THE SHOOT - PAIGE BUECKERS X READER
| synopsis: you’re an athlete working a nike campaign shoot in manhattan alongside paige bueckers. you’ve known of each other for years as big east rivals and now wnba opponents, but you’ve never really spoken outside the court. what starts as professional collaboration during the shoot quickly turns into heavy flirting, charged conversation, and an invitation back to your apartment that neither of you can resist.
| warnings: nike campaign, slow burn flirting, heavy sexual tension, smut, dom!paige, jealous undertones, established attraction, overthinking reader, cocky paige, paige receiving, and use of strap
PAIGE SAT on the edge of the king-sized bed in her Four Seasons suite, elbows resting on her knees, staring at the floor like it might give her answers.
The room was quiet except for the low hum of the city far below the windows. Manhattan stretched out in every direction, all glass and steel and endless movement, but up here it felt strangely removed from everything. Too clean. Too perfect. The kind of luxury that still felt a little foreign even if she’s about to enter year two of being in the league.
Not the good kind of tired she got after a hard practice or a game where she left everything on the floor. This was the heavy, bone-deep kind that came from too many flights, too many early calls, and not enough real sleep.
Coach shoot in LA, CeraVe in Miami, and now this Nike campaign in New York. Tomorrow she had one more shoot here for Secret, then it was straight to Phoenix for Team USA training camp.
She kept telling herself she was lucky. She was lucky. She knew that. Growing up she used to stay up late scrolling through Nike’s website, adding shoes to carts she could never afford. Now they flew her out and paid her to wear them. That wasn’t lost on her.
Still… some days she just wanted to lie down and not move for twelve hours.
Paige rubbed her hands over her face and stood up. She had maybe five minutes before the car came.
She kept it simple, with a white Nike hoodie, gray Nike sweatpants, and slides on her feet. Hair pulled up into a messy bun and glasses on because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts right now. She looked in the mirror for half a second, decided she didn’t care, and grabbed her bag.
The driver was already waiting when she got downstairs. Nice older guy. He gave her a warm smile as she slid into the backseat. Paige returned it, then immediately put her headphones in. The city blurred past the tinted windows—yellow taxis, pedestrians moving like they had somewhere important to be, the morning light hitting the buildings just right.
She leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes, hoping for even a short power nap. Her mind, of course, went straight to the shoot.
She knew you were going to be there today. Nike had told her weeks ago. The campaign was focused on the future of women’s sports—new shoes, new apparel, a whole multimedia push celebrating the next generation of athletes pushing boundaries.
She was excited about the work. Nike shoots were usually fun, even when they pushed her physically. But the fact that you were part of it added a whole different layer.
You two had been circling each other for years.
Big East rivals back in college, you at Marquette and her at UConn. Then in the WNBA, you on the Liberty and her in Dallas.
You guarded each other hard. Respected each other’s game. But friends? Not really. Not yet, at least. There was always this charged space between you. Respect mixed with something sharper. Something neither of you had ever named.
Paige opened her eyes and stared out the window again. New York always did something to her. The energy was different from Minnesota where she grew up. This was more louder, faster, and relentless.
She liked it, though. There was something freeing about being in a city where people were too busy living their own lives to stop and stare at her every five seconds. Back in Connecticut or Dallas, she couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. Here, she could still blend in if she wanted to. It felt normal. Grounding, even.
Her thoughts drifted again, this time to Team USA.
She was honored to be there, of course she was. Four gold medals already and now she was on the senior team, one of the older voices in the room. It felt serious in a way the younger camps never had. She was excited, but there was pressure too. The standard was higher. The expectations heavier. She wanted to show up ready. She wanted to earn her spot, not just ride the wave of her name.
She prayed about it a lot lately—asking God to keep her grounded, to let her play with joy instead of fear, to use the platform for something bigger than herself. Faith had always been her anchor. In the hardest moments last season, it was one of the only things that kept her from spiraling completely.
Then her mind went to Dallas.
Last season had been brutal. She came in as the face of the franchise, Rookie of the Year, the future of it all, and somewhere along the way, it all started to slip. Injuries stacked up, rotations never settled, and no matter how hard she tried, nothing ever really clicked the way it was supposed to.
