Matthew's eyes fluttered open, the morning light stabbing at his skull. He groaned, shielding his face with his forearm. The room spun lazily, a hazy carousel of memory fragments—loud music, flashing lights, the taste of cheap beer, and her. His lips tingled at the thought, a phantom sensation of softness and warmth. He couldn't recall her name, but he remembered the way she had laughed, low and throaty, before pulling him close. The rest was a blur, but that moment—her mouth on his, her fingers tangled in his hair—was seared into his brain.

"Fuck," he muttered, sitting up too fast. The room tilted, and he gripped the edge of the bed until the world steadied. His mouth tasted like stale whiskey and regret. He needed a shower. Badly.

Stumbling to the bathroom, Matthew peeled off his shirt, the fabric clinging to his skin with a mix of sweat and spilled vodka. He caught his reflection in the mirror—messy dark hair, a faint shadow of stubble, and bloodshot eyes. He looked like hell. But that didn't matter now. He cranked the shower handle, and the water roared to life, steam billowing in seconds.

He stepped under the spray, the heat searing his skin in the best way. The water sluiced over his shoulders, washing away the grime and the fog in his head. He leaned against the tiled wall, letting the water pound his back as fragments of last night flickered in his mind. Her laugh. Her lips. The way she had looked at him like he was the only person in the room. He had never felt that kind of connection before, not even in the heat of a hookup. It was different. Real.

His fingers trailed over his chest, the memory of her touch a phantom and electric sensation. He could almost feel her hands on him again, her nails grazing his skin, her body pressed against his. His breath hitched, and he turned his face into the water, trying to shake the thought. But it was no use. She was there, in his head, in his every thought. He needed to find her. He had to.

The shower door rattled as he turned off the water, stepping out onto the cold tile. He grabbed a towel, rubbing it roughly over his hair before wrapping it around his waist. The mirror was fogged, but he didn't bother wiping it. He didn't need to see himself to know what was on his mind. Her.

He walked back to his room, the towel slung low on his hips, water droplets trailing behind him. His phone was on the nightstand, the screen cracked and the battery nearly dead. He grabbed it, swiping through his notifications. Nothing from her. Of course not. He didn't even know her name.

"Shit," he muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed. He needed to figure out who she was before the memory faded. Before she slipped away for good.

The doorbell cut through the quiet of the apartment, sharp and insistent. Matthew froze, towel still damp around his hips, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. He glanced at the clock—who the hell was at his door this early? He grabbed the first shirt he could find, a faded gray tee that clung to his damp skin as he yanked it over his head.

He fished a pair of black gym shorts from the floor, shaking them out before he stepped into them. The fabric clung to his still-damp legs as he tugged them up, the waistband snapping against his hips. Matthew glanced at the door, the bell ringing again, sharper this time.

Not bothering with anything else, he just padded barefoot to the door.

He swung it open, and there she was, the girl from yesterday.

Her smile was warm, a little sly, as if she knew exactly how disheveled he looked. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her gray eyes sparkled with amusement. In her hand, she held a brown paper bag, the scent of fresh bagels wafting out.

"Hey," she said, her voice smooth and low, a little teasing. "Wasn't sure if you'd be awake yet."

Matthew blinked, his brain catching up to the sight of her. It was her. The girl from last night. The one he could only remember in pieces. His mouth went dry, and he ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to pull himself together.

"Uh, hey. Sorry, I… wasn't expecting anyone."

She held up the bag, the corner of her lips quirking into a smirk. "Thought you might need this. Figured you wouldn't remember much from last night."

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in.

"Yeah, uh, thanks. I…" He hesitated, his brain still foggy. "I'm Matthew, by the way. In case you forgot."

She laughed softly, stepping past him into the apartment. "I know. You told me last night. I'm Carina, remember?"

Carina. The name fit her, elegant and a little mysterious. He closed the door behind her, trailing after as she made her way to the kitchen. She set the bag on the counter, pulling out two bagels wrapped in wax paper and a couple of coffee cups still steaming with heat.

