Chapter Text
Osha wakes naturally, not yanked harshly out of sleep by her alarm or the shrilling wail of a passing ambulance.
In fact… she feels startlingly good. Not heartsick and sad, like she has the past few weeks. She's physically sore but emotionally sated.
She's happy, she realises. Overwhelmingly so, the sensation fizzing in her chest like champagne bubbles.
She smiles, the grin stretching her lips without her conscious input, then decides to stretch her limbs out. The only thing better than a great-up wake-up is a thorough stretch in bed, like she's channelling her inner cat. A particularly well-rested cat, at that.
She arches her back, preparing for a killer yawn-stretch combo, but there's… arms wrapped around her waist.
Wait, what?
Osha shoves the sheets down and looks at the golden, muscular forearms crossed over her front. Then, she notices the steady breathing coming from behind her, soft and slightly whistley.
There's something familiar about those arms…
Oh.
The events of last night flood back into her consciousness, playing a highlight of Qimir between her thighs, how he'd eaten her out and fingered her, then the way he'd looked between her thighs, the phantom sensation of him pounding into her, the delicious visual of his long, thick cock sheathed deep in her pussy.
Her core gives a violent spasm, aching and stretched and used in a way she hasn't experienced in a while. It should be painful, and it is, but it also feels so fucking good. He'd given her everything she asked for and more.
And now he's behind her, cuddling her like she's his favourite childhood teddy bear, his nose buried in her scalp, inhaling and exhaling hot breaths against her locs. His bulk traps her in his somnolent embrace, his half-hard cock nestled in her lower back.
The same Qimir who'd given her four mind-blowing orgasms last night, two on his cock alone.
Her nipples tighten abruptly, her core throbbing with more than just lingering soreness, but she tells her body to cease the dramatics.
She's too curious about the room they're in right now, which isn't the same room they'd gone to sleep in.
Well, correction: that she'd almost passed out in, because Qimir had fucked her to near unconsciousness yesterday. Then, he'd carried her in his arms like a princess, presumably to his bedroom.
And, damn.
She'd expected elegance and luxury from him, based on the decor downstairs, but this is next level.
Osha takes in what she can see of his bedroom from her prone position. He has an entire sofa up here, with its own television. Why had he insisted on watching TV with her downstairs then? The floor is shiny dark tile, same as downstairs, but covered in massive rugs with intricate designs, mostly black but with some red mixed in.
The nightstand—there must be a matching one on the other side—is jet black with copper handles, and atop it rests an honest-to-god alarm clock, showing the time in blocky numbers—0958—and a black glass lamp shaped like a raven with its wings poised to take off.
He also has eclectic art on the walls, framing the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that show the entire downtown NC and a glimpse of the gleaming Great Western River.
A greyscale print of a woman's back nude, with textured hair a cloud over her shoulders, the long line of her spine exposed, smooth and unblemished. A wide, framed canvas of a painted bloody eclipse, mostly dark slashes and shades of blue, black and bruise-purple, with the barest suggestion of a forest beneath. A photograph of aurora borealis over a backdrop of snow-capped mountains, burning red and lurid in the sky.
That's a theme here. Red and black. Very dramatic of him, but perfectly in line with what she knows of his personality.
And then there are the film posters on the walls—some classic, some cheesy 80s films, like the Ewok movie. The edge of a sleek desk, positioned perpendicular to the windows, presumably topped with meticulously organised folders and expensive stationery.
The urge to explore makes her fingers itch. She painstakingly rolls her neck to the side—without disturbing the handsome limpet clinging to her—to gaze upwards, mind blown when she realises that even the ceiling is decorated. There's intricate crown moulding, decorative cornices, and a massive black and glass chandelier hanging over her head. The pinnacle of wealth and extravagance.
Qimir's arms flex around her waist, the only warning she gets before he's taking up her vision, raising himself above her in a swift and powerful movement.
Osha's heart thumps, as she beholds him in all his ruffled, half-asleep glory. His hair is piled on top of his head and rests in artless waves around his face. There's an insanely endearing cowlick frothing from his crown, one that Osha wants to smooth down with her fingers. There are pillow creases on his cheek, and the imprint of teeth on his Adam's apple. That's where she'd bitten him.
"Morning, Osha," he husks. Then, he leans down to run his nose along her jaw, kissing under her ear. "Last night was spectacular."
A warm glow suffuses her breast, blooming from her sternum. "It was," she agrees.
He hums in delight and kisses down her neck, his stubble feeling wonderfully prickly on her skin. He lays an openmouthed kiss over her pulse, his tongue flickering out, and Osha's heart stutters, the wet heat of his appendage shooting straight to her cunt.
Suddenly, it's aching for a different reason. Any pain she'd felt is subsumed by pure lust, unfiltered and intoxicating.
"Fuck me," she whimpers, throwing her head to show him the stretch of her marked neck. A prey animal offering to the predator. "Please, Qimir."
He draws back, his spit cooling on her skin, regret apparent on his face. "I should feed you, Osha. You didn't even eat dinner last night."
She doesn't want him to leave the bed, to lose this fantasy. If she leaves this bedroom, she knows their time together will be over. She'll have to go back to her sad, tiny apartment, airless and oppressive, and somehow eke out a living while knowing what it's been like to be fucked six ways to Benduday by the one and only Qimir Ren.
"No," Osha insists stubbornly. She winds her arms around his neck, spreading her legs wider and undulating her body, showing him what they could be doing instead. "I don't want to."
He bites his lip, looking torn. That cute little furrow between his brows, his bangs swinging forward to shield his face. She creeps her hands up so she can tuck it behind his ears, like she'd wanted.
"Osha…"
"You said," her tone is bratty, "you'd give me anything I wanted. That I could use you."
His pupils, already enlarged, dilate until they almost swallow the dark chocolate brown of his iris. A rumble builds in his chest, and his jaw flexes.
"I did say that," he whispers silkily. "Alright, Osha. Whatever you want."
Osha squeals when he seizes her hips and flips her over, until she's on her right side, facing towards the doorway. He insinuates himself behind her sinuously, opening her thighs and hooking it over his, ensuring she's spread open to his satisfaction.
His other arm slides under her neck and grips her jaw, canting her head back so they can exchange wet, messy kisses, heedless of any complaints she might have about morning breath.
Osha doesn't even need any foreplay, already incredibly drenched just from his teasing brushes against her neck.
He shifts into place behind her, his hard chest plastering against her back, his hair brushing her shoulder as he guides his cock to her slick centre.
His hand leaves her thigh and she braces her foot against his leg, reaching back to grasp his hair with left hand, needing to hold onto him in some way, drowning in anticipation.
