The Ladies Who Lunch
Joanne (Company) x Reader
Summary: You and Joanne have been friends for years. Joanne’s always been a flirt, and you always pretend not to notice—until pretending stops being an option. One impulsive decision turns into something softer than either expected, and maybe, just maybe it's the start of something real.
Tags: friends to lovers, mentions of drinking and smoking, smut so minors dni, fingering and cunnilingus (Joanne receiving), top!reader
A/N: A huge shout out to my lovely friends @awlwgeneraldinosaur and @catherinestandishstits for reading this first (pretty much being my beta-readers), encouraging me, and always being there when life is shit— I love you guys. Also, thank you to @sanguibus for also reading this through and making the gorgeous gif of Joanne! Finally, @madamspellmans-met-tet , thank you for being so kind and encouraging! I hope everyone enjoys this x
Word Count: 5.2k
AO3 link
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You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. Ever since you first laid eyes on Joanne, you knew that you had to know her, had to have her. She was an enigma, carrying the weight of years of failed relationships, the echoes of every heartbreak tucked neatly behind sharp words and sharp eyes. Her marriages were never a sore topic, or at least she did not present them as one. She casually told you of her three divorces— the last one rather fresh— money being the main object of her desires. She was a woman who had lived—truly lived—and yet, there was something in her that seemed restless, as if she were always searching for something just out of reach. Something more, a fulfilment that neither money nor casual sex could bring.
Joanne was intoxicating in a way you couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just her wealth, her dry humour, or the way she carried herself like she had seen it all and was unimpressed. It was the way she looked at you, like she was assessing whether you were worth her time, whether you could keep up with her sarcasm, wit, and antics. And God, you desperately wanted to. You wanted to unravel her, wanted to slip past her defences, wanted to be the one who finally made her feel something real.
And now, at last, you are here. The two of you sat across from each other in the dim glow of a bar, a nearly empty martini glass in front of her, your own drink emptied. The night had stretched on in a blur of laughter and biting remarks, of her teasing you and you trying to remain calm while giving it right back to her. Joanne thrived on challenge, and you had learned quickly that she only respected people who weren’t afraid to face her.
You hadn’t even registered that you were staring at her until she broke you from your trance. “If you keep looking at me like that,” she says, voice as smooth as the whisky in her glass, “I might start thinking I’m interesting.”
You smirk. “I think you already know you are.”
It was always like this with her– flirting, back and forth, teasing and hinting– but you knew deep down that it meant much more to you than it did to Joanne. She was just being friendly– messing around– without realising that she had captivated you in a not-so-friendly way.
She studied you over the rim of her glass, eyes half-lidded, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “So, tell me, darling,” she drawled, voice slow and deliberate. “What exactly did you invite me here for?”
There it was. You were expecting the question but hadn’t thought of an adequate answer. Joanne was straight, or at least that’s what it seemed like. You knew that you should avoid these situations— falling for a straight woman was not ideal to say the least. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if she shared the feelings, or at least the attraction. You had seen the way her eyes trailed over your figure, stopping at your chest, and how she tried (and failed) not to stare at your ass when you bent over. And then there was the teasing, Joanne knew exactly what to say and she always seemed to revel in making your cheeks flush.
You leaned in slightly, mirroring her posture. “I think you already know.”
She let out a soft laugh, something low and knowing. “Do I?”
She was testing you, waiting to see if you would back down. But you had waited too long for this, wanted her too much to let the moment slip away.
You decided there and then, tonight you were going to make her break. You were going to make her admit that she wanted you, make her beg for your touch.
“You tell me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “what do you want tonight to be, darling?”
For the first time that night, something shifted in her expression. The ever-present cynicism disguised as amusement in her eyes flickered, giving way to something else. Interest? Curiosity? Maybe even hesitation?
Joanne was a woman who had spent years building walls, years convincing herself that love—real, raw, and consuming—wasn’t meant for her. She lived in half-hearted affairs, in fleeting moments of pleasure that never lasted beyond the morning. But you weren’t afraid of that. You weren’t afraid of her.
She exhaled slowly, setting her glass down with a soft clink against the marble bar top. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”
You smiled, fingers grazing the back of her hand. “Good thing I like danger.”