She stayed late after games, taped up and exhausted, trying to patch together chemistry that never fully formed. Tried to be steady when everything around her wasn’t. Even when her own body started to give out, she kept going, like stopping wasn’t really an option she was allowed to consider.
Some nights she’d sit in her apartment after a loss and just stare at the wall, wondering if she was doing enough. If she was failing them. The losing wore on her more than she let anyone see. She wasn’t used to it. UConn had spoiled her with winning. Dallas taught her humility the hard way.
she still didn’t like talking about him. She tried not to speak ill of people publicly, especially not coaches. But privately? She had feelings. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt for so long. It was his first head coaching job, after all.
She prayed about this too, asking God to help her be patient and respectful. But month after month, the same mistakes kept happening. Plays that cost them games. Teammates she’d grown close to leaving mid-season. A coach who smiled in her face, but didn’t seem to actually see her or fight for the team the way she needed.
When he was finally fired, she felt a quiet wave of relief she didn’t let show. She hated that she felt it. But she did.
This season feels different, though. Not loud or guaranteed, just steadier. More direction. More trust. Azzi possibly coming in only adds to that feeling she can’t quite name yet. For the first time in a while, there’s space for hope again. She knows not because everything is going to be fixed, but it finally feels like it might be building toward something special in this organization.
The car pulled up to the Nike headquarters sooner than she expected. Paige thanked the driver and stepped out into the cool morning air, adjusting her hoodie. She took the elevator up, still half-asleep but buzzing with that low, familiar anticipation.
When she walked into the studio, the energy hit her immediately. Lights, cameras, racks of clothes, people moving with purpose. A few assistants greeted her warmly and led her toward hair and makeup.
She sat down in the chair, letting them do their thing, mind still drifting.
You were already on set, doing solo shots on the other side of the massive studio. The lights caught you perfectly as you moved through a series of poses. Paige’s stomach tightened before she could stop it.
You looked good. Focused. Professional. Exactly like someone who belonged in front of cameras.
She forced herself to look away, but the image stayed burned behind her eyes.
This was going to be a long day.
YOU WERE already on set before you even needed to be there.
It was a habit you’d had since you were a kid— always early, never late. Some people called it anxiety. You called it respect. Respect for the work, for the people giving you the opportunity, and for yourself. Being early gave you time to breathe, to settle, to get your mind right before the cameras started rolling.
The Nike studio in Manhattan was already alive with movement when you arrived. The space smelled like fresh paint, coffee, and that distinct scent of new athletic gear.
Working with Nike had always felt like an honor, one you didn’t take lightly. And finding out you were shooting this campaign alongside Paige Bueckers made it even better.
You sat in the makeup chair, letting the artists do their thing while your mind wandered
This campaign meant a lot. Being apart of the new wave of the league alongside Paige, Caitlin, Angel, and a few others felt surreal sometimes. The spotlight on your group had grown so fast.
“The new faces of the league,” people kept saying. It was exciting. It was also heavy. You felt the pressure privately, even if you never showed it publicly. The expectations, the comparisons, the weight of representing something bigger than yourself.
You were grateful, deeply grateful, to be in this position—a professional athlete in the league you’d dreamed about since you were little, playing for the Liberty in the city you’d grown up in. Calling teammates like Sabrina, Breanna, and Jonquel your people still felt crazy when you let yourself sit with it.
Your former coach, Sandy Brondello, crossed your mind as the makeup brush moved across your cheek.
She was hard. Passionate. Demanding.
The season hadn’t gone the way any of you wanted, and the changes afterward, including her departure stung more than you liked to admit. You hoped it was for the better. You prayed it was. But endings were never easy, even when they were necessary
The hair stylist finished pinning the last curl just as the makeup artist stepped back.
“Ready for wardrobe?” one of them asked.
You nodded and changed quickly—simple black Nike tank top, black Nike basketball shorts, and your Sabrina 3’s.
Clean. Comfortable. You liked representing your teammate like this.
They told you to start with some solo shots. Some bouncing the ball, behind-the-back moves, simple athletic motion. It felt automatic, muscle memory kicking in the second the ball hit your hands. You moved through the poses easily, the lights warm on your skin, the faint click of cameras filling the studio.
She wasn’t dressed for the shoot yet. She looked tired but focused, scanning the studio as an assistant led her toward hair and makeup.