He grips his cock, his knuckles brushing her ass, and his tip nudges her folds, spreading her wetness. His stiff length bumps her clit and Osha groans greedily, the sound swallowed up by Qimir.
The head notches at her entrance, a blunt object breaching her. Fuck, she'd forgotten how big he is. She whines as Qimir fucks his tongue in and out of her mouth, her neck strained as she tries to match his hunger.
He rubs over her slit again, as if reminding her of his girth. Then, he pushes his hips forward, parting her folds, and she hiccoughs a sob as he slides in.
Her cunt parts for him, eager if unprepared for how he fills her fit to bursting. Once he's seated inside, she pulses around him, her cunt clenching and unclenching rhythmically.
"Shit, baby," Qimir grunts, back to gripping her thigh, probably for leverage. His hand is still resting on her jaw but it drifts down to encircle her neck lightly. Not pressing, just holding.
Osha's pussy spasms violently, at just that gentle pressure.
"Oh?" His tone is one of dark satisfaction. He gives her neck a little squeeze, and laughs huskily when she squeezes him in turn, with her cunt. "You like this, baby?"
"Yeah," she mewls, rutting her hips back. "Now please, fuck me."
"Mm, as you wish."
He buries his face in her neck and licks a stripe up to her ear, nibbling on her earlobe. He sets a slow, deep pace, probably wary of treating her too roughly, after how he'd pounded her last night.
He rocks into her gently, carving space inside her for himself. This time, the pleasure is slow but inexorable, building like a crescendo, a violin concerto.
"Tell me, Osha," he squeezes her throat, a little signal for her to pay attention and not lose herself completely to a fucked out haze. "Did you buy those little shorts from yesterday just for me? To show off this ass?"
He thrusts firmly but deeply, his hips slapping against her ass, to underscore his question.
"I—no," she stutters. "But I did get dressed up for you. I thought—" her words pitch high in a moan, as his hand leaves her thigh and covers her mound, playing with her clit. "I thought you'd like it."
"Shit, Osha. That's so fucking hot. You got prettied up just for me."
He shoves deeper, until she can feel him in her fucking throat, probably bulging her stomach, and grinds into her dirtily.
Osha can only clutch his hair tighter and sob, mouth in a round 'O', eyes almost rolling back from the incandescent pleasure.
"Y—Yeah. Just for you."
She yanks harshly, certain that she's going to leave Qimir with a bald patch, and as if in response, Qimir's hips speed up.
The sounds of their bodies meeting are incredibly filthy, wet squelching sounds filling the empty penthouse as he plunders her body, reaching deep, the force behind his movements intensifying.
"Mm, fuck. I'm going to fuck you so good. Been waiting so long to have you in my bed.” His harsh whisper stirs the hair at the nape of her neck, interspersed with grunts. “You’re amazing, even better than I imagined. So good, baby. Now that I have you, I’m never going to let you go. You're mine."
He speeds up his thrusts, until her vision goes spotty, the hand on her neck squeezing, his fingers on her clit rolling and rubbing, stars careening across her eyes.
Qimir's claim of possession shoots straight to her cunt and it flutters, her walls closing around his hard length, shooting straight pleasure up her spine.
"All yours," she agrees, nodding, her cheeks flushing hot as blood rushes to her face.
His hand on her jaw turns her head abruptly, until she's almost nose to nose with Qimir. He's panting from exertion, his face shimmering with perspiration, and he's so, so beautiful.
"Say it," he demands roughly, his hips pushing in and stilling, his length pulsing inside her, his fingers tapping at her clit. "The full sentence."
Osha can't maintain eye contact with him, it's too intimate. So, she focuses on the mole on his cheek, as she mumbles,
"'M all yours, Qimir."
"Yeah, fuck. I'm yours too, baby."
He pulls her forward in a messy kiss, devouring her, and resumes thrusting. He practically hammers into her, so fast that she's jolted forward on the bed, but she digs her other foot into the mattress and uses it as leverage to fuck back on him.
That only works for a few moments until she collapses on her side, letting him use her as he will. She's more focused on the ballooning pressure inside her, the sparking pleasure.
"Come for me again, sweetness," he purrs, rubbing his upper lip stubble over her shoulder, kissing the teeth marks he'd left last night. "Come on my cock, you can do it. You're so—Fuck, yeah. There it is."
She clenches up, uttering a needy whine. Her walls grip his length on the outstroke, she's wound so tightly.
"There it is, making such pretty noises for me, so fucking tight and wet. Come on, baby, give it to me."
Her walls give a stuttered pulse, and she's so close, brushing up against a shimmering galaxy, a supernova of energy, about to explode.
Qimir rolls her clit one more time between his fingers, and she's gone.
Osha screams her throat raw, her vision whiting out as her cunt ripples and clenches, spasming, her limbs tensing and twitching on the bed. Hair breaks off in her hands, strands sticking to her sweaty palms, and her thighs are a slick, sweaty mess.
"Fuck, Osha." He buries his babble in her neck. "Fuuuck. Fuck, fuck. There we fucking go."
"Thank you, Qimir," she gibbers, drool escaping one corner of her mouth. "Thank you, fuck me, fuck me, god—"
"What the fuck is going on here?"
The angry exclamation breaks Osha out of her post-orgasm haze prematurely. There shouldn’t be anyone else here, so who the fuck—
Her eyes catch on two figures silhouetted in the doorway to Qimir's bedroom, the only entry and exit to his loft.
She has to squint to make out their identities, as they're in shadow, light pouring in behind them. Who—
"Yord," Qimir greets a figure casually, not even pausing his rhythm, still fucking in and out of her. "Good morning."
Oh, fuck. That's her ex, and Mog at his side. She recognises the lanky, tall guy accompanying her ex, their other roommate.
And she's on display from him, all of her body currently being plundered by Qimir. She's so shocked, she doesn't even have the wherewithal to cover her nakedness.
Luckily, Qimir is more put together, as he leans forward to seize the discarded sheet and pulls up her chest, until Osha can grasp one silky black edge and keep it secured. It covers her tits and pussy, but does jack shit to obscure her identity.
"What the fuck?" Yord sputters. "Osha, you— The messages. The photos. Qimir!"
Her bedmate's name is gritted out with rage, as angry as she's ever seen Yord.
"Oh, those photos?" He buries his length in her cunt fully, until his pelvis is flat against her ass, and grinds in, slow and dirty. "You liked them? I think Osha looked stunning, what do you think?"
"You—!"
Yord takes a few, quavering steps forward before he's stopped by Mog's hand at his chest. His roommate and co-worker whispers furiously in his ear, while Yord stares at them, stricken, his mouth twisted in a rictus of fury.
