, that's awkward, but you also get along well, right?" Hayden nods, stiff and slow, a rusted wheel trying to turn.

"Okay then," his sister continues, "You are getting way, way, way too far ahead of yourself. You guys aren't even a couple yet and you're already predicting so much about what's going to happen with her down the road, when there may not even be a road to go down in the first place. Remember that she also had a choice, and from what you told me, it doesn't sound like you pressured her. Give her some credit: she may be young, but she's a grown woman, and she said yes to you." Hayden nods again, this time more vigorously. The wheel is no longer rusted.

"She said yes to me," Hayden repeats.

"That's right, Hayden, she did. This is just one date, and I don't want you to feel pressured by it at all. You just go there, have fun with this girl, and call it a night, okay?"

"…Okay."

"Good. Now, go put on a dark gray shirt. Pink is not your color at all. I'll pick out a tie for you."

Hayden lets out a shaky chuckle. "I swear, what would I ever do without you, Sis?"

"Be a walking fashion disaster, is what. Where'd you even get that pink shirt? Seriously, Hayden, we're going shopping before I leave and buying you some new clothes. Now, hurry up and change that shirt already; I want to meet this woman."

Me too, Sis, he thinks, smiling to himself. Me too.

Telling Mamma about her date went about as well as Seph had expected it to go—which is to say, not at all. Seph is quite certain that their shouting could be heard throughout the whole apartment building; perhaps even the whole neighborhood. In the end, though, it had to be done; she wasn't going to lie to her mother about the fact that she was going out with a man.

"You get back here right now, baby girl! You get back here right now or you never come back to this house again, you understand?"

Days ago, Mamma's words would've made Seph cry; would've made her come running back into her open arms and beg for forgiveness. But that's not what Seph would do today, no: today, Seph would fly—with or without the support of her mother. She'd show her that she could fly. Certainly, Mamma's words hurt and scared her, but Seph knows—hopes, at least—that she was just angry, and that she didn't mean it when she said that Seph could never come back. She couldn't have…could she? With a rough shake of her head, Seph pushes the thought away.

She's only been waiting for a few minutes, but all the same, she's severely regretting her decision to sit outside of the student union and wait for her date. The catcalls haven't been helping with her anxiety, and right now she just wants to hide. Jess let her borrow a dark blue, backless dress, and while she felt sexy when she first put it on, she now feels incredibly exposed, almost as if she's one step away from being naked. Another catcall, a hoot and a whistle from a frat guy that calls her "chocolate mami," and Seph hugs herself; shrinks in on herself. Come on, Hayden, get here already. More jeers. Seph screws her eyes shut. Please. The sound of a couple vehicles pulling up gives her the courage to open her eyes again.

"Whoo-whoo, look at those cars. Dayyyuuuuuuummmm, son."

Hayden steps out of his white Bentley convertible, casual and collected and effortlessly, astonishingly cool. As he walks towards her, his dimples visible and the corners of his eyes crinkled, the sounds of catcalls and obnoxious whistles disappear, and Seph's heart plunges into her stomach. His normally messy hair is combed back, away from his face, and it looks like he's trimmed his beard. And, miracle of miracles—his clothes! He's wearing a black suit with a charcoal gray shirt and black tie, and he's…gorgeous.

"Seph," he says in playful greeting, dimples still evident on his face. "You look lovely tonight." This close, Seph can smell him. Fresh, clean, and a bit like cinnamon, whatever cologne he's wearing is making her feel weak in the knees.

"Thank you, Hayden." She gulps, and hopes that it's inaudible. "You're looking very handsome tonight, too."

A woman walks up to them, garbed in a cream colored dress that contrasts well will her tawny, olive complexion. Brunette curls frame her heart-shaped, chubby face, and smile lines crease around her eyes and on the sides of her mouth.