For the first time, Joanne didn’t pull away. She looked at you, really looked at you, as if searching for the catch, the moment you’d flinch or decide she wasn’t worth the trouble. But you didn’t. You just watched her, waiting, patient in a way no one ever had been before.
Joanne had always played her part well—the sharp-tongued cynic, the woman who scoffed at love and made a spectacle of indifference. It was easier that way. Easier than admitting the truth: that she had spent too many nights in a bed that felt empty, that she longed for something more but never trusted herself to reach for it. She wasn’t naive. She’d spent too many nights staring at the ceiling, wondering why every person she let into her bed left her feeling emptier. Love had never felt like something for her. It was for people who were softer, people who believed in happy endings. People who hadn’t learned how quickly affection could turn to regret.
She smirked, the edge of it softened by something she couldn’t quite name. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Maybe,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Or maybe I do.”
She smirked, tilting her head as she studied you. Testing you. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”
You shrugged, undeterred. “Not yet. But I want to. If that’s something you want.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, you needed to hear her say it— that she wanted you.
Joanne swallowed. There it was—that pull, that ache, the quiet whisper in the back of her mind that had been growing louder ever since she met you. She had spent a lifetime convincing herself that love wasn’t for her, that desire like this wasn’t meant to last. But for the first time, she wanted to be wrong.
You sensed her hesitation and grabbed her hand, tracing soft circles with your fingers. You soothed her and let the touch linger, just for a moment. It was barely anything—just the heat of your skin against hers, a whisper of contact—but it sent a shiver up her spine. She could lie to herself about a lot of things, but not this.
She was tired. Tired of pretending that the ache in her chest wasn’t loneliness. Tired of convincing herself that wanting meant weakness. That needing someone—needing you—was something to be ashamed of.
But then there was you. You, with your fearless eyes and your reckless smiles. You, who kept showing up, pressing at the cracks she tried so hard to keep sealed.
Something flickered across her face—gone before she could name it. Fear, maybe. Longing, definitely.
“Joanne,” you bit the bullet, your resolve from earlier absolutely crumbling before you.
“Mhm.” She hummed.
“I want you, I really do. And I have for a while now. I know that you’re straight and I…”
“Shhh, darling.” She cut off your rambling with a soft finger to your lips. She paused to collect her thoughts. “I know what you’re going to say.” Her voice was softer now, the teasing lilt gone, replaced by something more deliberate, more careful. Her fingers lingered against your lips for a second longer than necessary before she pulled away, curling them around the stem of her glass instead.
She exhaled, tilting her head as if considering you from a new angle, one she hadn’t let herself examine before. “And maybe I should have said something sooner,” she admitted, swirling the last remnants of her martini before pushing the glass aside. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”
You blinked, your pulse hammering in your throat. “What’s that?”
She leaned in then, close enough that you could smell her perfume—something rich, expensive, and distinctly Joanne. Close enough that when she spoke, her breath ghosted over your lips.
“I never said I was straight.”
The air between you shifted, charged with something neither of you could ignore any longer. Your heart pounded as Joanne’s gaze dropped—just briefly—to your lips, her hesitation warring with desire in real time. She was giving you the opening, waiting to see if you’d take it.
You did.
Your fingers found hers again, this time not just to soothe but to pull. Gently, deliberately, until her hand rested on your thigh, her thumb just barely brushing against your skin. She didn’t pull away.
“Then what are you saying?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady.
Joanne’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. “I’m saying you talk too much.”
And then, finally, she kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was all teeth and need, all the tension and longing that had been simmering between you finally snapping. Her hands found your face, fingers threading into your hair as she deepened the kiss, and you felt her sigh against your mouth—like she’d been waiting for this just as much as you had.
Your hands moved instinctively, one gripping the back of her neck, the other sliding down her side, feeling the warmth of her through the silk of her blouse. She let out a quiet sound—half a hum, half a sigh—before breaking the kiss just enough to look at you.
“You really are trouble,” she murmured, her thumb tracing absent circles against your jaw.
You grinned, breathless. “You like trouble.”
Joanne chuckled, low and warm, before pressing one last, lingering kiss to your lips. “That, I do.”