Mog claps him on the shoulders, makes to move away, but Yord hisses something at Mog and tries to duck around him. Mog moves with him, preventing him from entering the room.
"You need to stop! Stop it now!”
Osha almost laughs at his futile demand.
Yord's actually trying to command them, as if by him telling them to stop, they'll magically spring apart and prostrate on the floor, asking him for his forgiveness.
Well, fuck him. Osha isn't doing anything wrong. He's the one who broke up with her. She's a free agent, at liberty to fuck who she wants.
"What?" Qimir drawls behind her. He laves his tongue on her neck, dragging it down. Osha quivers and mewls plaintively, clutching his head closer by the hair. "This?"
He draws his hips back, until most of his length is out of her—not that Yord and co. can see—then plunges back in.
Osha throws her head back and moans, full-throated.
"Why should I stop? Osha's enjoying it so much."
"Don't you dare," Osha croaks, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to see Yord's asshole face. "Don't you dare stop."
Qimir tsks. "Gotta listen to the lady. Sorry."
He doesn't sound apologetic at all. In fact, he sounds over the moon to shove their coupling in Yord's face, to show him how a woman should be fucked.
Qimir gives one last flick to her clit then ostentatiously hitches her leg up, proceeding to pound the shit out her pussy.
That's what it seems like, as he roughly squelches into her, the sound of their coupling obscene.
Like good macaroni, Osha thinks deliriously, digging her nails into Qimir's scalp.
There's a commotion in the room, yelling and angry invectives clashing with a posh Empire-accented voice trying to talk Yord down. A third voice joins the fray, screeching then pleading, saying something about letting it go, it's for the best.
Still, Qimir doesn't stop, shameless, fully devoting himself to pleasuring her.
There's a loud thump and noises of a scuffle, then Qimir's bedroom door shuts with a slam.
"Finally," Qimir breathes. "He's fucking gone."
You can say that again.
Osha's body unclenches, the anxiety she hadn't even known she was harbouring leaving her frame, leaving only warm satisfaction. Her main objective has been achieved, to get her lick back on Yord.
Qimir muscles bunch, the only tell of his intentions before he flips her onto her back again. A signature move of his, she's come to learn.
Osha would complain about the change, but he pushes her knees back until they're almost at her ears, then drives into her in a smooth movement.
"Oh fuck!"
She clutches Qimir close, practically bent in half, Qimir hunched over her and covering her body, meeting her mouth for hungry kisses, her nails sinking into his shoulders.
This is how to make love to a woman, she thinks hazily. What a fucking lesson for Yord to receive. He’d just been schooled very thoroughly.
She giggles on a high and Qimir groans as she constricts around him. He slows his thrusts until he's digging deep, the pressure of his pelvis stimulating her clit, driving her out of this world.
"Did you—" she gasps through another round of inappropriate laughter. "That was so—"
"Is this what you wanted, Osha? To get caught?"
Qimir's smirk spreads widely across his mouth, his eyes twinkling down at her mischievously. He looks so dashing like this, his hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks, golden and dewy with exertion.
"I think—Fuck!" Osha tosses her head back. "I think this is what you wanted."
She thinks about the text he must have sent, an provocation for Yord to rush home from the conference to see what the fuck was up. He would have arrived in his bedroom first and found the messy bed. He would have known Qimir was at home, due to his keys being hung up on the shared key rack near the entrance.
Then, seeing the closed blinds from the lower level, and coming up to ask Qimir who the hell had been in his bedroom and messed up his sheets, he would have come face to face with the culprits, caught red-handed in 4K.
"Oh yeah?"
He speeds up again, rearing back and holding her legs open with both hands, the fleshy sounds of their thighs meeting. The impact rockets through her, sending her tits bouncing, her body moving up the bed.
"Fucking beautiful," Qimir groans. "These tits."
He’s trying to avoid the question by distracting her, but it’s working. Her thoughts flee when he palms her breasts with one hand, squeezing, pinching her nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
Osha moans, throws her head back at the dual sensations rocket through her body. The sloppy sounds of their fucking grow wetter, and Qimir frees his bands and leans in close, cupping her face between his palms, tilting her head up until she’s staring deep into his eyes.
Abruptly, it’s too much.
This level of intimacy, of attention and dedication to her pleasure...
It's too much.
"Qimir," she whines, high pitched and needy, feeling the tightness coiling in the nexus of her thighs, her core contracting. "Qimir I'm— again—"
"Fuck yes," he growls, eyes glittering. "Come for me, baby."
She does, her eyes rolling back in head, exhilaration thrilling through her as her cunt ripples and tightens around him.
How is it that each orgasm feels utterly euphoric with him? Radiating from the roots of her locs to the tips of her toes, a full body climax, filling her with warmth.
She's still gasping for breath when he kisses her, sloppy and urgent, his thrusts speeding up until he's hammering into her. Osha's nails sink deeper into his shoulders, until she's almost drawing blood, because it's so much, too much—
"Fuck," he grunts, burying his face in the space where her neck meets her shoulder, his cock twitching with release. There's so much cum that she feels it seep out and trickle down to her ass.
Osha runs her hand through Qimir's sweat-damp hair, matching her breathing to his. There's something so precious about this moment, right after release, when the world is quiet. Their minds clear, the demands of their bodies appeased.
Qimir lazily tongues her neck, then sucks a hickey, taking the flesh between his teeth and biting down.
Osha smiles at his oral fixation, his obsession with marking her up.
He spends a bit more time nuzzling her neck, careful to support her weight and not crush her—even though she would welcome that—before he rolls to the side.
The loss of his cock is just as devastating as the first time, and Osha doesn't close her legs fast enough. The mix of fluids soaks the bed underneath her, and she grimaces.
Qimir sees her expression and leaps out of bed.
"Let me clean you up."
He strides away, bare ass flexing, to duck into the ensuite bathroom. Osha takes this opportunity to shuffle out of the wet spot, because the bed is ludicrously large.
Qimir emerges a few moments later with a damp washcloth in one hand and a glass of water. He cleans the mess between her thighs, folding the washcloth to rest on the nightstand, then helps Osha up, urging her to drink the full glass of water.
Osha gulps the cold liquid down, a few droplets falling onto her chest and streaking down her breasts. She wipes them with a clumsy hand, then rests back in bed.
Qimir climbs into bed and cuddles up right behind her, even if it means putting himself at the mercy of the wet spot. Osha enjoys being held after sex, and appreciates that Qimir isn't the type to roll away and fall asleep right away.
He'd bothered to clean her up and given her water. That sounds like bare minimum, and it is, but Osha's not accustomed to that level of care.