Your stomach did a small, annoying flip.
You’d known of Paige for years. You didn’t play four years in the Big East without knowing exactly who Paige Bueckers was. She was a bucket. The kind of player who made everything look easy and impossible at the same time.
Guarding her in college had always been a task— physical, mentally draining, full of fouls and arguments with the refs. She had this confidence, not just in herself, but in her teammates. Every pass she made felt intentional.
In the league it was different. She was stronger now. Smarter. Faster.
The Liberty beaten Dallas almost every time last season. She’d only gotten the best of your team once. Which happened to be the game you’d missed with a concussion. You gave credit where it was due. That night? It was hers.
You remembered the day you heard about her ACL tear back in 2022.
Flashback August 3rd 2022
The locker room smelled like sweat, deodorant, and the faint rubbery scent of fresh tape. Pick up had ended twenty minutes ago, but no one was in a rush to leave.
The team was sprawled across benches and lockers, half-dressed in practice gear, hair still damp from showers. Someone had pulled up their phone and the group had slowly gravitated toward it like moths to a flame, voices overlapping in that easy, post-practice chatter.
You were sitting on the floor with your back against your locker, legs stretched out, water bottle half-empty in your hand. The cool tile felt good against your sore back. You were laughing at something one of the seniors said about a botched play when the energy in the circle shifted.
“Wait, what?” one of your teammates muttered, leaning closer to the screen. “Is this real?”
The group went quiet for a second. Phones started lighting up around the room as more people opened Instagram.
You sat up a little, frowning. “What are y’all looking at?”
Someone turned the phone toward you without a word. The screen showed Paige’s Instagram post. The caption was long, honest, and hit like a punch to the chest.
“It's so so crazy because you work so hard to get back healthy, you teel stronger than ever, and you are playing your best basketball and with one sudden movement it all shifts. It's hard trying to make sense of it all now but I can't help but think that God is using me as a testimony as to how much you can overcome with Him by your side. Some little kid that just tore their ACL or had a major surgery might need this story P, because it's going to be one hell of a comeback.There is going to be good days and there is going to be bad days but my absolute love for the game and Godly strength will get me back to where I need to be. l've worked too hard for the little kid in these pictures to keep going for the dreams Ive had since I first picked up the ball, so why would I stop now? The prayers and love means so much to me and the doubts that I won't get back to where I was might mean even more. God put a dream in my heart and even if I have to walk through a nightmare to get it I'm going to keep believing. All love, P 🤞🏼”
You stared at the words. At first you wanted to believe it was fake news, but the post was real.
The locker room noise faded into a low hum in your ears.
Something heavy settled in your chest. Not pity. Paige wasn’t the type of player you pitied. It was more like a strange, quiet ache. The kind you felt when someone who pushed you so hard suddenly couldn’t push anymore. You wondered how she was feeling right now. If she was angry. Scared. Or already thinking about coming back stronger like the caption said.
Later that night, back in your dorm, you pulled out your phone again. The room was dark except for the glow of your screen. Your thumb hovered over the message box for a long moment before you typed something short and honest.
Wishing you a speedy recovery. You got this. Trust God’s timing ❤️.
You hit send before you could overthink it. Then you set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, the weight of the day still sitting on your chest.
A few minutes later your phone buzzed.
Thank you. Means a lot. Looking forward to coming back and shooting buckets on you again 🤫.
You stared at the message for a long time. A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. You hearted it and left it at that.
But the feeling in your chest didn’t go away.
You blinked when you realized you’d been staring too long.
Paige sat down in the makeup chair across the studio, still looking a little tired but already chatting with the artists. She hadn’t noticed you yet.
You turned your focus back to the ball in your hands and took another dribble, trying to ignore the low buzz of awareness in your chest.
Paige stood up from the makeup chair, she was dressed for her solo shots now. A simple white Nike tank, white basketball shorts, and the purple colorway of the Sabrina 3’s.
Her hair was still in that messy bun, but the makeup artists had done their thing, giving her that clean, fresh look that would pop under the lights. She looked good. Effortlessly good.
You had just finished your own solo shots and were heading back toward the makeup chairs for quick retouches when she passed you.
“Hey,” Paige said, voice casual but warm.
“Hi,” you replied, offering a small smile.