She pulled back only slightly, her eyes scanning your face, searching. “Come home with me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
You didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”
Joanne smirked, finishing the last sip of her drink before standing, her fingers still wrapped around yours. And as you followed her out into the night, you knew—this was only the beginning.
The car ride was quiet, but it wasn’t tense. Joanne kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh, her fingers twitching slightly, like she was resisting the urge to reach for you. You watched her in the dim glow of the dashboard, the way the city lights flickered across her face as she drove. She was composed, as always, but there was something else beneath the surface tonight—something raw, something unguarded.
You wanted to touch her, to run your fingers along the sharp line of her jaw, to trace the curve of her lower lip with your thumb and see if she would kiss it, if she would take it into her mouth and suck just to make you squirm. But you waited. Let her set the pace.
When she finally pulled up to her building—a sleek high-rise that suited her perfectly—Joanne cut the engine and turned to you. “Last chance to change your mind,” she said, though there was no real challenge in her voice. If anything, there was a quiet plea beneath it, masked by her usual bravado.
You reached over, fingers grazing the inside of her wrist. “Not a chance.”
Something flickered in her expression—relief, want, something deeper than either of you were ready to name. She exhaled, then nodded once before stepping out of the car. You followed, your pulse hammering as she led you through the building, past the doorman who barely blinked at the sight of her bringing someone home at this hour. You wondered how many times she’d done this before—walked someone through these halls, led them upstairs, let them into her space. But something told you this was different. She was different.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the atmosphere shifted. The air was thick with anticipation, with everything that had been unsaid for weeks, months.
Joanne barely gave you time to take in your surroundings before she was on you. Her hands gripped your hips, backing you against the door as her mouth found yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate.
You moaned into her kiss, tilting your head to deepen it, your fingers tangling in her hair. She pressed against you, her thigh slotting between your legs, and you gasped at the contact, at the sheer presence of her.
“You have no idea,” she murmured against your lips, her hands sliding up beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming over your bare skin. “How long I’ve wanted this.”
Your breath hitched. “I think I do.”
She pulled back just enough to look at you, her pupils blown wide, lips kiss-bruised. “Bedroom?” she asked, though it was clear she was barely holding onto her patience.
You nodded, and she smirked before grabbing your hand and leading you deeper into her apartment.
The second you stepped into her bedroom, she turned to face you, her expression momentarily unreadable. You reached for her, but she caught your wrist, holding it gently.
“This—” She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “This isn’t just some… passing thing for you, is it?”
You stepped closer, cupping her face, forcing her to meet your eyes. “No,” you said firmly. “Not even close.”
Joanne let out a shaky breath, something in her posture softening. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was entirely different from the ones before. This wasn’t just about hunger or tension. It was something more.
“Joanne, let me show you just how much this means to me.” You rasped, your voice husky with desire.
The way your eyes carefully studied Joanne’s features made her heart melt. She doesn’t doubt your words, she knows she couldn’t even if she tried. Your tone, the way you hold her, the way you kiss her—all of it so genuine and passionate. She trusts you, and for the first time in her life she feels truly seen. Joanne doesn't answer you, instead choosing to lean in, pressing her lips to yours in a slow and fervent motion. Your hands fell to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.
“Please, darling. Show me.” There it was. The words you had been dying to hear ever since you first met the gorgeous woman before you. Joanne didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up at her words or how your tongue darted out to wet your lips.
You took your time, wanting her to feel worshipped, cherished, and wanted in a way she’d never let herself be before. Your lips ghosted over her jaw, trailing down the elegant column of her neck, lingering just long enough to feel the way her pulse quickened beneath your touch. She let out a breathy sigh, her hands gripping your hips like she needed something to ground her.
You guided her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She smirked up at you, but there was something softer beneath it now, something unguarded. You followed her down, hovering over her, hands skimming the silk of her blouse before slipping beneath it. Your fingertips met the warm, supple flesh of her stomach, trailing upwards towards her chest where you felt the delicate lace of her brassiere. You practically ripped her blouse over her head, revealing smooth, flushed skin beneath. Your hands roamed over her, savouring the warmth of her body as your lips traced a slow path down her throat. She exhaled a breathy sigh, her fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you built steadily, a slow, intoxicating burn as you took your time exploring every inch of her.