It's nice. She could get used to it.
How long would that kind of behaviour last, though? Does he do this for all of his bedpartners?
Osha bets he does. He's thoughtful like that.
While she's never seen him bring anyone home while she was there, she'd heard the stories from Mog and Yord. They love to talk about their college days (or university, in Mog's case), and Qimir had been a capital P-player in his frat house days. He has a lot of experience.
She wonders if he'd been mentally comparing her to his other lovers, the way she'd been with him and Yord. He'd seemed pretty into it during the moment, so she doesn't think so.
But now that the thought of Qimir and other women has entered her mind, she burns with jealousy. Something acidic rises in her gullet, but she swallows it down.
Osha tries to relax, but doubt creeps into her mind, poisoning her thoughts. She can't stop herself from imagining Qimir's hands all over another woman, someone tiny and blond. Someone completely the opposite of her.
It's just her trauma from Yord, from being cheated on in such a heinous fashion. But just because she acknowledges the source, doesn't make it any easier to deal with the damage he'd dealt to her confidence.
Qimir likely has a line of women waiting for a spot in his bed. She's just another notch in her bedpost. A favour done for a friend.
He might want her, but he won't keep her.
While they had an incredible night and morning, he's probably had his fill of her. What else is there to do now?
She's also accomplished her goal of getting revenge, and she's ended up having the best sex of her life, to boot. Twice.
Osha should go. While Qimir had said something about feeding her, that had been before Yord discovered them. He won't want her to stick around, to deal with the awkwardness of booting her out.
She needs to seize her chance now, while it's quiet down below. She thinks Yord, Mog and whoever that mysterious third person had been—Tasi, maybe?- had left the apartment. They could be back any moment, though, and the last thing she wants to deal with is in irate Yord.
She sighs, closing her eyes to savour the feeling of being held, for what will likely be the last time in a long while.
And then she carefully extricates herself from Qimir's embrace, rolling to the edge of the bed. Her thighs are already burning from the exertion of the last twenty hours.
She's just about to prepare herself to sit upright and stand, wincing at the prospect of limping away—while it had felt great at the time, getting fucked hard by a thick cock has consequences the day after, once ardor has worn off.
A broad hand grabs her elbow, stilling her movements.
"Where are you going?"
Low, husky. Demanding.
Osha twists to the side, tracing the hand on her elbow to its owner, who's startlingly conscious and intimidating. His plush mouth is flattened into a thin line, and there's a steely look in his eyes.
"Um," Osha's flustered. "I thought you might—" want me to leave.
"No way," Qimir cuts her off assertively. "Nope, nuh uh."
He hauls her across the bed, and she squeals as she goes sliding over the sheets, until she's sprawled across his chest. He rolls her until she's prone under his body.
He cages her, looms over her, his muscled arms bead her head and his hips pinning her down, his soft cock still heavy and pressing against her stomach.
Her belly aches, apprehension and a renewed rush of desire.
"You're going to stay here and shower with me." His eyes blaze down at her. "Then, I'm going to make you breakfast, your favourite, and you'll eat it all. Then, you'll let me eat you out again."
"Will I?" she asks coyly, a shaky attempt at covering up the insecurity in her tone.
"You will," he says simply. Like it's a foregone conclusion.
"And if I didn't want to have a shower? If I wanted to leave right away?"
She doesn't, but a complicated emotion ripple across Qimir's face, close to consternation.
"Then I would let you," he says quietly. "You're not my prisoner. You can leave whenever you want."
But what if I want you to keep me?
Osha swallows the words bubbling up, pushing them down into her chest, where they burn.
That would be a step too far.
But a shower…
Yeah. She can go for a shower.
"Okay," she says weakly. Then, more confidently, "I'd like a shower."
"Great."
He sits up, fully naked in the broad morning light, and she has to blink at the dazzling image. She doesn't even realise that he's leading her to stand and follow him into the ensuite.
She blinks, and she's confronted by the sight of an utterly enormous bathroom. Like, it's truly obscene.
He has a massive whirlpool-style tub, a walk-through shower, what looks like a heated towel rank and marble double vanity. The city views extend here, and Osha wanders if there'd be anyone perving on the resident of a penthouse apartment on the thirtieth floor.
Someone really committed, maybe. With a really good pair of binoculars.
Osha shakes the thought away as Qimir turns a knob in the shower. Water gushes out of the rain shower head, but Qimir turns another knob, and it shoots out of the handheld showerhead.
How does he know that she despises the rain shower head? She'd once complained to Yord that it feels like being pissed on, and he's sputtered in outrage at her crass language.
It's true, though. All the lovely pressure is lost.
"How hot do you like your shower water?" Qimir asks, fiddling with the screen set into the tile. It's a water thermostat.
"I can set it at whatever temp you like," he continues, glancing back at her. Osha shakes her head, letting him know that whatever he prefers is okay.
He hums and presses a few buttons, then exits the shower to rummage in his vanity cabinet.
He merges with a magenta shower cap.
"Oh, it's okay," Osha says, gesturing behind her to the staircase. "I've got my own in my bag."
"This one is special. Take it."
He proffers it, and Osha obliges, curious at what's so special about this shower cap.
It's surprisingly heavy. Well made. The outer cap is shiny with a pretty art deco pattern. She turns it around and gasps.
Oh, there's silk inside!
Qimir had just handed her a silk-lined shower cap.
Wait, why does Qimir have a silk-lined shower cap?
He has great hair, but this is clearly not his, because it looks and smells brand new.
And it's not Yord's, because she knows her boyfriend doesn't move like that. He'd stolen her hair products, because he was so bad at haircare before starting to date her. There's no reason why Qimir would keep Yord's belongings in his bathroom.
Plus, it’s magenta. Not exactly Yord’s style.
"Try it on."
Osha gathers her locs in one hand, then fits the cap over her head, tucking her locs underneath. She checks in the vanity mirror to ensure it's a good fit.
It feels like it was custom designed just for her, the perfect size. She tucks her edges and her baby hairs in, then nods at her reflection.
Looks good.
"It suits you," Qimir says simply, rather than gloating over her clear approval of his… gift. Offering.
He then slinks into the shower without a shower cap, standing under the spray.
Osha stands there a bit stupidly, hands hanging at her sides, until Qimir cocks his head to the side.
"What are you waiting for?" He waves her forward. "Hop in."
Oh. He wants to shower with her. Of course.
Forgive her if she's a little slow. She'd just had the wits fucked out of her.
Osha joins Qimir in the shower, already heavy with steam. The water is the perfect temperature, just right. LIke the shower cap.
