Home Is Where The Heart Is

Dakota slipped her phone back into her pocket and let out a slow breath through her nose. What the fuck are you doing?

She already knew the answer.

She watched Callie’s taillights disappear around the corner, then stayed where she was on the sidewalk until another set of headlights slowed and rolled to a stop at the curb.

Dakota got in, shut the door, and buckled her seatbelt.

The air inside the car felt thick — charged, like the heavy, electric stillness right before a summer storm. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was loaded.

Lauren, by way of greeting, leaned across the console, slid her hand behind Dakota’s neck, and kissed her — full on the mouth, warm and sure.

Dakota’s first thought was immediate and sharp: This is wrong. Don’t do this.

Fuck off.

She leaned into it.

Lauren smiled against her mouth, then pulled back just enough to look at her. Her thumb brushed the side of Dakota’s neck once before she settled back into her seat like nothing had happened.

Dakota’s heart was hammering. She stared straight ahead as Lauren pulled away from the curb, trying not to think about the way Callie’s car had looked driving off into the dark.

“How are you feeling?” Lauren asked after a minute, voice low.

Dakota let out a small breath. “I’ve been better.”

Lauren’s smile deepened a fraction. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since you left. You missed dessert.”

Dakota didn’t answer right away. She stared out the window, watching the streetlights slide past. The voice in the back of her head — the one that had been telling her to stop, to get out of the car, to go home — was already getting quieter. Like she’d left it standing on the sidewalk in front of the studio.

Lauren kept her eyes on the road. “How was work? How was the book? Did you manage to get all the way through it without wanting to throw up?”

Dakota visibly cringed. She rubbed a hand over her face and let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s just as bad as you’re imagining.”

Lauren glanced over, one eyebrow raised.

Dakota sighed. “There’s this huge age gap. The older woman is her professor. And she calls her into her office after class and… I don’t know. It’s all very stern and disapproving and then it just—” She shook her head. “There’s a whole scene where she spanks her. Like, actually spanks her. Over the knee. It’s a lot.”

Lauren was quiet for a second, then let out a soft, surprised laugh.

“Spanking, huh?” She sounded genuinely intrigued. “I never thought about that. I can’t imagine that would have worked well with you.”

Dakota turned her head and gave her a small, crooked smirk. She didn’t deny it.

Lauren’s smile lingered, pleased.

A moment later, Lauren reached over and rested her hand on Dakota’s bare thigh. The dress had ridden up while she was sitting, and Lauren’s palm was warm against her skin. Dakota’s first thought was immediate: This is a mistake.

Fuck off.

She covered Lauren’s hand with her own.

They drove like that for another minute, Lauren’s hand under Dakota’s, the heat of it bleeding through. The voice in Dakota’s head was barely a whisper now.

Lauren slowed and turned onto Dakota’s street. The car rolled to a stop in front of Jess’s building. She put it in park and looked over at her.

“Well,” she said quietly. “Here we are. Safe and sound.”

Dakota blinked and looked up at the house. The living room light was still on. She stared at it for a second, confused, before it clicked.

She turned her head and looked at Lauren.

“No,” she said softly. “Take me back to your place.”

Lauren’s smile was slow. Warm. Triumphant.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Lauren pulled into a spot in the underground garage and cut the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then she reached over and took Dakota’s hand.

“Come on,” she said quietly.

They didn’t speak in the elevator. Lauren kept hold of her hand the whole way down the hall, her thumb occasionally brushing over Dakota’s knuckles. Dakota’s mind wouldn’t settle. Is she waiting for me to say something? Is she going to kiss me the second we’re inside?

Lauren stopped in front of her door. She kept hold of Dakota’s hand while she unlocked it with the other, the key sliding in smoothly. Dakota stared at the door, her thoughts spiraling. What’s going to happen once that door closes behind us? she thought. Is she going to want to sit on the couch and talk? Is she going to drag me straight to the bedroom?

Lauren pushed the door open and glanced back at Dakota, one eyebrow slightly raised — giving her one last, silent chance to change her mind.