You dipped your head, lips grazing along the delicate line of her collarbone before trailing lower, tasting the warmth of her skin. Her breath hitched, nails biting into your shoulders as you took your time, savouring the way she reacted to your touch. Slowly, you reached your arm around to her back, fingers finding the clasps of her bra and undoing it. She pulled back, her eyes on your flushed face as she slid the straps from her shoulders. Her bra slipped down her arms, the lace catching briefly against her skin before she let it fall away. Your breath stilled as you took her in—soft curves bathed in the low, golden light, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she watched you, waiting expectantly for your reaction.
“You’re staring, baby.” Her voice was laced with a hint of amusement, but really she was revelling in having your eyes on her.
Her skin was smooth, warm beneath your fingertips as you traced the slope of her breast, marvelling at the way she reacted to your touch.
She shivered as your palm cupped her, thumb grazing over the peak, earning a quiet, breathless sound from her lips. Your mouth followed, pressing slow, reverent kisses along the swell of her chest, tasting the heat of her skin, feeling the way she arched into you, utterly unguarded now.
“Can you blame me? Fuck, Joanne. You’re perfect.” You rasped, before beginning to suck on her left nipple. Your fingers copied the motions of your tongue, teasing her other breast.
You smirked against her skin, dragging your teeth lightly over her nipple before pulling away, lips brushing over the damp peak as you exhaled hotly. Joanne let out a frustrated little sound, her fingers tightening in your hair.
“That’s it?” she taunted, voice breathy but laced with challenge. “I expected more.”
Oh, she wanted to play.
You lifted your head, meeting her gaze—heavy-lidded, teasing, daring. “You expected more?” you echoed, running your fingers down her ribs, slow, torturous. “And here I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
She huffed, rolling her hips just enough to brush against your thigh. “I could be enjoying myself a lot more,” she murmured, lips curling in that infuriating smirk.
Your hand slid lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her panties but not quite touching where you knew she wanted you most. “Careful,” you warned, pressing a deliberate kiss to the centre of her chest. “Brats don’t always get what they want.”
She scoffed, arching beneath you, her body begging for more even as she played at defiance. “And what if I don’t want to behave?”
You grinned, trailing your fingers lower, just barely grazing her. “Then I guess I’ll just have to leave you wanting more.”
Your fingers skimmed along the curve of her waist, tracing the soft dip of her stomach before moving upward, teasing, exploring. Her body arched into you, a silent plea for more, for deeper contact. You obliged despite yourself, pressing closer, your mouths meeting in a slow, heated kiss that left no space between you, only the steady thrum of untapped desire pulsing between you both.
She sighed against your lips, her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips trailing fire in their wake as she pushed the fabric up, eager to feel you just as intimately. You let her, shivering at the sensation, at the way her touch left you breathless, wanting.
The room around you blurred, faded into nothing—just the heat, the way your bodies fit together, the delicious tension building between you. When you finally reached her breast, you glanced up, searching her face. Her pupils were blown wide, lips parted in anticipation, but there was something else in her gaze—something raw, something unspoken. You held her gaze as you ran your tongue slowly over the curve of her breast before closing your lips around her nipple, sucking just enough to pull a sharp gasp from her lips.
“God,” she breathed, her fingers tightening in your hair.
Her body trembled beneath you, her thighs shifting restlessly as you lavished attention on her, alternating between soft kisses and teasing nips. Your free hand slid down, tracing the curve of her waist, over her hip, fingers ghosting underneath her trousers and along the lacy edge of her panties.
You dipped your fingers underneath the waistband, teasingly playing with the sheer black lace covering her throbbing centre. The heat of her arousal seeped through the delicate fabric, slick against your fingertips. She looked down at you through hooded eyes, her bottom lip nestled between her teeth, cheeks flushed with need. She looked so deliciously desperate, aching for your touch.
“Please, baby.”
“Please, what, Joanne?” you teased, running your fingers along the soaked lace, pressing just enough to make her hips jerk.
“Oh—please just fucking touch me already!” she gasped, her voice ragged.
