Joren didn't answer right away.
Lana didn't rush him. She just looked at him like she already knew the answer.
The bar had thinned out, the music softening into something low and moody. The kind of soundtrack that made everything feel like a scene. Joren's drink was half-melted, his thoughts even worse.
He nodded.
Lana smiled—not wide, not wicked. Just enough to say good choice.
She grabbed her bag, tossed a wave at the bartender, and led the way out like it was routine. Joren followed, trying to act cool while his brain ran laps.
Outside, the street was quieter. The air had that late-evening chill, and the sidewalks were mostly empty. Lana didn't talk much on the walk. She didn't need to. Her silence felt intentional, like she was letting the tension do the talking.
Her apartment was close—just a few blocks off campus. Third floor. The hallway smelled like someone had burned toast and tried to cover it with vanilla spray.
Inside, her place was small but stylish. A little messy, but in a curated way. Clothes draped over chairs. A half-eaten croissant on the counter. Candles everywhere—some lit, some just decorative. A hoodie tossed on the couch that clearly wasn't hers.
Joren noticed it. She saw him notice.
"My ex," she said, voice flat.
"Well. Maybe still my boyfriend. I don't know."
Joren blinked. "You guys broke up?"
She smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I had a fight with him, and then he left."
Joren shifted. "Sorry."
She handed him a bottle of water and leaned against the counter.
"Don't be. He's dramatic. I'm dramatic. It's like dating a mirror with mood swings."
She took a sip of water, then set the bottle down with a soft clink.
"I didn't bring you here to vent, though."
Joren raised an eyebrow. "Why did you?" He asked, even though he already knew the answer.
She looked at him for a long moment. "Because you're quiet. And kind. And you don't look at me like I'm a problem."
Joren swallowed. "You're not."
She stepped closer, slowly, like she was testing the floor beneath her feet. "I just didn't want to be alone tonight. And you… you felt safe."
Joren's heart thudded. "I'm glad I came."
She reached out, fingers brushing his wrist. "Me too."
The silence between them stretched—not awkward, but charged. Her eyes searched his, not for answers, but for permission.
Then she leaned in, slow and deliberate, her breath warm against his cheek.
Joren didn't move. Didn't speak. Just let the moment happen.
Her lips met his—not rushed, not aggressive. Just soft. Intentional. Like she needed it more than she wanted it.
Joren kissed back, his hands unsure at first, then steadier. Her fingers curled around his collar, pulling him closer until the space between them disappeared. She deepened the kiss, her free hand sliding up his neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling just slightly—just enough to make his breath hitch.
Lana pulled back just enough to let Joren breathe, her lips hovering near his, her breath warm against his skin. Her eyes were dark with intent.
"You taste good,"
she murmured, voice low and rough.
Joren swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"Thanks,"
he breathed, the word coming out hoarser than he intended.
Lana's face softened—just slightly, just enough to make her seem almost vulnerable for a fleeting second before the hungry look resurfaced.
She released her grip on his face, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders, her touch firm and possessive. Without breaking eye contact, she guided him backward, her body moving with him in a slow, fluid motion.
When the back of his knees hit the bed, she stopped, her hands still on his shoulders. She didn't speak—didn't need to. Her eyes said everything. She pushed gently, and he lowered himself onto the soft mattress, her hands never leaving his shoulders. She followed, straddling his lap, her knees pressing into the bed on either side of his thighs.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she leaned back, her hands sliding from his shoulders down his chest. She paused at his waistband, fingers grazing the bulge in his jeans before she undid it with practiced ease. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she pulled the zipper down.
Joren inhaled sharply as Lana's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, her touch firm and unhurried. She didn't waste time—she just pulled him out, her fingers wrapping around his cock with a skilled grip. He let out a quiet groan as she gave him a slow, deliberate stroke, her thumb pressing lightly against the tip.
"You're so... big," Lana muttered, more to herself, her voice hoarse.
Joren groaned, her words sending a jolt through his body.
She held his gaze as she moved forward, her lips parting slightly. He felt her breath against the head of his cock before she finally took him into her mouth.
Joren's breath caught as Lana's mouth enveloped him, her tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft as she sank down in one smooth motion. Her hands pressed against his thighs.
"Ah!... Lana... your mouth... so... ah... so good!"
Joren moaned, the heat of her mouth overwhelming.
She didn't rush—she savored it, sucking with just enough pressure to make his hips twitch, her lips tight around his base as she moved, her head bobbing up and down as she worked him with her mouth.
He could feel his release building, the pressure coiling in his lower belly.
"I'm close," he gasped.
Lana released him with a wet pop and met his gaze, her face glistening, her lips still parted.
"Cum for me," she said, her voice husky.
Her hand moved to the base of his cock, squeezing as she resumed sucking, her rhythm unrelenting. Her words sent a jolt through his body. His fingers tightened in the fabric of the bedsheets, knuckles whitening as the pressure became unbearable.
"Lana!"
Joren cried as his hips jerked involuntarily, the first waves of release hitting him like a bus. Lana felt it immediately—her mouth moved faster, swallowing every drop as he emptied into her throat.
"We're not done yet," she murmured, rising from his lap with effortless grace, adjusting her shirt as she sat beside him, giving him a moment to catch his breath.
The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was one of eager anticipation, maybe even a bit of excitement.