There's enough space in the shower that they don't bump against each other. Osha doesn't know why that disappoints her.
Qimir allows her the first run of the water, pointing out the two bodywashes he alternates between, as well as his facial cleanser.
No washcloth, she notes critically.
Osha selects the smaller bottle and squeezes body wash onto her hands. It's the same scent as his cologne—cedar, vanilla and leather. Musky and masculine, and utterly addictive.
She lathers up and runs her hands over her body, starting with her chest, then under her tits, down to her stomach.
Her breathing speeds up, her nipples perking up as she notes Qimir's laser focus on the path her hands are taking.
Touch me, her body is crying out. Her pussy may be sore, but it's also perking up, paying attention to the thickening of Qimir's cock.
Osha lathers up again, reaching her hands behind her to wash her back.
Qimir takes two steps forwards, until he's almost touching her. His nostrils flare, his jaw flexes, and then he reaches his hands forward for the body wash.
"Let me get your back."
Osha turns wordlessly, presenting her back.
His touch is featherlight, careful. The suds slip over her shoulders and down her spine. She sighs as he massages her shoulders gently, bringing that pressure to bear on the rest of her back. His fingers are strong and clever, working knots out of her shoulder blades, which are held near her ears ninety percent of the time she's working.
When he presses on a particularly troublesome knot, she lets out a tortured moan.
Qimir's cock, which had remained a good distance from her, leaps forward to nudge the swell of her ass. Holy shit.
There's a moment of silence, stretched taut between them like a rubber band.
Then, Qimir grabs hold of her arms and turns her, bringing her flush with his body.
She tilts her neck back all the way, needing to assess his emotional state.
His hair is plastered to his head, but instead of looking like a drowned rat—like she would have—he looks dashing. Water spikes his eyelashes, drips from the tip of his elegant nose and his chin, running down his chest and sculpted abdominals.
What would he do if she dropped to her knees right now? Would he deny her again, like he did last night? Or would he finally allow her to mouth at his cock, swirl her tongue at the head, take him deep in her throat.
"Osha," he says seriously, disrupting her fantasy of sucking him off. "I need to know your intentions, now that we've…"
Slept together? Fucked?
No, something less crass. And why is Qimir speaking like a High Republic heroine?
"My… intentions?"
He bites his lower lips, scanning her face like it's the Rosetta stone. There's something frantic about his gaze, something a little unhinged.
"I know it's only been a few weeks since your break-up, but I'm serious about you." Qimir lifts his hand to cradle her jaw, his thumb indenting her bottom lip. "This isn't just a fling or a one night stand. Not to me."
Osha stares up at him. Is he saying what she thinks he is, or is she just reading too much into it?
No, now isn't the time for self-delusion; he's outright telling her that he wants something more. And she wants it too, has lusted after him for years.
Still, it's good to ask for clarification.
"What are you saying?"
Something with wings flutters in her chest as Qimir scans her expression seriously, his brow furrowed and his lips pouted.
"I want to date you, Osha." His voice is low and grave, each word spoken with gravitas. "I want you to be mine."
Oh.
The flutterby in her chest is now thrashing, an exultant mix of emotions rising in her, trapped in her throat.
He wants her to be his.
So, it wasn't just pillow talk. He actually wants to be hers. For her to be his. Mutual ownership.
Unlike before, there's no barriers to hide from the intensity of his gaze. No barriers here to hide behind—clothes or make-up or pillows.
She's stripped bare, free of any artifice, naked as the day she was born.
"You want to date me," she repeats, just to make sure.
This is too good to be true. How is he offering her everything she wants on a silver platter? This can't be real. This has to be a dream.
His other hand cradles the opposite side of her face. He's holding her in the palm of his hands, and the way he's looking down at her is so... honest.
She's always seen him as somewhat distant, keeping to himself, even when he approached her about food or tea, or offered her help with her resumé. There'd been a part of him closed off to her, unreachable.
A barrier erected between them, that she'd been unable to breach.
But now it's gone, torn down by their actions last night, the lust they'd given into. Now, he's vulnerable, showing her the full array of emotions on his face, and there's so much heat to him.
He's a bonfire, alluring and beautiful, but dangerous. She might get burned.
But, fuck, she wants to take the risk.
Fuck Yord, fuck Tasi. Four years down the drain, and Osha thought that he'd left her with nothing, but that's not quite right.
Yord had brought her to Qimir. He introduced him to her as his friend, his room mate. Not as his landlord, because he hadn't wanted her to know that Qimir occupied a position of authority over him.
And as Qimir's girlfriend—
Oh, this is too good.
As Qimir's girlfriend, she would technically outrank Yord in the pecking order. He'd be forced to encounter her every day, to face the consequence of his actions, and overhear Qimir fucking her every time she stayed over.
But she can't think just in terms of vengeance. Qimir's baring his soul to her, telling her he wants to date her.
Does she want the same?
Yes, she realises. Qimir had been quietly taking care of her this entire time, content to stay in the shadows.
While she's secretly been lusting after him for years, at some point her feelings had turned to genuine affection. How could they not have? He's not just eye candy—he's the guy who troubleshooted her CV after she'd gotten rejection after rejection email. Who'd been content just to exist in the same space as her, expecting nothing in return but her presence.
"I… I want that too," she confesses. Her heart thumps rapidly in her chest, nothing to do with the heat of the steam around her and everything to do with the man who's looking down at her like she has the power to decide his fate. "I want to date you."
Absurdly, tears well up in her eyes. Happy ones. Somehow, this moment feels more special than her entire relationship with Yord combined. She's so jubilant, practically vibrating with joy.
Her chest feels cracked open, exposing her bloody, beating heart. Qimir could work his way inside her ribs right now and rip it out. It's ripe for plucking.
She would even let him.
Osha smiles up at him, seeing his happiness reflecting back at her. "I… I like you a lot, Qimir."
At her shy confession, Qimir surges forward, capturing her lips. The tears break free, trailing down her face. It gets into her mouth and she chuckles wetly, tasting salt.
Is this moment even real? She feels like she's about to burst out of her skin with happiness, with pure joy.
Two days ago, she couldn't have imagined feeling like this again.
She smiles against Qimir's lips, and he smiles back, both of them pressing their irrepressible grins against each other.
The air around them is steamy from the hot water streaming from the shower head, droplets kissing her fingers as she twines her arms around Qimir's neck.
Qimir keeps his hand on her jaw, tilting her head so he can deepen the kiss, drawing it out. Slow, syrupy and sweet. Osha would be conscious of her morning breath, but he's kissing her too well for that.
It leaves her head muddled, her knees weak. She scrabbles for his hair, twining the strands around her fingers, arching her back until all of her is pressed up against him, his hard cock a solid weight, trapped between their stomachs.