Her hands skated down your back, nails pressing lightly into your skin. You moved lower, trailing kisses below her navel, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath your touch. You reached for the waistband of her slacks and glanced up, wordlessly asking for permission.
Joanne, always composed, always in control, let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Take them off,” she murmured.
You didn’t need to be told twice. Your fingers made quick work of the button and zipper, sliding the fabric down her long, toned legs. When you pulled them off completely, she was left in only the last piece of lace, her thighs pressing together as if she were still trying to maintain some semblance of control.
A wicked smirk tugged at your lips as you peeled the lace aside, letting your fingers glide through her wetness, spreading it. You dragged your fingertips up, circling her clit with torturous slowness, making her whimper. Then, without warning, you slipped two fingers inside her, curling just right.
“God,” she breathed, voice low, rough with desire. “Keep going.”
And you wouldn’t—not when she looked like this, utterly undone, head tipped back, lips parted in pleasure. Not when you had her like this, all yours to explore. Her face was flushed, her chest rising and falling with each measured breath. She was beautiful—stunning in a way that made your throat tighten. But more than that, she was real. Joanne, the woman who had spent years behind sharp smiles and sharper words, was here beneath you, open and waiting.
Her back arched as you moved, fucking her with deep, steady strokes, your thumb pressing firm circles against her swollen bud. Joanne’s fingers twisted in your hair, pulling you closer as you dipped your head, your mouth replacing your thumb. You flicked your tongue over her clit before sucking, hard, savouring the way her thighs trembled around you.
A sharp inhale, followed by a helpless moan—music to your ears.
You groaned against her, the vibration making her jolt. “You taste so fucking good,” you murmured, voice dripping with hunger, before diving back in, devouring her. You licked and sucked, fucking her with your tongue, fingers still buried deep inside her, curling just right. Joanne was unravelling, her breath coming in desperate, shaky moans, her body trembling as she teetered on the edge.
“Fuck, fuck—” Her voice broke, thighs trembling against your ears. Her grip in your hair turned punishing, dragging you impossibly closer as she shattered with a sharp cry, her release coating your lips, your chin.
But you weren’t done—not when she looked like this, utterly wrecked, head tipped back, lips parted, her skin flushed and dewy with sweat. Not when she was still twitching, overstimulated and sensitive, her body jerking as you licked her through it, dragging out every last wave of pleasure.
“Jesus—fuck—baby—” Her hands shoved weakly at your head, but you just smirked, dragging your tongue up, sucking her swollen clit until her body spasmed, another strangled whimper escaping her lips.
Finally, you pulled away, licking your lips as you crawled up her body, savouring the way she looked. She was gloriously undone. Her chest heaved with every heavy breath, her pupils still dark with lust.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” you murmured, voice hushed but dripping with reverence. “Absolutely breathtaking.”
Something flickered in her gaze—something raw, almost vulnerable. But before she could mask it with a sharp remark, you silenced her with your mouth, kissing her slow, deep, letting her taste herself on your tongue.
She moaned into your mouth, and it was the sexiest fucking thing you’d ever heard.
You didn’t stop there.
Trailing your lips down her body, you took your time, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her flushed skin, letting your teeth scrape, letting your tongue soothe. You felt her shiver when you reached her breasts, your fingers splaying over her ribs, keeping her still.
She was watching you now, pupils blown wide, breath coming in shallow gasps. You let your tongue flick over the stiff peak of her nipple before closing your lips around it, sucking slow and deep, dragging your teeth just enough to make her gasp.
“God,” she choked out, fingers fisting in your hair again, yanking you closer. “Don’t stop.”
Like hell you would.
You sucked harder, rolling her other nipple between your fingers, tweaking and teasing until her hips started moving again, a fresh wave of slickness pooling between her thighs.
“Mm,” you hummed against her skin, relishing her sharp inhale. “Think you’re ready for more?”
Her nails dug into your shoulders, her voice hoarse, wrecked. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I swear to god—”
You grinned wickedly. “Oh, baby,” you murmured, reaching between her legs, dragging your fingers through her dripping heat. “I’m just getting started.”
“You’re insatiable.” she chuckled, still breathless.
“I can’t help it,” you admitted, your voice hushed with reverence. “You’re everything I've ever wanted.”