Dakota stepped inside.

The second the door clicked shut behind them, something in her gave way.

She turned fast, pushing up onto her tiptoes as she caught Lauren’s face in her hands and pressed her back against the door. The kiss was messy and urgent, all the tension from the car finally breaking loose. Lauren made a soft, surprised sound against her mouth, clearly not expecting Dakota to move first.

Her hands came up to Dakota’s waist, steadying her and pulling her closer while Dakota kissed her like she was trying to burn off every second she’d spent holding herself back.

When Dakota finally pulled away, they were both breathing harder.

Lauren looked down at her, eyes dark, lips parted.

“Well,” she said, voice low. “Hello.”

Dakota didn’t answer.

She kissed her again.Lauren slid one hand up Dakota’s spine and found the zipper of her dress. The sound of it coming down was loud in the quiet room.

Dakota shrugged the dress off her shoulders and let it fall. It pooled around her feet, leaving her standing there in nothing but her bra.

Lauren stepped back half a pace, her eyes moving over her. Hungry. Appreciative. Dakota felt the weight of that look settle warm in her chest. She liked it. She liked being looked at like this — wanted, desired, chosen.

Then Lauren’s brow furrowed slightly.

“What happened to your—?”

Dakota didn’t want to explain. So she reached for Lauren instead, pulling her back in.

Lauren let her, but her hands were already moving with more purpose now. She kissed Dakota again, deeper, and Dakota could feel the shift. Lauren wasn’t caught off guard anymore. She was in control.

Dakota’s fingers found the thin straps of Lauren’s sundress and tugged them down her arms. Lauren made a low sound against her mouth and reached behind Dakota’s back, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. The straps slid down Dakota’s arms and the bra joined the dress on the floor.

For a second, Dakota was completely bare in front of her.

Lauren pulled back just enough to look at her. Really look. Dakota’s skin prickled under the attention — the curve of her breasts, the soft line of her stomach, the bare skin between her legs. She felt exposed in the best and worst way at the same time.

Then Lauren’s mouth was on her neck, and Dakota stopped thinking.

She pushed Lauren’s dress the rest of the way down. It slipped over her hips and fell. Lauren stepped out of it without breaking the kiss, and Dakota’s hands were already on her — the warm skin of her back, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. Lauren’s body was softer than hers in some places, firmer in others. Familiar and not at the same time.

Dakota broke the kiss, breathing hard.

“Bedroom?”

Lauren nodded, eyes dark. “Yeah. Bedroom.”

She took Dakota’s hand and led her down the short hallway, moving with purpose. The second they crossed the threshold into Lauren’s room, Lauren turned and backed Dakota toward the bed with focused intent.

Dakota’s legs hit the edge of the mattress and she sat down. Lauren followed, climbing over her with unhurried confidence, one knee on either side of Dakota’s hips. She looked down at her for a moment, something almost predatory in the way she held herself — not threatening, but unmistakably in charge.

Then she leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time, like she was settling in.

Lauren’s hands moved with clear purpose now. One slid up Dakota’s ribcage to cup her breast while the other stayed firm at her waist, holding her in place. She kissed along Dakota’s jaw, then down the column of her throat, taking her time. When her mouth closed over one nipple, Dakota’s back arched off the bed with a soft, involuntary sound. Heat bloomed low in her stomach, sharp and sweet, and for the first time all night her mind went quiet.

Lauren smiled against her skin.

She shifted her weight, settling more firmly between Dakota’s thighs, and the pressure made Dakota’s hips roll upward before she could stop herself. The friction was steady, deliberate, and Dakota felt something inside her loosen. She let her head fall back against the mattress, eyes half-closed, and just felt it — the warmth of Lauren’s body, the slow drag of skin against skin, the way her own breath was starting to come faster.