She tries arching her back a little more, rubbing herself against him. Her wet skin slides against his, delicious friction pebbling her nipples, and she's practically panting for it.
Qimir groans lowly, his grip on her jaw firming, and Osha inwardly cheers. His other hand migrates down to her ass and starts kneading, his fingers tantalisingly close to where she's aching for him.
A high-pitched moan vibrates her chest, desire beating in her veins, and that's exactly when Qimir breaks the kiss, drawing away until she's eye level with his Adam's apple.
Osha whines plaintively, like a spoiled kitten, pulling at his hair. Why did he stop?
"I like you too, Osha," he rasps, then licks his lips, as if savouring the taste. "And that's why we have to stop."
Qimir follows it up with a pat to her rear, his touch only lingering for a few beats before he removes his hands.
Osha blinks up at him uncomprehendingly, the demands of her body making itself apparent.
“Breakfast, baby,” he reminds her huskily, his eyes so soft and tender.
Who the fuck cares about breakfast?
Qimir is rock hard right now, it's undeniable. She could follow through on her early fantasies and drop to her knees, get a little morning protein in…
One firm kiss, closemouthed, and Qimir's leaving the shower, still dripping water.
Osha watches his gorgeous ass flex as he crosses the floor, taking a fluffy charcoal towel from a neatly folded stack and scrubbing it over his hair, before wrapping it around his waist.
His erection is prominent, tenting the fabric. Qimir gives her a crooked smirk as he clocks her staring at his dick.
Her heart gives another of those funny ba-dumps. She pouts outrageously at him, still irritated that he thwarted her plans of seducing him. She knows he wouldn't have passed up a blowjob, if only he'd given her the chance to offer it…
She sulks as she rinses off the rest of her body, carefully washing her privates, which are still throbbing needfully, and scrubbing in between her toes.
"Take your time," Qimir announces, after he brushes his teeth and rubs some kind of gel in his hair. "I'm going to make breakfast. Make yourself at home. I left you a few things…"
Osha grunts in acknowledgement, playing at disgruntled, but she still watches his naked ass when he strides away, presumably to dress himself in his voluminous walk-in wardrobe.
When she exits the shower, she grabs a towel and realises that Qimir left her a toothbrush, still in its packaging, and a tube of expensive toothpaste, already open. How thoughtful of him.
She brushes, spits, then tears the shower cap off, trying to arrange her hair in a pleasing manner but it's useless. Her hair is ruined from last night, all the rubbing and pulling and a night spent without a bonnet or wrap.
The next item she discovers is a pump bottle of shea butter moisturiser. It's not the brand she kept in Yord's bedroom, but something more expensive. It's also brand new, the ring still uncracked around the pump neck.
Osha rubs it into her skin, marvelling at the scent and how soft it leaves her feeling. She feels like a goddess, reborn.
The bounty doesn't stop there. There's also a bottle of jojoba oil, which Osha uses to lightly coat her locs and applies in drops to her scalp, carefully massaging her head.
She feels put together once she's done.
Exiting the bedroom, having hung up her towel next to Qimir's on the towel rack, she prepares herself to embark on a hunt for clothes.
However, Qimir's thought of everything. There's a t-shirt folded on the bed, now neatly made, with her phone resting on top.
She ignores her phone and tries on the tee, clearly meant for her. The neck is stretched out and it's oversized on her, hitting at her mid-thigh.
No panties, she notes. Not that she's opposed to going commando, seeing as that's how she'd turned up on Qimir;s doorstep yesterday.
Who knew he'd turn out to be a secret pervert?
Well, if he didn't provide boxers or shorts, then she's not going to go looking for them. Her cheeks pull up in a smile as she contemplates Qimir's reaction to seeing her dressed like this.
He clearly has an agenda,
Oh, after breakfast, it's so on…
Osha's phone buzzes, breaking her out of her lustful reverie.
She picks it up, swiping through the notifications on her home screen.
There's a string of missed calls and increasingly unhinged texts from 'ASSHOLE EX' (predictable). She banishes them with a swipe of her fingers. Begone, thot!
Osha's more focused on the messages from Mae, a whole string of them. She starts with the ones from last night.
maemae 💖💖
hows it going??
u better be getting put thru the mattress rn
its late now
r u sleeping over?
Osha huffs a laugh, then scrolls down to the messages from this morning.
proof of life check
girl are u alive???
do i need to send out an SOS
message me asap!!
The last text was only sent a minute ago. Osha winces; while she doesn't regret her morning lie-in with Qimir, she feels a little guilty about her twin. She must have been so worried.
all good maemae 👍
got dicked down alllll the way
Mae responds immediately.
maemae 💖💖
ew i dont need to hear that
but ayoooooooo
get it
I assume u spent the night then
yeah
what a night ❤️🔥
once again yuck
but good 4 u
and guess who turned up as a special guest??
his name starts with y and he brought an entourage
no wayyyy
YES hahahahhaha
omggggg
were yall…. busy
we were in ittttttt
gross
but fuck him fuck that poser bitch ass shit for brains
he got what was comign
amen
i bet he's crying his little bitch eyes out rn
😜
Osha lets out a little witch cackle then looks around widely. Coast is clear.
She allows herself one more titter before sending her twin 'gtg hot breakfast date' and locking her phone, then setting it to silent.
No more notifications are going to ruin her morning, not even work. Not that they'd try, given that it's the end of the week, but they've been audacious before.
She practically floats out of the room and down the stairs, catching a delicious aroma in the air. Qimir's clearly been busy.
She takes a seat on the leather barstools on the other side of the kitchen island. The surface of the island is mostly clear, except for two empty plates stacked on top of each other with two sets of cutlery on top, a crystal carafe of water—probably some fancy natural mineral water from Alderaan—with two empty glasses and a pot of tea with two squat cups.
She turns her focus back to the greater kitchen, and the more tantalising scenery. From here, she has a fantastic view of Qimir’s bare back.
His broad, beautiful back, with the purple scar carving down his spine. It's long healed, but she still wants to soothe it with a kiss. He's only wearing a pair of low-slung black sweats, with an apron tied around his waist, probably as a concession to the sausage grease sizzling in the pan. There's a foil-covered plate near his elbow, on the counter.
She sniffs the air again. No, not just normal sausages… but spiced ones. Chorizo? Whatever it is, it smells divine.
She watches silently as Qimir moves through the kitchen, sleek and beautiful as a black panther. He knows his way around the space, which is more than she can say for… that guy.
Qimir is the main cook of the household, though Mog can make a mean fry-up, Empire-style.