She gave you a quick nod and kept walking toward her set. Nothing more. Just enough to be polite.
You sat back down in the makeup chair, letting the artist fix a few flyaways and touch up the shine on your face. From this angle, you had a perfect view of Paige as she started her solo shots.
You hated how much you were staring. But you couldn’t help it.
She moved with that same effortless confidence she always had. Dribbling the ball smoothly, crossing behind her back, taking sharp cuts like it was nothing. Even tired, she looked good doing it. The lights caught the definition in her arms and shoulders as she moved. You tried to look away, but your eyes kept drifting back.
You’d never really taken the time to just look at her like this before. Not in games, where everything was fast and competitive. But here, under the studio lights with no crowd noise and no refs yelling, it was different. She was beautiful. Everyone knew that. But up close, it hit different. The way her bun sat messy on top of her head, the focused look in her eyes, the small smirk she gave herself after a clean move.
Your mind wandered to your private TikTok. The edits. The slow-motion clips of her crossing someone over, the way her ponytail swung when she pulled up for a three, the way she smiled after a big play. You’d saved more of them than you’d ever admit to anyone. You’d watched them late at night when you couldn’t sleep, telling yourself it was just “studying her game.” Yeah. Sure.
Paige finished her solo shots a few minutes later and walked straight toward the chairs. She dropped down in the seat right next to yours, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of her cologne on your way and clean sweat.
The artists immediately started touching up both of you at the same time. For a moment, it was quiet. Just the soft brushes on skin and the low hum of the studio around you.
Paige broke the silence first.
“How you been?” she asked, voice low and easy, that Minnesota accent curling around the words.
You shrugged lightly. “Good. Busy. Excited to be here, honestly. Feels good to be home in New York for a bit before everything ramps up again.”
Paige nodded, leaning back as the artist worked on her hair. “Yeah, I feel that. I’ve been in the city for like two and a half days now. Back-to-back shoots. I got one more tomorrow before I head to Phoenix for camp. I’m fucking exhausted, but I’m grateful.”
You smiled. “You’re a busy girl.”
Paige let out a soft laugh, the sound warm. “This is my version of a break right now. No games, just ads and meetings. Kinda nice, actually.”
The conversation flowed easier than you expected. You talked about the upcoming season, the coaching changes on both sides, how different it felt going into year two. Paige mentioned how excited she was for Team USA camp.
“You’re gonna do great,” you told her honestly.
She looked over at you, eyes soft for a second. “Appreciate that.”
Then, because the tension was always there, she couldn’t help herself.
“I can’t wait to beat you on the court again,” she said, that familiar cocky smirk appearing.
You raised an eyebrow. “You only beat me once. And I was on concussion protocol that game.”
Paige laughed, loud and genuine. “Still counts though.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Whatever. College doesn’t count either. You fouled me every possession.”
“I did not,” she protested, grinning. “Nah you fouled me. Every time. Refs just loved you more.”
The artists chuckled quietly around you, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth.
Paige leaned forward a little, her blue eyes sparkling under the lights. “How does it feel guarding me now? I’ve been in the gym heavy. I’m stronger.”
You let your gaze drop to her arms for half a second—the way the tank top hugged her shoulders and biceps when she moved. You looked away quickly, but not quick enough.
“So?” she teased, voice dropping just a little. “Can you tell?”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s obvious.”
Paige’s smirk deepened. She didn’t even try to hide the way she looked you up and down slowly. “You’ve been in the weight room too. I can see that.”
The air between you felt thick. Charged. The kind of tension that made the studio noise fade into the background.
Before either of you could say anything else, one of the directors called out, “Alright, we’re ready for you both!”
You both stood up at the same time. The tension didn’t disappear. It followed you onto the set like a shadow.
Lunch was set up in a quieter side room off the main studio—Mediterranean food, colorful bowls of hummus, falafel, grilled chicken, fresh salads, and warm pita laid out on a long table. The smell of lemon, garlic, and spices filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of coffee from the craft services station. You grabbed food for both of you without thinking and found a quiet corner table near the windows.
Paige sat across from you, legs spread casually. She looked relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, focused on you in a way that made the rest of the room feel distant.
“Thanks for grabbing this,” she said, digging into her bowl. “I was starving.”
“No problem,” you replied, taking a bite of your own food.