"You brought coffee too?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

She glanced over her shoulder, her smile widening. "I'm a multitasker."

Matthew leaned against the counter, watching her as she moved. Her slim frame, the gentle curve of her waist, the way her hips swayed just slightly with each step. She was beautiful, but there was something different about her, something he couldn't quite place. Her voice was soft, almost melodic, but there was a richness to it, a depth that did not quite match the delicate features of her face. And her hands—long, slender fingers that gestured with precision—held a strength that seemed at odds with her otherwise delicate appearance.

He caught himself staring, his mind racing to figure out what it was that made her so… intriguing... She handed him the coffee, her fingers brushing his for just a moment. His skin buzzed at the contact.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her tone softer now, more genuine. "You were pretty out of it last night."

He winced, sipping the coffee to buy himself a second. "Yeah, I don't really remember much. Just… bits and pieces."

Her laugh was low, almost a purr. "Well, you definitely made an impression. You were charming, in your own way."

"Charming, huh?" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What'd I do?"

She leaned against the counter, her arms crossed, her gray eyes studying him. "You insisted on walking me home. Even though you could barely stand."

Matthew blinked, surprised. "I… did?"

She nodded, her smile turning coy. "You were very determined. I was flattered, honestly."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I guess drunk me had good taste."

Her gaze flicked over him, lingering for a moment before she looked away. "I'd say."

There was a beat of silence, the air between them crackling with something unspoken. Matthew cleared his throat, glancing down at the bagel she had set in front of him. "So, uh… thanks for bringing me home. I mean, I don't even remember how I got here."

"You didn't make it easy," she said, laughing softly. "But I wasn't just going to leave you on the street."

He looked up at her, his expression serious. "Seriously, though. Thank you."

She shrugged, her smile warm. "Don't mention it. I like to think I've got a good judge of character."

He took a bite of the bagel, the flavors of cream cheese and smoked salmon waking up his taste buds. "You always this nice to strangers?"

"Only the cute ones," she said, her tone light but her eyes holding his for a moment too long.

Matthew felt a flush creep up his neck, and he grinned into his coffee. "So, uh… what else did I do last night? Anything embarrassing?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Well, you did try to serenade me with a karaoke version of 'Sweet Caroline.'"

He groaned, laughing despite himself. "Oh god. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, her smile soft. "It was kind of adorable."

He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping. "That's not usually the vibe I go for."

She met his gaze, her own voice low and teasing. "Maybe you should."

Matthew let out a low laugh, his cheeks warming as he shook his head. "Adorable, huh? That's a new one." He took another sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. "Guess I'll have to work on my image."

Carina's smile didn't waver, her gray eyes holding his with a kind of quiet confidence that made his chest tighten.

"Don't change too much," she said, her voice soft but laced with something deeper. "I kind of like it."

The air between them thickened, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more intent. Matthew set his coffee down on the counter, his gaze drifting to her lips—those lips he had been thinking about since the moment he woke up. "So," he said, his voice dropping a notch, "what did I do last night, besides butcher Neil Diamond?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think, but there was a spark in her eyes that told him she was enjoying this just as much as he was. "Well," she began, her tone teasing, "you did try to impress me with your dance moves. Let's just say… they were… creative."

"Creative?" he repeated, grinning. "That's one way to put it."

She laughed, the sound warm and rich, and it sent a shiver down his spine. "You were fun," she said, her voice softening. "I like that."

Matthew stepped a little closer, the distance between them shrinking. His hand brushed against hers on the counter, and he didn't pull away. "Yeah? Well, I'm glad. Because I like you."

Her smile widened, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—nervousness? Excitement? "Good," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because I'm here, aren't I?"

He couldn't help it. The pull was too strong. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. She didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, her breath hitched, and she leaned into his touch, just slightly. His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned in, closing the gap between them.

Their lips met, soft and tentative at first, a quiet exploration of something new. Her mouth was warm and sweet from the coffee, and he found himself wanting more. His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer, and she made a small sound in the back of her throat that sent a jolt of heat through him. Her fingers found his shirt, gripping the fabric as she kissed him back, her lips parting against his.