Osha's pretty sure she's giving him some serious heart-eyes right now, but she allows herself this indulgence because he couldn't possibly notice, right?
Wrong. Qimir sends her a wink only a few moments later, after he takes a small tray of golden squares out of the mini-oven on the countertop.
"Nice view?" he asks huskily, and Osha heats all over, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands.
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't have to. Qimir already knows.
He wraps up his cooking a few minutes later and moves to the island, placing several plates and bowls on the counter. He uncovers the foil on one plate, revealing a platter of scrambled eggs, and indeed the sausages he'd been cooking just now were chorizo. There's hash browns, a stack of plain flour wraps, a bowl of cheese and smaller one filled with salsa.
"Breakfast wrap?"
He raises an eyebrow, not expecting her to say no. Osha's mouth waters and she nods vehemently.
"Yes, please."
"Mm, manners," Qimir hums, one side of his mouth quirking up. "I like that."
He assembles the wraps neatly, his deft fingers lifting and placing and tucking, and in no time, he's seated next to her, his broad shoulders hunched over as they take simultaneous bites of their breakfast wraps.
Osha moans, after her first bite, the flavours exploding over her tongue.
Fuck, how is he so good at this? Rich, expert cook, bangin' body, and deadly dick game. He's the whole package!
Slow down, a voice like Mae's scolds her. He's just a man.
Yeah, but Osha knows him. Four years would have been long enough for Qimir to show her his dark side, but she hasn't seen a hint of it.
Nor has she overheard anything from Yord, who gossips extensively about everyone in his social circle—excepting the factoid that Qimir's his landlord, she'd heard everything else about the man from Yord.
"Tastes good, right?"
Qimir's low inquiry, tinged with smugness, draws her out of her contemplative thoughts. She sends him an arch look, but takes another bite, chewing determinedly.
He smiles at her anyway, because she can't conceal her enjoyment of the meal. Her feet are practically swinging on the stool, and she's humming, a low note of delight.
"I thought you'd like it."
Osha swallows, and without even requesting anything, Qimir fills a glass with water and nudges it her way. She takes a sip, remembers her manners, and mumbles, "Thank you."
"You're very welcome, baby."
God, if he continues being such a gentleman, she's going to jump him here and now. Breakfast be damned.
Osha's stomach grumbles, which basically takes the decision out of her hands, If she's going to cash in on Qimir's promise to eat her out, then she needs to fulfil her end of the deal.
Seized by urgency, she shoves half the wrap in her mouth and chokes. Qimir gives her a few firm claps in the back, which allows her to regain control over her gag reflex.
She sputters, then takes a few bracing sips from her water, staring at the aqueous depths forlornly.
Is it possible to explode from embarrassment?
Qimir's hand stays between her shoulders, then drops to her lower back, drawing a line of heat along the way.
Osha's humiliation transmutes into ardor. He draws slow, steady circles on her back, casually eating his wrap one-handed.
Before she knows it, the wrap is mere crumbs and smears of salsa in her hands. Osha looks at her plate a little surprised, before it's taken away by Qimir.
"Hey—!"
She was so going to help clean up!
Qimir sends her a narrow-eyed look, his eyes gleaming in the morning light pouring in from the windows, his lips pursed.
"Let me," he insists, his raspy voice all rumbly. It makes Osha's stomach flip. "Have some of the tea."
Osha had forgotten all about the tea, which seems silly because it's been right in front of her this entire time. She pours a stream into one empty cup, the fragrance of gunpowder curling in the air.
Finally, the tea had promised her yesterday. Before she'd seduced him…
She darts a look at Qimir, only to find him already watching her, that ever-present smirk on his face. He's like the cat that got the cream.
She can't blame him; a corresponding smile unfurls on her lips, bright and bubbly. She sticks her tongue out at him and he raises an eyebrow, tucking his smile into his cheek. They break the staring at the same time, neither side conceding defeat.
Qimir gets started on the dishes, making quick work of them while Osha drinks her long-awaited tea at the kitchen counter, bare feet swinging off the stool.
She really is happy, she realises. It's not just the leftover effect of being dicked down so thoroughly, though that is a large part of it.
Qimir brings her playful side out, a part of her that she'd suppressed in favour of appearing sober and mature with Yord.
He plays along with her, engages with her. He's also attentive, paying attention to her needs. Anticipating what she wants.
That kind of attention is addictive. She hopes it doesn't wayne, when that new relationship glow fades, but something tells her it won't.
What had he told her in the throes? Something about wanting to eat her out since the first time he saw her.
It can't just be lust. It isn't for Osha. She feels…
Giddy. Excited. Ready for what the day will bring.
Two strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her off the stool.
"Ohmygod—!"
Osha practically squeaks, which is just humiliating.
The chest pressed against her back vibrates with laughter, then she's set on her feet and turned around to face Qimir.
His hair falls into his face fetchingly, the morning light haloing his head, bringing out the reddish tones in his dark hair.
Her hands are on his chest, which is now completely naked, bereft of the apron he'd been wearing moments earlier. A shame. She'd wanted to untie it herself.
"Breakfast is over," he drawls, squeezing her waist. "But I'm still hungry, baby."
Oh. Oh!
Osha gets with the program, leaning up and planting a hearty smooch on Qimir's lips, then gets swept up in Qimir's embrace.
They stumble over to the leather couch, tripping over the arm and landing with a bounce.
And then…
Well. Qimir makes good on his promise.
Osha christens the couch with her orgasm, then they move to the bed. They don't emerge for the rest of the day.
The next morning, Qimir has her work laptop delivered to his apartment. She doesn't go home that day, or the day after.
Three months later
“So,” a particularly shrill Coruscanti socialite with hair teased to the gods inquires faux-sweetly. “How did you two get together?”
Looks are exchanged, snide and knowing alike, the underlying message of ‘gold digger’ apparent.
They’re surrounded on all sides by so-called crème de la crème of NC high society. The upper crust, the big dogs—politicians, lawyers, old money family members and merchant dynasties. She swears she’d seen the Ambassador to Naboo cosying up with the Senator for Chandrila at one point…
Osha smiles bracingly at the question, aware of Qimir’s arm tightening around her waist. He did say she didn’t have to come to his mother’s annual New Year Fete charity gala, but she’d insisted.
“I pined after for her years,” Qimir answers immediately, and the socialite’s smile falters at the edges, drooping like a Howler’s ears.
“Oh,” the other woman says simply, even as some of the sycophants around them coo.
Osha slaps at his chest. “You did not!”
Qimir huffs a laugh, and she takes it as a win. Her fingers linger on his chest, taking a moment to smooth his satin tuxedo lapels, fingering the smooth edge of his shirt. Damn, he dresses up well.