For a few minutes the conversation stayed light— how the solo shots went, how different it felt being on the same side instead of guarding each other. But it didn’t stay surface level for long.
Paige took a slow sip of water, then looked at you across the table.
“I see you showing out today,” she said, voice lower. “The way you move… it’s different from when we played against each other last time.”
You felt heat creep up your neck. “Thanks P. You’re not so bad yourself.”
She smirked, but it softened quickly. “Can I ask you somethin?”
“How you do it?” she asked, genuine curiosity in her eyes. “Handle all this? The spotlight, the expectations, being on a team like the Liberty where there’s already so many stars. I know it’s not the same as Dallas, but I see how much pressure you carry. How do you stay grounded?”
You were quiet for a second, surprised by how direct she was. You set your fork down.
“It’s hard sometimes,” you admitted, voice softer than you expected. “I love being on the Liberty. Growing up here, getting drafted there… it felt like a dream. But there’s pressure to prove I belong. To carve out my own space without stepping on toes or being ‘the new girl.’ Some nights I lie awake wondering if I’m doing enough. If I’m living up to what everyone expects.”
Paige listened like every word mattered. Her blue eyes stayed on you, steady and intense, making your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the food.
“I get that,” she said quietly. “Last season in Dallas… it was rough. Really rough. I went in thinking I could carry a lot of it, but we kept losing. I felt this pressure to keep everything together—for the team, for the fans, for the organization.”
She paused, then continued, voice gentler.
“And Coach Koclanes… he wasn’t the best. There were times I genuinely didn’t think he knew what he was fucking doing. Prayed about it a lot. But it was hard to be coached under him. The bad days in the locker room—the anger, the frustration, the quiet moments where nobody knew how to lift each other up, those didn’t get posted.
The fans only saw the losses. One wrong move and suddenly thousands of people are telling you that you suck, that your teammates suck, that the whole team is a joke. It was hard. Especially when it came from our own fans sometimes. That part hurt the most.”
Paige exhaled slowly, then looked at you with a small, honest smile.
“That’s why I lean on my faith so much. It keeps me grounded. Reminds me that none of this…. the fame, the numbers, the expectations is mine to carry alone. I want to be a role model. I know a lot of kids look up to me, and I take that seriously. I want to give back, use my platform, help the community the way people helped me growing up. But it’s heavy sometimes. My bad days don’t get posted. The doubt doesn’t make the highlight reels. That’s why I love the game so much. When I’m on the floor, none of that noise matters. It’s just me, the ball, and my teammates. Pure. Honest.”
You stared at her, something warm and heavy settling in your chest. You admired that about her, the way she carried herself with so much grace even when things were hard.
“I feel that,” you said quietly. “The pressure to be ‘on’ all the time. To represent something bigger. It’s a blessing, but it can feel like a weight too.”
Paige nodded, eyes never leaving yours. The tension between you shifted—still charged, but softer now. More vulnerable.
Then, because the air felt too heavy, you tried to lighten it.
“So… how’s Azzi doing? I keep seeing the rumors about her coming to Dallas. Your girlfriend joining you soon?”
Paige blinked, then let out a surprised laugh.
“Azzi’s not my girlfriend,” she said, shaking her head. “We had a thing for a little while. Years ago. She’s my best friend. Nothing more than that anymore. It was… safe, I guess. Easy. But it’s not like that now.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Safe?”
Paige shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. When you’re in the spotlight, sometimes it feels easier to keep things close. With someone who already knows you.”
You took that in, feeling something shift in your chest.
“So… you’re single?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Paige’s eyes darkened, that cocky little smirk returning. “Yeah. Single. Not seeing anybody.”
The tension snapped back into place, thicker now. Her foot brushed against yours under the table again. Her gaze dropped to your lips for a second before coming back up.
You swallowed. “Good to know.”
Paige leaned forward slightly, voice low. “What about you?”
You hesitated for half a second, then answered honestly.
“I had this fling with a girl here during the season. Nothing serious. We both said we weren’t looking for anything heavy.”
Paige’s eyebrows lifted slightly, curiosity clear in her eyes. “But?”
You shrugged, trying to play it cool even as the conversation turned more intimate. “She started catching feelings. I broke it off. It wasn’t… great anyway. She wasn’t really good in bed, but she was familiar. Comfortable. I let it go on longer than I should have.”
