Chapter 1: Tangled
Sasha pov
I lie on my bed in my dorm room, staring at the ceiling. Devon is here again. He showed up at my door thirty minutes ago with that familiar hunger in his blue eyes.
"I missed you," he said, his voice thick with want as he stepped closer.
I let him in because I'm tired of fighting this pull between us. My body feels tense, wound tight like a spring. I need something release, connection, something to quiet the restlessness that's been eating at me for weeks.
Devon's lips find my neck as his mouth moves against my pulse point while his hands slide up my ribs to find the hem of my shirt.
"You smell incredible," he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot.
I lift my arms without thinking, letting him pull the fabric over my head. Cool air hits my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. His eyes darken as they roam over my black lace bra.
"God, you're perfect," Devon whispers, his voice rougher than usual, desperate in a way that should make me feel desired. Instead, it just makes me feel hollow.
His fingers work the clasp of my bra with practiced ease. The lace falls away, and he makes a low sound of appreciation.
"I've thought about this all week," he says, his hands reverent as they explore my bare skin.
He guides me back onto the mattress,I lie back as Devon climbs on top of me. His chest pressing into mine, His lips brush along my neck. My back arches automatically, nails digging into the sheets as his hands grip my hips and sides, pressing and tugging.
“Fuck… so good,” he groans shaking.
A sharp twist hits my stomach. His hand lingers on my waist a second too long as I bite my lip.
“Tell me what you want,” he pants, teeth biting my shoulder.
“Just… touch me,” I gasp.
He pauses at the nightstand. The condom wrapper crinkles. He growls low and slides inside me. Slow at first, testing, then steady. My breath hitches, lips part, back arches, fingers clawing at his arms. The bed creaks under him.
“Sasha,” he pants as his thrusts get faster and harder. Skin slaps against skin. His hands grip my waist, pulling me against him, chest pressing mine down. Heat and sweat slick every inch of us.
I shiver with every slam, nails raking the sheets. His groans fill the room. And I can’t stop thinking: what if he does this with someone else too?
My release hits hard as I cry out, back trembling, nails digging into the sheets. He groans deep, his thrusts faltering and shudders, chest pressing into mine.
I feel him stiffen as a grunt roll through his chest, low and rough. Then he collapses on top of me, arms tight around my waist, chest rising and falling fast. I lie still, my skin prickling.
He rolls off slowly, peels off the condom, tosses it in the trash. The bed creaks as he goes to the bathroom.
When he comes back he lays beside me on the bed. "That was incredible, baby," he says, pressing lazy kisses to my shoulder. "You're amazing."
I don't respond. I can't lie and say it was incredible when all I feel is this gnawing sense that something fundamental is missing.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand as Devon reaches for it, and I watch his expression shift as he reads the screen.
"Shit, I have to go," he mutters, already sitting up.
I pull my robe from my nearby chair as I wrap it around my body. "What?"
"Emergency team meeting," he says, reaching for his scattered clothes. "Coach is having some kind of meltdown."
"At midnight?" The disbelief in my voice cuts through the post-intimacy haze.
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes as he buttons his shirt. "You know how the season is. Crazy schedules."
But his tone is off. "Right," I say flatly. "Of course."
He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, already halfway to the door. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? We'll have dinner or something."
"Sure," I lie, because we both know he probably won't.
The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds final. I sit on the edge of my bed, surrounded by rumpled sheets and the lingering scent of his cologne. The room feels emptier, like his absence has sucked all the air out with him.
I shower, letting hot water wash away the stickiness and the hollow feeling that clings to my skin. But even under the scalding spray, I can't shake the restlessness. It's worse now, actually. Like whatever I was looking for, Devon wasn't it.
Back in bed, I check my phone out of habit. No message from Devon. Not that I expected one. He always leaves like this, promises to call, sometimes follows through, sometimes doesn't. The pattern is so familiar it should be comforting in its predictability.
Instead, it just makes me feel more alone.
Sleep comes fitfully. My dreams are strange and vivid of someone with dark eyes that seem to see straight through me. There's a scent too, something that makes my skin tingle. I wake with my heart pounding and sheets damp with sweat, though the details slip away from my memory as I wake up.
Morning arrives gray and cold outside my window. I pull myself together with practiced efficiency, a concealer to hide the shadows under my eyes, hair styled to perfection, clothes chosen to project the image of someone who has it all together.
The girl in the mirror looks flawless. No one needs to see the cracks underneath.
*******
I meet Mercy at our usual cafe, sliding into the worn leather booth across from her. She's sketching again, her pencil moving in quick, sure strokes across the paper. Her wild curls are barely contained by a messy bun, and there's charcoal smudged on her fingers.
"You look tired," she says without looking up from her drawing.
"Devon came over last night," I admit, wrapping my hands around my coffee cup for warmth.
Her pencil stills. She finally looks up, with those brown eyes sharp with concern. "Again? I thought you were done with that whole situation."
I shrug, suddenly fascinated by the foam pattern in my latte. "It just happened."
"Was it good?" she asks gently, but I can hear the real question underneath: Are you okay?
I take a sip of coffee, bitter despite the sugar, and wonder how to explain that something can be technically perfect while still feeling completely wrong. "Same as always," I finally say, which tells her everything she needs to know.