Something flickered in her expression—vulnerability, maybe, or disbelief. But you didn’t give her time to brush it off with a quip. Instead, you leaned down, pressing your lips to the centre of her torso, letting your mouth map the expanse of warm skin before you.
Joanne exhaled shakily, her fingers twitching where they rested against your shoulders. You kissed your way down, slow and deliberate, savouring the way she reacted to you—the soft sighs, the way her body arched ever so slightly into your touch.
You hummed against her, lavishing attention on one side before switching to the other, making sure to leave no part of her untouched. Joanne was unravelling beneath you, and you wanted to watch her fall apart.
You grinned, pressing a teasing kiss to the inside of her knee. “You’re stunning,” you murmured, letting your hands trail up the soft skin of her thighs, parting them gently.
Joanne exhaled, watching you with hooded eyes. “Don’t make me beg, darling.”
You smirked, dragging your nails lightly up her thighs. “Oh, but I think I’d like to hear it again.”
She let out a breathy laugh, but it cut off when you leaned in, pressing a kiss over the damp lace between her legs. Her hips jerked slightly, and you smiled against her skin.
“You’re teasing,” she accused, her voice strained.
You grinned, pressing another kiss, then another. “I like watching you squirm.”
Joanne’s head fell back against the pillows, her chest rising and falling as she let out a shaky exhale. “Then quit messing around and—oh fuck—”
Her words dissolved into a sharp gasp as you finally gave her what she wanted, what you had both wanted for so long, you slid. You took your time moving down her body, savouring every sound she made, every shuddering breath, every desperate grip of your hair.
Your eyes are fixed on her face as you slide two fingers into her. You test the waters by moving your fingers in and out of her glistening centre, and you know you are on the right track when your actions elicit a deep moan from her lips. As she gets closer to climax, her brows knit together and her mouth falls open as if to let out a silent scream.
The perfect time to add your tongue into the mix.
Without stopping your fingers, you take her swollen clit into your mouth and suck it gently. Her back arches up off of the bed and she lets out an almost-whimper that you are determined to hear again.
Her hips are rocking in time with each thrust of your fingers and your tongue is circling her clit as your fingers had done earlier. “Oh fuck! I'm so close, baby—” she moaned. Her ringed fingers were tangled in your hair and you could feel her manicured nails scratching against your scalp as you thrust deeper into her core.
“Look at me, Joanne. I want to be looking into your eyes when you come.” Your voice was steady, but could not conceal how euphoric this moment felt to you.
She obeyed, looking down at you while you fucked her over the edge. As her orgasm washed over her, she squeezed your head between her thighs so hard that you thought you might suffocate. And what a delicious way to go that would be. She came with a string of curse words and a chant of repeated 'yeses'.
You kiss your way up her body and place one final passionate kiss on her lips. She is breathless and her hair is wildly out of its usual perfect condition.
"So… was that what you were expecting?" you could not suppress the moronic grin on your face even if you wanted to.
She chuckled lightly, leaning over you to grab and light a cigarette. Joanne pressed the filter to her lips, inhaling the smoke as if it were a lifeline. Without wasting a second, she positioned her free hand on you neck, guiding your lips until they were just short of hers. You opened your mouth reflexively—as if you knew what she was about to do next—and she let a ribbon of smoke curl into your expectant mouth.
"Oh, baby, it was beyond anything I imagined," she whispered, as if she were afraid to admit something.
"Joanne, are you alright?" you asked, worried she now regretted what happened between the both of you.
She sat up nervously, placing her lit cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed. "I—I've never felt this way before," she confessed, her eyes avoiding yours, "and it fucking scares me. I just—"
You cut her off with a kiss—it was gentle at first, then it deepened. "You aren't the only one who's scared. But we're going to figure this out together, okay?"
"God," she chuckled dryly,"you have absolutely no clue what you're getting yourself into."
"Maybe I do," you replied with a smile,"and maybe I'm exactly where I want to be."
She grinned in response. Any words she planned on saying were lost as her lips captured yours—fierce, desperate, claiming. The taste of smoke and liquor lingered between you and the night stretched on—uncertain, electrifying, and far from over.