Paige let out a low hum, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I know how that goes. In Dallas it was wild sometimes. Some of them definitely knew what they were doing, but ion know. I haven’t found anyone that really does it for me lately. That really makes me feel good, you know?”
The air between you thickened instantly. Heavy. Hot. The kind of tension that made it hard to breathe normally. Her foot stayed pressed against yours under the table. Her eyes held yours, dark and unblinking, like she was daring you to look away first.
You felt your pulse in your throat.
Before either of you could push it further, one of the directors popped their head in.
“Alright it’s time for the final shots of the shoot.”
Paige sighed softly, but her eyes stayed locked on you, full of promise and something much hotter.
“Saved by the bell,” she murmured, voice low enough to send heat straight down your spine. “For now.”
You both stood up, the charged energy following you back onto the set like a live wire.
The final duo shots wrapped up smoother than expected.
The dark blue lighting and smoky set captured exactly what Nike wanted. The crew clapped after the last take, the director calling it a wrap with genuine excitement.
Nike staff handed out goodie bags filled with new gear—stacks of socks, fresh sweatpants, hoodies, and a personalized thank-you note that read..
Thank you for bringing your fire, focus, and undeniable talent to the “Future of Women’s Sports” campaign. You helped us capture exactly what this campaign is about, the next generation of athletes who are redefining what’s possible.
Inside this bag you’ll find some fresh Nike gear as a small token of our appreciation.
We can’t wait to see what you do next, both on and off the court. You’re not just part of the future, you’re helping build it.
You accepted yours with real appreciation, fingers brushing over the high-quality fabric, feeling the soft weight of it in your hands as you folded it carefully and placed it in your bag.
Paige stood beside you, bag in hand, still glowing from the long day, her skin carrying that post-shoot sheen that made her look even more alive under the studio lights.
“This was fun,” she said, voice warm, a little rough from talking all day. “Thanks for making it easy.”
You smiled, heart beating a little faster than it should have. “Same. You killed it.”
The studio started clearing out. People packing up lights and cables, the energy slowly winding down. You glanced at her, the tension from earlier still humming low in your chest, making your skin feel too warm.
“So… what are you doing tonight?” you asked, trying to sound casual even as your pulse picked up.
Paige shrugged, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Nothing really. I’ve got another shoot tomorrow, so I was just gonna order room service and crash early. You?”
“Not much,” you replied, the words feeling heavier than they should. “Probably just head home and settle in. Maybe watch something.”
There was a beat of silence, thick with everything neither of you had said yet. Then you took the leap, the words leaving your mouth before you could second-guess them.
“You know… if you don’t want to spend the night alone in a hotel, you could come over to my place. It’s nothing crazy, but it’s home.”
Paige looked surprised for a second, her blue eyes widening just a fraction, but then a slow smile spread across her face, that cocky little tilt at the corner of her mouth that made your stomach flip.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, though her eyes said she wanted you to insist. “Ion wanna bother you. You’ve seen me all day.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the nerves fluttering in your chest. “It’s not a bother. I invited you, didn’t I?”
She laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “Fair point.”
The Uber ride to your apartment was quiet but charged. Paige’s knee kept brushing yours in the backseat. Neither of you moved away. The city lights streaked past the windows in soft blurs of yellow and white, the low hum of the engine mixing with the faint scent of her cologne and the lingering warmth from the shoot. You could feel the heat radiating off her thigh where it pressed against yours despite you both having on sweatpants. Your heart was beating too loud in your ears, a steady thrum that matched the low buzz of anticipation in your stomach.
Your building had a doorman who nodded politely as you both walked in, the marble lobby cool under your shoes. You used your key card for the elevator. Paige looked around with quiet curiosity as you unlocked your door, her eyes scanning the space like she was trying to learn something about you from it.
The apartment was modern but warm—bougie in a lived-in way. Soft lighting from the lamps you’d left on, family photos on the walls, plants in the corners soaking up the low glow, a big comfortable couch facing a large TV. It felt like a home, not just a place to sleep.
“Damn,” Paige said, stepping inside and looking around slowly. “This looks nice. Way more put together than my place in Dallas. Some of my stuff is still in boxes and bare walls. Hard to decorate when you’re on the road all the time.”