"You must be Seph," she says, "I'm Holly, Hayden's sister. Pleased to meet you." Her voice is a comforting, warm flame in the cold nighttime air, but as they shake hands, the taunts and heckles return, and Seph feels her burgeoning confidence start to sink until…

"Would you dickheads shut up?" The dimples are gone now, leaving only barely-contained fury in their wake. He's dark, imposing, demanding…threatening, even, and finally—finally—there's silence.

Seph's tight clutch on her purse relaxes. "Thank you. Those guys were starting to get really annoying."

"I'm sorry you had to put up with any of that. I've should've gotten here sooner."

"Oops!" Holly interjects. "You know what, I just realized that I forgot something at my hotel. You two go on ahead, I'll meet you there." The sound of her voice covers Seph like a blanket.

"You sure, Sis?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she says, brushing off his concern. "I'm down at the Sheraton. I won't be long."

"Well, all right, then; see you in a bit. Seph?" He turns towards her, offers his elbow out to her. "Let's go, shall we?" She takes it, feels the cord of hard steel he calls an arm against her slender frame. She wonders what it'll be like to have his arms holding her as they dance.

She realizes that doesn't want to let him go.

In the car, Hayden's nerves are set on high alert. Something must be wrong, he reasons. She hasn't said a word during the whole drive. He clears his throat, taps his thumbs against the steering wheel.

"So, Seph…" Tap, tap, tap, tap. Come on, you idiot, think of something to say! "How was your day?" Brilliant. Just brilliant. He wants to crawl under a rock and never see the sun again.

"It was okay," she answers.

"Just okay?"

"Yeah." She's hiding: there's a wall between them now that didn't exist before, a wall that she's built over the course of the last few days. Everyone has their barriers and everyone needs them—Hayden certainly has plenty walls of his own—he only hopes that the walls she builds don't end up turning into a labyrinth. It's hard for anyone to find you then, even yourself. He decides to leave her alone for the rest of the drive.

When they arrive at Habana Village, Hayden's blood floods with apprehension. A heavy rock pins his chest, makes it difficult to breathe.

"Hayden?" Insistent fingers intertwine with his, and the nascent panic retreats. "Let's go in."

He's got some kind of anxiety disorder. She wasn't certain of it when she first saw him that day in the coffee shop, but now, with everything she's seen, she's convinced of it. Seph doesn't kid herself; she's only taken Psychology 101 and is in no position to diagnose him, but she would have had to been very hard-pressed to miss all the signs. That's probably why he has the service dog. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. It all makes sense. He shoots her a worried glance, and it's the first time she's seen his expression be this open and vulnerable.

"Hey, it's okay." Another tender clasp of the hand, and he squeezes back. "I'm right here."

As she leads him onto the low-lit ambience of the dance floor, the heavy pressure on his chest returns. He needs to leave…but he wants to stay. At last, she finds a large enough spot for them.

"Uh, Seph?" Thankfully, the music isn't outrageously loud in this place.

"Yeah?" Seph turns to face him, no longer the one hiding. Now it's his turn.

"I failed to mention this before, but…I can't dance."

She blinks once, in surprise or disbelief or both, but then a wide smile starts to spread across her face. "That's okay. I'll teach you. Right now the DJ is playing some bachata, which isn't too hard to learn. Keep your back straight and bend at the knees. Here." She places his hand on her exposed back, takes his other hand in hers, and Hayden struggles to swallow the cotton that's built up in his throat. He can feel her small breasts against his torso; he hopes that she can't feel the dampness of his palm on her back.

"Now," her breath puffs right into his ear, and it takes all his strength not to shudder. She positions herself so that her right thigh is in contact with the inside of his right thigh. "Bachata is danced in an eight-count beat. Just feel the rhythm, and I'll lead. Don't forget to move your hips."

In the background, the smooth intro of a new song slowly rolls off the speakers in waves, and Seph starts to sway from side to side.