But then, just as quickly as it started, she pulled away. Her breath was uneven, her cheeks flushed, and she looked up at him with a mix of hesitation and something else—something he couldn't quite place.

"What do you remember about me?" she asked, her voice soft but searching.

Matthew blinked, surprised by the question. He swallowed, trying to steady his racing thoughts. "I remember… your lips," he said, his voice rough. "How good they tasted."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And?" she pressed her tone light but with an edge of seriousness. "What else? Do you remember where your hands were?"

He frowned, his mind racing. He didn't. Not really. The night was still a blur, fragments of touch and sound and heat. "I… don't," he admitted, his voice low. "Why?"

She hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting his again. There was a vulnerability in her eyes now, a quiet uncertainty that made his chest constrict. Slowly, she stepped back, her hands moving to the hem of her skirt. With a soft exhale, she pulled it up slightly, just enough to reveal the lace of her panties—and the subtle bulge beneath them.

Matthew's breath caught. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for something—understanding, maybe. Or permission. She held his gaze, her expression a mix of shyness and something fiercer, something defiant.

"This," she said, her voice barely audible. "Do you remember this?"

Matthew's mind raced, a sudden flood of memories crashing over him. The dim lights of the club, the music thrumming in his chest, her laugh. And then, her voice, low and steady, almost casual, as she'd leaned in close. "Just so you know, I'm trans."

He had barely hesitated, his lips finding hers again before she could even finish the sentence. His hand had been on her waist, sliding lower, fingers grazing the soft fabric of her skirt before dipping beneath it. She had gasped into his mouth, her body arching into his touch. He remembered the heat of her, the way she had pressed against him, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her.

Matthew's chest tightened, his stomach churning with a mix of panic and something else he couldn't quite name. His throat went dry, and he could feel the weight of her gaze on him, waiting. He blinked, pulling himself back to the present, and realized Carina was already turning away, her shoulders stiff, her hands clenched at her sides.

"Wait," he managed, his voice rough. He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm, but she flinched, pulling away from his touch.

She didn't look at him, her head turned toward the window. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "You didn't remember, did you?"

"I… I didn't," he admitted, his voice cracking. "Not… not until just now."

She nodded slowly, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep, shaky breath. "I thought maybe you did. Last night, it felt like… you didn't care. Like it didn't matter to you."

Matthew swallowed hard, his mind racing. He didn't know what to say, how to explain that it hadn't mattered—not then, not in that moment. But now, with the memory fresh and raw, he felt like the ground was shifting beneath him.

"Carina," he started, his voice softer now, "I… I didn't think about it. I just… wanted you. That's all I was thinking about."

She turned to face him then, her gray eyes searching his face. There was a vulnerability in her expression that made his chest ache. "And now?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "What are you thinking now?"

He looked at her, really looked at her—the way her golden hair framed her face, the curve of her lips, the way her eyes held his with a quiet intensity. He thought about the way she'd tasted, the way her body had felt against his, the way she'd laughed last night, low and throaty, like she had a secret only he could know.

"I'm thinking," he drawled, his voice low.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she took a step closer, her hand reaching up to touch his face. Her fingers were cool against his skin, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing for a brief moment.

"Thinking?" she said, getting dangerously close to his lips.

Carina's lips crashed into his, fierce and unrelenting. Matthew stumbled back a step, but her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. He kissed her back with equal intensity, his fingers tangling in her hair. Their breaths mingled, hot and frantic, as the kiss deepened, everything else fading into the background.

Her tongue slipped past his lips, demanding entrance, and Matthew groaned, his hands finding her waist as he gave in. Her body pressed into his, warm and insistent, and he could feel the quickening of her breath, the way her chest rose and fell against him.

When they broke apart, gasping for air, their eyes locked. Her gaze burned into his, intense and searching, and he could see the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips, slightly swollen from the kiss. Her hand slid down his chest, fingers trailing over his abdomen, and he sucked in a sharp breath as she reached the waistband of his pants.