You laughed softly, setting your bag down by the door, the sound of it echoing a little in the quiet space. “It helps when you’ve lived in the same city your whole life. My family helped move stuff in while I was away.”
Paige nodded, still taking it in, her fingers brushing the back of the couch as she walked further inside. “Must be nice.”
She paused for a second, eyes drifting over the family photos on the wall, the lived-in details that made the space feel like a real home. Something in her expression softened, almost wistful.
“My parents split when I was three,” she said quietly, the words coming out easy but weighted. “I don’t really remember them ever being together. They both got remarried, so I’ve got three younger siblings now. My little brother Drew’s basically like my twin and my best friend all in one.”
She let out a small laugh, but it was gentle, almost fond. “I try to do everything I can for them. Send them stuff when I’m on the road, call them every chance I get, make sure they know they can talk to me about anything. That’s kind of where my whole ‘role model’ thing started, I guess. I want them to see that even when life gets messy, you can still show up for the people you love. I don’t want them to ever feel like they’re on their own the way I sometimes did when I was younger.”
You listened, the quiet honesty in her voice hitting you somewhere deep. Paige didn’t talk about this stuff often, at least not publicly. But hearing her open up like this felt intimate in a way that made the apartment feel smaller, warmer.
She shrugged lightly, trying to play it off, but her eyes stayed soft. “It’s not perfect. Nothing ever is. But they’re my why, you know? The reason I keep pushing even when it gets hard.”
You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle in your chest. “That’s really beautiful, Paige. They’re lucky to have you.”
She gave you a small, genuine smile, the kind that showed her gums just a little. “Nah, I’m the lucky one.”
You grabbed two glasses of water from the kitchen and joined her on the couch. She was man-spreading comfortably, arm resting along the back of the couch, legs spread wide like she owned the space. You turned on an NBA game— more for background noise than anything, the low commentary filling the room like a buffer.
For a while you just sat there, sipping water, the game playing low. But the tension from earlier never left. It only grew, thick and heavy in the air between you, making every small shift on the couch feel electric.
Paige eventually turned to you, voice casual but eyes intense.
“So… that fling you mentioned earlier. What was it about her that made her bad in bed?”
You almost choked on your water. You set the glass down, cheeks warming under her stare.
“She… didn’t really know how to eat me out,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “She never made me cum. I kind of just faked it sometimes. Tried to convince myself it felt good even when it didn’t. And after she left, I’d just… touch myself.”
Paige looked genuinely surprised, then almost offended on your behalf, her eyebrows lifting as she leaned in closer.
“She never made you cum?” she repeated, her voice low and rough around the edges. “Deadass?”
You shook your head, laughing a little awkwardly, the sound shaky in your throat. “Nope.”
Paige leaned in even closer, her knee pressing firmly against yours, “Damn. That’s crazy. Trust me, there’s stuff in Dallas that can satisfy you in ways she never could.”
You raised an eyebrow, heart racing so hard you could feel it in your throat. “Oh yeah? Like who?”
Paige held your gaze, not hiding anything anymore, her blue eyes dark and hungry.
The air thickened instantly. Heavy. Hot. Electric. The kind of tension that made it hard to breathe normally, like the room had suddenly lost all its oxygen.
You swallowed hard, your mouth dry. “Paige…”
She shifted closer on the couch, her hand resting on your thigh, fingers warm and firm through your jeans. “What? Just sayin the truth baby.”
You felt yourself getting wet just from the way she was looking at you, the weight of her hand on your leg sending heat straight between your thighs, and definitely the way she said “Baby.”
Before you could overthink it, you nodded. That was all she needed.
Paige pulled you into a deep kiss, her hands sliding under your hoodie, gripping your waist like she’d been dying to touch you all day. She was confident, dominant, but not rushed. She kissed you like she’d been thinking about it for hours—slow at first, savoring the taste of your lips, then deeper, her tongue sliding against yours while her hands explored, mapping every curve like she was memorizing you.
She picked you up effortlessly, strong arms wrapping around you as she carried you to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed with a gentleness that contrasted the hunger in her eyes. She stripped you slowly, kissing every inch of skin she revealed, her mouth hot and wet against your collarbone, your stomach, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
“Look at you,” she murmured, kissing down your stomach. “So fuckin pretty baby. Been wanting this since I saw you this morning.”