"Hahaha, oh my God, do you understand what the singer is saying?" A suave tenor voice plays over the sound of a cleanly plucked guitar and a deliberate tempo.

"I don't speak Spanish, unfortunately." She's so close. Seph was never short to begin with, but her heels have made her a good deal taller. He could easily, with a small turn of his head, kiss her. Don't ruin this for her.

"He's saying something like, 'tell me if you've ever done something naughty. An adventure is more fun if it smells of danger.' Roughly. My Spanish is rusty. There! You're getting it." It's a kind thing to say, but he knows that Seph is doing all the work. For all the grace he has in the ring, he's a flatfooted ass when it comes to dancing. Thankfully, Seph is more than talented enough for the both of them, and whenever his clumsy feet ever threaten to crush hers, she elegantly steps out of the way, continuing their dance. As each new song bleeds into the next, she relinquishes her lead to him. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, she leans her head on his shoulder.

"Seph," he whispers, and in their proximity, she hears him. "Thank you."

"For what?" Hips sway in a cadence of sensuality, dripping from the clean picks of an acoustic guitar and the forlorn cries of a finely tuned piano. There's that beaming smile again, along with the deep brown eyes that he wants to drown in. Their bodies are pressed together, surging with physicality and dopamine drenching their senses, so that what's real and what's fantasy blend, until there is no longer a discernable line.

"For saying yes."

Unhurried—that's how it happens. A secret forms behind her eyes, a hope or a question, either option indistinguishable from the other. She leans in, against her better judgment, but nonetheless powerless against Fate. Soft lips press on his: a stolen kiss in the private darkness of the dance club. Eyelids flutter shut and pulses skyrocket. Fingers on her back try to bring her closer than she already is. Melding together and gasping for breath, all sensibility is lost.

Once a softly glowing ember, the desire in his belly has grown into a blistering fervor. Seph may have started the kiss, but Hayden is the one who claims it; claims her with his ravenous touch, eager to taste her. And she wants this too; aches for the unyielding body that's flush against her. Her hands pull roughly on his hair, instinctively wanting to feel him. The coolness of a brick wall suddenly scrapes against her back, and in this, their dark corner, no one else exists.

He hikes up both of her legs so that they can easily wrap around his hips and hug him close to her body and it's still not enough. She's radiating ardor and sensuality and holy fuck—he needs to have her, needs to push up into her and lose himself to the pleasure of her slick heat, right here, right now. He's broken the kiss, and frenzied pecks down the side of her neck shoot spikes of excitement down her spine. A throb has started in that hot place that rests between her legs; a wanton craving that only the body beneath her can satiate. Tightly pressed alongside the wall, she grinds on him for relief, and her breath hitches when she can feel his erection pushing against her. He curses, one hand digging his strong fingers into her hip to keep from dropping her, and the other hand roughly, desperately, working to pull her lingerie off. A change in the music distracts Seph enough to regain her presence of mind.

"Hayd—oh!" The rough callouses, the practiced hands…he's a musician, eliciting the sweetest notes from her. It's good, too fucking good, and she doesn't want to stop; she wants to come apart right here.

She can't.

"Hayden, s-s-stop," she sighs. She shuts her eyes, says it more forcefully this time, "Stop."

He freezes, looks at her like he's done something terribly wrong, and gently guides her legs down to the floor so that she can stand. He rests his forehead on her shoulder, places both of his hands back on her narrow waist.

"That was incredibly inappropriate." His cool breath wisps against her overheated skin and sends a stampede of shivers roaring through her body, reawakens the persistent ache between her legs. "But you've cut me deep, Seph." I need you. He kisses her neck again, and she can feel the smile on his lips. "Let's go back to my place? Finish where we left off…" His right thigh is touching the inside of hers again. He'll step back and return to the dance, if she wants. He fears that he may have pushed her too far.

She can see the other couples dancing on the floor; each of them lost in their own worlds as the strings of an acoustic guitar tie their hearts together. The warmth of his hand envelopes hers.