"Hmm," she murmured, her voice low and teasing, her fingers brushing against the hardness straining beneath the fabric. "Looks like you still like me."

Matthew's breath hitched, his body reacting to her touch before his brain could catch up. His eyes roamed her face, searching for any hint of uncertainty, but all he found was a quiet confidence, a daring glint in her captivating eyes. He swallowed hard, his voice rough as he managed, "Yeah. I do."

Her lips curved into a slow smile, and her hand dipped beneath the towel, her fingers wrapping around him. He let out a low groan, his hips jerking involuntarily at the contact. "Good," she whispered, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock. "Then let me take care of that, hmm?"

Matthew's hands moved to her hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her skirt as she began to stroke him, slow and deliberate. Her touch was firm but gentle, driving him wild. He could feel the heat of her hard girl member so close to his, the way her lips moved as she watched him, her eyes dark with desire.

Matthew's breath hitched as her fingers tightened around him, the rhythm of her strokes sending waves of heat coursing through his body. His mind flickered with flashes of last night—her body pressed against his, her breath hot against his ear, his hand sliding beneath her skirt to find her. The memory of her own hardness, of the way she had gasped into his mouth as he had stroked her, made him groan, his hips bucking into her hand.

Her lips curved into a sly smile as if she knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. Her gray eyes held his, dark and inviting, as her thumb brushed over the sensitive tip of his cock, sending a shiver down his spine. "You liked that, didn't you?" she murmured, her voice low and teasing. "Touching me like that."

He couldn't speak, couldn't think, his body on fire as she worked him with expert precision. His hand, almost of its own accord, reached down and found her through her panties. She gasped, her hips jerking forward at the contact, her grip on him tightening. He could feel the heat of her, the subtle hardness beneath the lace, and the memory of last night came back to him in vivid detail—the way she had moaned when he first touched her, the way her body had arched into his hand.

He squeezed gently, his fingers massaging her through the fabric, and she let out a low, throaty moan, her head falling back. "Matthew," she breathed, her voice trembling with need. Her strokes on him faltered for a moment, her rhythm breaking as she writhed under his touch. He could feel her, hard and hot beneath his fingers, and the thought of her getting pleasure from this—from him—made him even harder.

Her hand resumed its rhythm, faster now, more urgent, and he matched her pace, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her panties to find her bare. Carina's breath caught, her body shuddering as he wrapped his hand around her, stroking her the same way she was stroking him. Her small cock twitched in his grip, prompting a moan from deep within her.

"God, Carina," he groaned, his hips thrusting into her hand as his fingers moved over her. Her free hand gripped his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin as she leaned into him, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He could feel her, every ridge and vein, the way she pulsed in his hand, and the thought of her on the edge, of her falling apart because of him, drove him wild.

Her strokes on him grew firmer, more insistent, and he knew he was close, the pressure building in his lower abdomen. "Fuck," he muttered, his hand tightening around her as he stroked her faster, his thumb brushing over the sensitive tip. She whimpered, her hips bucking into his hand, her own strokes becoming erratic.

"Matthew," she gasped, her voice breaking as her body tensed. He could feel her, feel the way her muscles clenched, the way she pulsed in his hand, and it pushed him over the edge. With a low groan, he came, his release spilling over her fingers as she stroked him through it. Her own climax followed a moment later, her body shuddering as she came in his hand, her grip on him tightening as she rode out the wave.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their breaths ragged, their bodies trembling. Then, slowly, she pulled her hand away, her fingers slick with his release. She looked up at him, her gray eyes soft and sated, a small smile playing on her lips.

Matthew blinked, still catching his breath, his mind buzzing with the aftermath. "Holy shit," he muttered, staring at her. "I never… I mean, I didn't expect…"

She smirked, wiping her hand on a paper towel.

"I know, right?" Carina's voice was soft, a little breathless, but her smile was telling it all. She leaned back against the counter, her gaze lingering on him. "Breakfast first, though. Then…" Her eyes flicked down his body, a slow, deliberate movement that made his skin flush.

"We'll get to know each other a little more," he added, making them both chuckle.