One of Lauren’s hands slid down Dakota’s stomach, fingers tracing the neat strip of hair between her legs before slipping lower. She didn’t rush. She touched her with slow, exploring strokes that made Dakota’s thighs fall open and her hands tighten on Lauren’s back. Every time Lauren’s fingers circled just right, Dakota felt another thread of tension unravel inside her. She wasn’t thinking about the studio. She wasn’t thinking about Callie. She wasn’t thinking about anything except the way Lauren was touching her and how good it felt to stop fighting it.

Lauren lifted her head and looked at her. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were dark and focused.

“Still with me?” she asked quietly.

Dakota nodded. She just wanted Lauren to keep going.

If Lauren said it was the sun, Dakota would agree it was the sun. If she said it was the moon, then it was the moon.

Lauren kissed her again, deeper, and when her fingers moved this time, they didn’t stop.

Lauren was wrapped around her from behind, one arm draped over Dakota’s waist, their legs tangled together. Dakota was still catching her breath when she felt Lauren shiver against her back — a small, involuntary tremor.

Dakota smiled into the pillow.

“What’s the score now?” she murmured, voice rough. “Three to one?”

Lauren made a low, amused sound and nuzzled the back of Dakota’s neck. A moment later, she playfully nipped at the curve of her shoulder.

Dakota laughed softly, but the sound died when Lauren’s arm tightened around her.

“You’re not crying,” Lauren said quietly.

Dakota blinked. For a second, the words landed strangely. She wasn’t sure if it was an observation or a question.

“Why would I?” she asked.

Lauren was quiet for a second. Her thumb stroked slow circles against Dakota’s stomach.

“You used to,” she said. “After you came. You’d just… cry sometimes.”

Dakota stared into the dark.

“It’s been a long time since I cried,” she said eventually. “About anything.”

Lauren was silent for a moment. Then she shifted, gently turning Dakota onto her back so they were facing each other. Even in the low light, Dakota could see the way Lauren was looking at her — steady, searching.

Lauren reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from Dakota’s face.

“Challenge accepted,” she murmured.

Dakota leaned her head against Lauren’s shoulder, soft and disarmed.

“You want to make me cry?”

Lauren’s voice dropped lower.

“No,” she said. “I want to make you cum.”

She leaned in and kissed her — slow, deep, and deliberate.

✦    ✦    ✦

Dakota woke sometime later to darkness and quiet.

For a few seconds, she didn’t know where she was. Then the realization settled over her slowly.

She knew the shape of the ceiling in the dark. She knew the way the streetlight cut through the blinds. She knew the faint hum of the building’s old pipes. She knew the weight of Lauren’s arm around her.

She knew this feeling.

Warm. Safe. Wanted.

She was home.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Dakota didn’t feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She let her eyes close, and this time, sleep came without resistance.

Dakota woke to an empty bed. She reached out instinctively and found only cool sheets where Lauren had been. Lauren had already left for work.

She rolled over and reached for her phone on the nightstand. A bright yellow sticky note was stuck to the screen.

Thank you for last night. It was a wonderful surprise. Felt like old times.

Dakota smiled faintly and peeled it off.

She unlocked her phone and opened her messages.

The first one was from Priya: Hey. You okay? Nobody’s heard from you.

Then one from Taylor: Hey. Worried about you. It’s late. You’re not home yet. Jess is freaking out over here. Let us know you’re okay.

Then a longer, more urgent message from Jess: Hey. Let us know that you’re okay. We’re really worried about you. It’s late. No one’s heard from you. Nobody can get ahold of you.

Then a follow-up from Jess: Never mind. Heard from Lauren. So happy for you. followed by a couple dozen exclamation points and about a thousand heart emojis.

The last message was from Lauren. It was a photo of Dakota asleep in bed, hair messy across the pillow, one arm tucked under her head. Underneath it, Lauren had written: Good morning, sleepyhead.

Dakota stared at the photo for a second, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. How had Lauren managed to get up, get dressed, write a note, and take a picture of her without waking her once? Clearly she had a thing for ninjas.

She set the phone down.

Her bladder pulled her out of bed. She walked into the en suite bathroom, just like she used to. The room was bright with morning light. She used the toilet, then turned on the tap and let the tub start to fill before adding an unreasonable amount of Lauren’s rose-scented bubble bath. Then she headed out to the kitchen.