"Seph?" he asks, his question this time less a lust-soaked proposition and more a concerned inquiry. "Do you need me to step away?"

"No." The hands on his back keep him right where he is. She needs his warmth around her, his strong arms holding her, but she's afraid. What if he's using her? He could fuck her and then throw her away like a used tissue and not feel a thing, and she would be destroyed, because—goddammit—she's caught feelings for the guy. Against all of her common sense and everything that her mother has ever taught her, she's started to care for a man she's only known for a few days.

"I'm afraid."

"Of me?" Rough callouses caress her face, but the touch is gentle.

What's the harm if she has sex with him? If she shares a night with him, a single night, and she never sees him again?

"You're crying."

In the pursuit of her goals, she's become so used to being guarded, so used to staying above petty relationship drama, so that now that she's started to develop feelings for someone—real, genuine feelings that have pulled out the rug from underneath her innocuous crush and slapped her hard in the face with it—she's overwhelmed.

She feels him start to pull away, and it's all she can do to grope at his back and keep him near her. "Don't—don't go. Kiss me again, please."

A myriad of emotions wash over his face, and hardened thumbs wipe away the tears that have dared to fall from her eyes. When his lips meet hers for the second time, it's a tender gift of comfort that says, 'I'm here. I'm right here.'

When he places her on his bed, slipping her dress off in unhurried and measured movements, he kisses her the same way. Searing caresses move down from her neck to her collarbone, and soon she feels his breath ghosting over breasts, causing her nipples to draw tight. Here in his bed, his scent surrounds her, engulfs her. There's so much she wants to say, but his lips, his hands, his tongue—he's taken over, faded into her, and she can't think straight.

He pays attention to her breathing. Beads of sweat have cropped up on her forehead, and her skin tastes salty. Real. Because this is real: she's really here, trembling under his touch, and no hallucination will ruin that. He laps at her nipples, massages the tense nubs with his tongue, and the cool gusts of his breath after he's done with them leave her feeling molten. More hot kisses down her abdomen, drawing quick spasms and shy moans. Fingers pull on her panties, and down they go, fully exposing her to the chilly air of his bedroom, and suddenly Fear's gnarled hands twist around her heart. She wants him, she wants him, but…

"Hayden," she exhales.

"Do you need me to stop?"

She shakes her head. "No, it's just…I've never done this before."

"I'm right here."

"I know, just be…"

He plants a hot kiss on her belly. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Do you trust me?" Does she? Yes, she realizes.

Seph nods, gives him leave to continue, and he does. He rests his hands on her well-muscled thighs, rough palms rubbing like sand against her sensitive skin. Face right where her nerves are ablaze, he passes his tongue over her in broad strokes, up and down the lips and even on the insides of her thighs.

He can feel her wetness on his beard; smell the heavy, intoxicating scent of her sex. She is a goddess. His queen. Tonight, he will be a god for her. He will be her king.

He begins to focus on her clit, that smallest and most sensitive of spots, lightly sucking on it and applying the faintest pressure of his teeth. He hears her curse, a total loss of control somewhere between a roar and a moan. Her hips have started an almost imperceptible grinding motion against his face, and wild fingers tangle in his hair. He slides one finger into her, feels the involuntary clamp of her walls around him, and then slides in one more. Soon, what started as a slow grind has transformed into a desperate rocking of her hips.

"Oh, oh fuck, Hayden, what—"

Her orgasm burns through her, a wildfire that leaves nothing behind but scorched plains. She feels raw, winded, and out of control. He keeps sucking on her, keeps fucking her with his fingers as she rides the last waves down from her peak. When she at last returns from the obliteration of her senses, she finds him lying next to her, holding her.

She places a hand on his still-clothed chest. "Hayden, that was…"

He kisses her temple. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

She looks down, notices the neglected tent in his slacks. "Hayden…"

"Oh, that? Don't worry; it'll go away eventually."