Well, so does she. She’s in a burned ochre gown, held together by boob tape and prayers, her hair expertly arranged by an incredible stylist who’d come straight to Qimir’s apartment, though Osha had insisted on doing her own make-up.
Qimir tugs her into his side, like he’s marking his territory. Showing everyone who she belongs to.
It’s a claiming move, broadcasting to all and sundry that she’s under his protection. If they fuck with her, they fuck with him.
And no one wants to find our what it’s like to cross Qimir Ren.
“I did,” he challenges, his jaw flexing, though it untenses a moment later so he can shoot her a brilliant smile.
Osha blinks, quite dazzled, and notices that it has the same effect on the people around them as well, who suddenly seem dazed.
“I was a goner from the moment I saw you in the kitchen.”
Osha melts, turning liquid in Qimir’s arms, resting her head against his shoulder. The picture of domestic bliss.
There’s a round of appreciation, a few people even clap. There’s nothing they love more than a good story, a love story.
Of course, Osha and Qimir don’t tell their audience the rest of the story, the extra detail that Osha was Qimir’s former friend-slash-roommates’ girlfriend. That’s not important, in the grand scheme of things.
They manage to extricate themselves moments later, after a round of backslaps, handshakes, air kisses and promises to ‘brunch in the city’. Osha tucks a few business cards discreetly in her tiny clutch, and they migrate to the bar.
Qimir double fists two flutes of champagne and hands one to Osha. She accepts eagerly, needing some bubbly sustenance.
In a synchronised movement, they shoot half the flutes back, exhaling at the same time. She relaxes back against the bar, Qimir’s arm resting behind her on the granite surface. His tuxedo jacket fabric is buttery-smooth against her bare back.
Osha takes in the extravagance around her, the glittering crystal chandelier hoisted above, the grand steps they’d floated down when they were introduced, the champagne fountain and the violin quartet seated in the corner, pulling sweet music from their strings.
“Do you know,” Qimir starts, a contemplative note in his voice. Osha turns her body half towards him, sees him staring out at ballroom dance floor and chewing on his lower lip. “This the happiest I’ve ever been at one of these damned events.”
He lifts his half-empty glass of champagne abruptly, and Osha follows his line of sight to see him toasting a woman on the other side of the room, dressed in a poison-green caped jumpsuit with a neat brunette pixie cut. Vernestra. His adoptive mother.
Vernestra gives a slow, steady incline of her head, and from this distance Osha can’t tell for sure, but she might be smiling. She turns around, resuming her conversation with the people around her, a cluster of older men and stately women dripping in jewels.
Qimir places his glass down, then turns to face her fully. His arm curves around her waist, bringing her flush against his body.
His eyes crinkle when he smiles, his dimples pop, and Osha’s stunned once more by his unreal beauty. His pretty pink lips, the hair swept away from his forehead and tickling his collar, the unreal cut of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders emphasised by the tuxedo, and that ass.
He cups her jaw, the weight of his palm light, careful not to disturb her make-up. “And it’s all because of you.”
Heat spreads from her chest, climbs up her throat and settles in her cheeks.
Even after all these months, it feels like the first time all over again. These emotion haven’t faded at all, only intensified until she feels like her want for him is infinite. Her love.
This is real love, she knows that now. The kind of love that keeps her up all night, but also nourishes her. Love that makes her stronger, more steady. The kind of love that makes her braver, more willing to fight for herself, because she has security and assurance to fall back on.
As Osha smiles at her boyfriend, her cheeks pulling with how widely she’s beaming, she thinks about how much has changed over the course of these past three months.
Qimir’s apartment has become a proper home to her, Qimir inviting her to stay there permanently, rather than remaining in her rat hole studio.
At first, Yord had protested, but Qimir had coolly shut him down and told him as the landlord, it was his right to move Osha in, into Qimir’s own room, and the certainly had the space for her when she was kicking it here five days a week and most nights with Yord.
Mog had happily welcomed her, easy-going as he always was. He’d wised up and bought noise cancelling headphones a few days into her stay.
Yord, on the other hand….
Even catching Osha and Qimir in the act hadn’t been enough to make that worm leave. He’d returned with his tail between his legs on Primeday, quietly dressing and heading off to work.
Renter’s rights in Coruscant are strong. No-grounds evictions are unlawful, so even if Qimir were inclined, he wouldn’t have been able to turf Yord out, seeing as he’d signed a legally binding lease agreement.
Nothing said anything about making his life hell, though.
It was humiliating for Yord to see how thoroughly Osha was satisfied, swanning around in Qimir’s t-shirts and shorts, a line of hickeys marching down her neck and up her thighs.
Mog had tolerated their PDA, mainly kissing and cuddling all over the shared living space, but Yord’s face had twitched every time he’d witnessed it.
He’d endured Qimir and Osha fucking every day and night for two weeks before he’d cracked, yelling that he couldn’t take this anymore.
He’d taken his shit and left. Osha had found out from Mog, who’d heard from Sol’s EA, that Yord was posted up in Tasi’s tiny studio.
A reversal of fortunes, Osha thinks vindictively, then banishes him from her mind. He doesn’t matter.
Yord is the past, but Qimir is her future.
She blinks into the present, her beau’s handsome face still wearing a look of tenderness.
“This…” Osha clears her throat, suddenly clogged up with sentiment. Joy fizzes in her chest, mingling with the radiance of her love and gratefulness towards him. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been too. Thanks to you.”
Qimir’s nose scrunches and then he leans in. Osha braces her hand against the bartop and leans up, their noses nudging a breath before their lips meet. It’s public-friendly, close-mouthed, but Osha still feels a zing of desire jolt through her.
“Time for the countdown!” someone cheers behind them, the lights dimming and the violin quartet playing a rendition of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, but they don’t even pay it any mind, already consumed in their private celebration.
“Ten… Nine… Eight…”
Qimir deepens the kiss, opening his mouth wider and flickering his tongue, swiping over her coconut-flavoured lip tint. He tastes like tart champagne, they both do, and he hums low in his chest. It vibrates into her own, pressed against him as she is.
“Five… Four… Three…”
He draws back, just before the clock strikes twelve with a loud gong, and Osha laughs delightedly, clutching at his shoulders as couples around them sweep into kisses, cheers breaking out and confetti raining down from the ceiling.
Two gongs later, Qimir is bending her back over his arm, giving Osha her own version of a movie-worthy make-out.
She laughs into his mouth, breathless and exultant, hoping that this is how the rest of her life will go—love and laughter, the taste of champagne and Qimir's sweet kisses.