For Dakota, there was nothing quite like the freedom to be naked in one’s own home. To be able to wander from room to room without worry or without feeling the need to cover up. It was a luxury she could ill afford in the cramped apartment she shared with three other women and one bathroom. She was rarely naked even in her own room.

The kitchen was bright and open, sunlight pouring through the large windows. The coffee was already made. A yellow sticky note was stuck to the side of the pot.

Fresh as of 7 a.m.

Dakota smiled again, softer this time. She opened the cabinet and dug through Lauren’s collection of mugs until she found the one she wanted — the white one with the faded Paris skyline. She poured herself a cup and carried it back into the bathroom.

The tub was nearly full. She turned off the water, set her coffee on the edge of the tub, and stepped in.

The heat sank into her muscles immediately. She lowered herself until the water covered her shoulders, then reached for one of Lauren’s expensive bottles of shampoo. She loved this scent. And more importantly, she loved how it made her hair feel — how much cleaner and more manageable it always was afterward. She couldn’t afford it now. She squeezed a generous portion into her hand and worked it through her hair, the familiar smell rising with the steam.

She sank lower in the water, coffee in one hand, and let herself just sit there.

It felt good to be back.

She felt like she had come home after a very long time away. She thought about how easy it had been to fall back into this — into Lauren, into this apartment, into the version of herself that lived here. She took a slow sip of coffee and stared at the sunlight moving across the tile.

Why did I fight this so hard?

The thought came quietly, but it stayed. She had spent so long telling herself that coming back here would be a mistake. That Lauren was a mistake. But sitting in this tub, in this bright, quiet apartment, using the good soap and drinking good coffee with no one else around… it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like relief.

The realization settled over her, strange and unexpectedly comforting. Dakota stayed in the bath until the water had gone cold. Then she pulled the plug and got out. She toweled off and hung the towel up to dry, then walked into the bedroom.

She sat down at the vanity and began brushing her hair, unhurried. Her mind drifted toward the day ahead — getting an Uber back to her place, changing into her green polo for work, walking to the studio. She was halfway through another stroke when her gaze drifted up to the mirror — and caught on the clothes laid out behind her.

A soft, flowery sundress in coral. Delicate straps. A gentle, romantic shape that was unmistakably Lauren’s taste. And beside it, a simple pair of sandals.

She stared at them for a moment, the brush still in her hand. Something in her chest went still. She felt like a trap had just sprung around her.

Dakota stood in the doorway for another few seconds, staring at the clothes spread across the bed. Then something in her snapped.

She stormed over. Laid out neatly on the comforter was a soft, flowery sundress in coral. It had delicate straps and a gentle, romantic shape — the kind of thing that was very pretty, very feminine, and very much Lauren’s taste. It was also very much not Dakota’s style. Stuck to the front of the dress was a yellow sticky note. Dakota picked it up and read it.

You would look so cute in this.

Her jaw tightened. She crumpled the note in her fist and threw it across the room. Dakota felt like she was suffocating. She needed to get dressed. She needed to get gone.

Her eyes drifted to the dress she had worn the night before, crumpled on the floor where she had stepped out of it. That one had been a gift from Lauren too. Well, she was going to be damned if she was wearing any more dresses from Lauren.

She cast about for her bra and didn’t see it. After a moment, she gave up. She crossed to Lauren’s dresser and yanked open the top drawer, rifling through until she found an old, worn t-shirt. She pulled it on. Lauren was taller than her, so the hem fell to mid-thigh.

There. Now she could go outside without being arrested.

She grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it the night before and shoved her feet into her sandals. Her eyes caught on the Paris mug sitting on the bathroom counter. She hesitated for only a second before marching back in and picking it up. It was the only thing in this apartment that had ever truly felt like hers.

She didn’t look back at the bed.

At the front door, she paused with her hand on the knob. She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag and the handle of the mug, then pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway.

She pulled the door shut behind her and leaned her forehead against it.

Fuck.