"No, c'mere." She grabs his tie, pulls him towards her. Eschewing tenderness for passion, she kisses him, hard. The groan she gets in response starts another low-burning fire within her.

In a matter of seconds, his shirt is off, clawed away and forgotten on the floor. Running her hands up and down the hard muscles of his abdomen, she marvels at his sculpted torso, and occasionally grazes the trail of thick, dark hairs that reach for his belly button. His kiss becomes more insistent when she reaches the zipper of his pants, and soon he's just as naked as she is, with his erection pressed against her thigh.

He rolls onto his back, taking her with him so that her backside rests on the tops of his thighs. He reaches for his nightstand, pulls out a package of condoms, and she can't stop staring at his dick.

Obviously, she's seen a dick before—in movies, and even in person a couple of times, when the occasional streaker has decided to run around campus. She's even seen a hard dick before: Jess once dared her to watch a really strange porn movie when they were back in high school. A few of them, actually. But this is different; this is a guy who she's kissed, who's—damn—gone down on her, and whose lap she's currently sitting in, watching him as he rolls a condom down his length, and she suddenly feels a little apprehensive.

"Uh. Am I—er, what am I…" What am I doing on top? Seph wants to ask him. He can't honestly expect a good lay from her if she's on top, right? She's never done any of this before.

"I want you to enjoy yourself," he answers, bringing her close and kissing the top of her chest. That's not quite the truth. Really, he wants to see her enjoying herself; wants to see her break into ecstasy all over again as she fucks herself on him. The thought makes him shiver. He holds her hips, guides her towards him.

"When…" his words come out strained, "when you're ready."

She sits on him, tantalizingly, agonizingly slow. He clenches his jaw, feels his belly grow taut. When she moves up, experimental and relaxed, he hears a sharp intake of breath. She moves down again, and he realizes that he's on the verge of panting. He's starting to get lost in her, starting to lose any and all sense that he has of himself. There is no one else in the world he would rather disappear into than her.

It hurts less than she thought it would. A lot less, although there's still an uncomfortable pressure underneath the bizarre new sensation—the fullness—that his being inside her has given her. He sits up, kissing her breasts again, and she feels the light touch of his thumb on her clit once more. The fire in her is rising, and he's fiercely fanning its flames.

Not now, don't do it now. Hayden shuts his eyes, does his best to control his breathing. He needs this to last, but the sight of her face, mouth open in bliss, her beautiful breasts bouncing as she rides him, is driving him to the edge fast. He buries his face into the crook of her neck, inhales. She says his name, and he begins thrusting into her, his pace ferociously measured, as hers is frantic. She's going to climax again—he can sense it in her body, hear it in her heavy breathing—so he needs to stay here, bring her through it. Then, and only then, can he explode into nothingness while in her arms. Hold on. Just a little longer.

Soon enough, he feels her come, her inner walls clamping tight around him; and he finally allows himself the pleasure of release in three long, body-quaking spasms. He thinks he hears her shout his name, but that can't be right; he's no one now. She's unmade him. When he relaxes in her arms, it's her hands that put him back together.

Later, relaxed on the bed and enjoying the feel of each other's embrace, Seph runs her fingers through the curling hairs on his chest. "You know, I just realized something funny," she muses.

"Hmmm?" What is this feeling? Is he…is he actually content?

"I think your sister stood us up."

Hayden considers her words for a moment, and then he starts to laugh. It's laughter and joy like he's never felt before, and he has to kiss her again.

"Come here, you," he growls, playfully pinning her underneath him. Her happy giggles send his heart soaring. "I still have a couple rounds left in me."

She arches an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. "Really?"

The dimples show up again, along with the crinkles around his eyes. Another kiss, and he says, "Let me show you."

That night, tucked into her warm embrace, the only dreams he has are of pomegranate trees in blooming fields of asphodel.