The next day after practice, Cassie barely heard the door of her apartment close behind him.
She was still standing in her kitchen, phone face down on the counter, shoulders tight, jaw set in the particular way Luke had learned meant she was trying not to spiral. Notepad open. Laptop half-shut. Three sticky notes with names and deadlinesscrawled across them. She had changed out of her usual practice outfit of jeans and a blazer, and was now in one of her oversized hoodies over a pair of sleep shorts, hair thrown into a messy bun to keep it out of her face as she worked.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She turned, exhaled like she’d been holding it in since that morning. “I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I’m a mess.”
He didn’t crowd her. Didn’t reach for her right away. Just stepped closer and rested his hands lightly at her hips, helping to ground her.
“I know the feeling,” he told her. “Would it help if I rubbed your back for a bit? Do you think you have time?”
She hesitated for half a second, then nodded and let him guide her toward the bedroom. She pulled her hoodie over her head and tossed it on the floor, revealing her bare skin before she flopped facedown on her bed. He knelt beside her.
“Just a back massage,” he said. “Nothing else. Promise.”
She laughed quietly. “You don’t have to promise.”
But when his hands settled on her shoulders—warm, firm, familiar—the laughter faded. He worked slowly, deliberately, thumbs pressing into the knots she hadn’t realized were there. She leaned into his touch without thinking, tension loosening in increments.
“God,” she muttered. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
“You never do,” he said. “You just power through.”
His hands moved lower, following the lines of her back, tracing muscle instead of grabbing. It was soothing, intimate in a waythat wasn’t immediately sexual. And because of that, it felt almost heavier.
Her breathing changed.
She shifted slightly, giving him room, and his hands followed the movement instinctively. He slid lower, palms flattening against the warm plane of her lower back. His thumbs traced slow, deliberate lines along her spine before drifting outward, down over the curve of her hips. She was wearing short shorts, and when his fingers brushed bare skin, her breath caught.
Luke didn’t rush. He let his hands explore with intention, gliding over the backs of her thighs, the firm stretch of her hamstrings, then inching higher again, testing boundaries without crossing them. His touch grew slower, heavier, as if he were mapping her body by feel alone. When his fingers skimmed the inside of her thighs, they were warm and unhurried. His hands continued upward from her inner thighs, slowing as they reached the thin fabric of her shorts. His palms settled there, pressing lightly, the heel of his hand massaging her through the fabric. He kept the motion slow and steady, more pressure than movement, as if testing whether she would stop him. She let out a soft sound she hadn’t meant to make, her body responding before her mind could catch up.
“Luke,” she said softly.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I know, I said–”
She turned on the bed, facing him now, their knees nearly touching. The look on his face—a little sheepish, but attentive—made something inside her settle and flare at the same time.
“I want to show you something,” she said.
His brows lifted. “Okay.”
She reached over to her nightstand, and opened the drawer. When she turned back around, she was holding a small, black bullet vibrator, her expression open but steady.
Luke blinked. “Is that—”
“A toy,” she said simply. “I want you to use it on me.”
He swallowed, surprise flickering across his face before settling into something else—curiosity, maybe, or trust. “I’ve never…,” he started, then stopped. “I mean. I haven’t.”
She smiled, softer now. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know how. I’ll show you.”
That did something to him. She could see it—the way his posture shifted, the way his attention sharpened. She pressed the button to click it on low, leaned closer and placed it in his hand, then closed her fingers over his, adjusting his grip.
“First rule,” she said quietly. “You don’t rush.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on her face. “Got it.”
She laid back down flat on the bed, sliding her shorts down and putting them on the floor. She guided his hand over her clit, her touch patient.