When she finally settled between your thighs, she took her time. She ate you out like she was savoring you. Her tongue flat and slow at first, dragging through your folds, tasting every inch of you while her hands gripped your hips, holding you open for her. She circled your clit with deliberate pressure, then sucked gently, her tongue flicking in tight, perfect patterns that made your back arch off the bed.
“Paige—” you gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily, fingers tangling in her hair.
“That’s it, baby,” she praised, voice muffled against your pussy, the vibration sending sparks through your entire body. “Let me hear you. You sound so good for me. So fucking wet already.”
She added two fingers, pushing inside you slowly, curling them perfectly against that spot that made your toes curl. The wet, slick sounds filled the room, obscene and intimate, mixing with your shaky breaths and her low hums of approval. She pumped them deeper, faster, while her mouth worked your clit relentlessly, sucking and licking until your thighs started trembling around her head.
You came hard the first time, a broken moan tearing from your throat as pleasure crashed through you, your walls clenching around her fingers. She didn’t stop. She kept fingering you through it, curling and stroking while her tongue flicked faster, drawing out the second orgasm until you were whimpering, begging, your voice hoarse.
“Please Paige, I can’t—it’s too much—”
“You can,” she murmured, eyes dark as she looked up at you from between your thighs, her lips shiny with your arousal. “One more for me, ma. Be good for me. I know you’ve got it. Let me feel you cum again.”
You came again, harder, body trembling violently, fingers gripping her hair so tight it must have hurt as waves of pleasure rolled through you, leaving you gasping and oversensitive.
Only then did she climb back up and kiss you, letting you taste yourself on her tongue, the kiss deep and messy and desperate.
You tried to return the favor, pushing her onto her back with shaking hands. Paige let you for a little while. You went down on her, licking and sucking while your fingers worked inside her. She fell apart beautifully, moaning your name, hips grinding against your mouth, hands in your hair as she guided you.
“Fuck—just like that, baby… you’re doing so good… right there, don’t stop—”
She came hard, loud and shaking, thighs clamped around your head as her body tensed and released, her voice breaking on your name.
Then she flipped you again, eyes dark with want.
She grabbed your strap, holding it up with a smirk. “You ever use this with anyone else?”
You shook your head, breathing hard, still trembling from the aftershocks. “No.”
Paige’s smirk was pure sin. “Good. Because I need to know it’s only been me.”
She fucked you with it—hard, deep, confident strokes while talking you through every thrust, her voice low and rough in your ear.
“Whose dick is this, baby?” she growled, pounding into you, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks, the other rubbing tight circles on your clit.
“Yours,” you moaned, nails digging into her back, legs wrapped around her waist. “It’s yours, Paige—fuck. Please—”
She made you beg. Made you wait. Teased you right to the edge and pulled back until you were crying out for release, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it felt.
“Please Paige, I need to cum. I can’t take it anymore—”
“Not yet,” she whispered, slowing her thrusts to a torturous grind, kissing your neck, sucking marks into your skin. “Tell me how bad you want it. Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”
“I need to so bad, please, baby. I’ll be good. It’s you, it’s only you—”
She finally let you cum, fucking you through it hard and deep while praising you the whole time, her voice wrecked and possessive.
“Good girl… that’s it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”
You both collapsed afterward, sweaty and spent, breathing hard in the quiet of your bedroom.
Paige cleaned you up gently with a warm cloth from the bathroom, her touch soft and careful now, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your temple, your hair as she pulled you into her chest, arms wrapped tightly around you like she never planned to let go.
“Stay,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but warm. “I don’t want you going anywhere tonight.”
She curled closer, smiling against your skin, your body still humming with aftershocks. “Okay.”
She held you tighter, fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back, her heartbeat steady under your cheek.
“I wasn’t expecting this tonight,” she murmured, pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head. “But I’m really glad it happened.”
“Me too,” you whispered, voice sleepy and content.
Paige smiled, soft and sure, her arms a warm, safe weight around you.
“Next time you’re in Dallas… let me know where you gonna stay. We’re not done here.”
You fell asleep like that—tangled together, her chain cool against your skin, the city lights of New York glowing softly through the window.
This was just the beginning.
