The door to Khloei’s dorm room creaked open with a groan that echoed the exhaustion in her bones. Wichita State University’s campus had been a blurry whirlwind of brick buildings and overly enthusiastic orientation leaders, and now, finally, she stood in the cramped, stuffy space that would be her home for the next year. Half-opened boxes littered the floor, her narrow twin bed sat shoved against the wall with mismatched sheets—a floral disaster she’d snatched from a thrift store—and a single desk was buried under a landslide of college brochures. Her dark brown curls, usually tamed into sleek waves, were a wild, frizzy mess from the twelve-hour bus ride. She dropped her duffel bag with a thud and sighed, hands on her hips, surveying the chaos.
“Looks like a tornado hit a thrift store in here,” a familiar voice drawled from behind her.
Khloei spun around, her heart doing a little flip at the sight of Peyton leaning against the doorframe. His tousled brown hair was longer than she remembered, curling at the nape of his neck, and his nervous grin tugged at something deep in her chest. He wore a faded Wichita State tee and jeans that hung just right on his lanky frame, and damn if he didn’t look like the best thing she’d seen all day. It had been over a year since they’d last seen each other—high school sweethearts torn apart by distance and now, somehow, reunited in this sweaty, cluttered shoebox of a room.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my knight in shining… Walmart cotton,” Khloei quipped, crossing her arms and arching a brow. “You just gonna stand there gawking, or are you gonna help me unpack this mess?”
Peyton’s grin widened, and he pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room with a mock bow. “At your service, milady. Though I gotta warn you, I’m more likely to break something than organize it.”
“Oh, I remember,” she shot back, smirking as she bent down to rip open a box labeled ‘Clothes – Don’t Judge.’ “Last time you tried to ‘help’ with anything, I ended up with a cracked phone screen and a very apologetic puppy face.”
He laughed, a warm, rumbling sound that filled the tiny space, and crouched beside her, pulling out a tangle of tank tops. “Hey, that was one time. And I made up for it, didn’t I?”
Khloei’s eyes flicked to his, a playful challenge glinting in them. “Oh, you think a cheap diner milkshake counts as making up for it? Boy, you’ve got a lot to learn about reparations.”
Their banter flowed as easily as it always had, but there was an undercurrent now, a crackling tension that hadn’t been there over grainy video calls or late-night texts. Every time their hands brushed while passing a stack of books or their knees bumped under the desk, it was like a spark igniting kindling. Khloei caught him staring more than once, his hazel eyes lingering on the curve of her neck as she leaned over a box, and she didn’t shy away. If anything, she leaned into it, letting her gaze hold his a second too long, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.
“Eyes up here, cowboy,” she teased, snapping her fingers in front of his face as she caught him staring again. She held up a lacy black bra from the box, dangling it between her fingers with a wicked grin. “Unless you’re volunteering to fold this for me?”
Peyton’s cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink, and he fumbled with the sweater he’d been attempting to fold—badly, she noted. “Uh, I mean, I could… but I wouldn’t wanna mess up something so, uh, delicate.”
She laughed, low and throaty, stepping closer to toss the bra onto the bed. “Delicate? Please. I’m the one who’s gonna have to whip you into shape if you keep folding my clothes like they’re origami disasters. Hand it over.”
He passed her the sweater, their fingers brushing, and this time neither of them pulled away. The air between them thickened, the playful edge of their words giving way to something heavier, hungrier. Khloei took the sweater but didn’t step back, her dark eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made his breath hitch.
“You’ve been gone too long, Pey,” she said, her voice dropping to a softer, more commanding tone. “I’m not waiting another minute to remind you who’s in charge here.”
His nervous grin faltered, replaced by a look of raw, unguarded want. “I’m all ears, Khlo. Or, y’know… all yours.”
She didn’t need more invitation than that. With a firm hand on his chest, she pushed him back toward the tiny bed, the mismatched sheets crumpling under his weight as he sat. She straddled his lap in one fluid motion, her curls falling around her face as she leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. “Good boy. Now let’s see if you remember how to follow directions.”
Their first kiss in over a year was a collision of need and nostalgia, sloppy at first with nerves and laughter bubbling up between them. His hands hesitated at her waist, and she grabbed them, guiding them to her hips with a firm grip. “Don’t be shy now,” she murmured against his lips, her tone a mix of tease and command. “I didn’t drag my ass all the way to Wichita for half-measures.”
Peyton chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as he pulled her closer, his fingers digging into her skin with a newfound confidence. “Yes, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”
Their clothes came off in a clumsy tangle, laughter erupting again when Khloei’s shirt got caught on her earrings, and when Peyton nearly toppled off the narrow bed trying to kick off his jeans. But once they were bare, the humor melted into something slower, tender. Her hands mapped the familiar planes of his chest, tracing the faint freckles she’d memorized long ago, while his lips found the sensitive spot just below her collarbone, drawing a sharp gasp from her.
“Still got it, huh?” she teased, though her voice was breathy now, her control wavering just enough to let him know how much she wanted this.
“Trying to keep up with you,” he muttered, his voice rough as he kissed down her neck. “You’re a damn hard act to follow, Khlo.”
She smirked, pushing him flat on his back and pinning his wrists above his head with a strength that made his eyes widen. “Then don’t follow. Just do what I tell you, and we’ll get along just fine.”
Their rhythm was a rediscovery, a dance of fumbling touches and whispered encouragements, her commanding presence guiding every move. She told him where to touch, how to move, her voice a steady anchor even as her own breaths came faster, sharper. When they finally tipped over the edge together, it was with a shared gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held him close, refusing to let go even as the world spun.
They collapsed in a heap, tangled in the ridiculous floral sheets, breathless and giggling like they were back in high school sneaking around behind the bleachers. Khloei propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a satisfied smirk, her curls a wild halo around her face. “Not bad, Peyton. But don’t think this means I’m letting you off easy. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”
He grinned up at her, still catching his breath, his hand lazily tracing circles on her thigh. “I’m counting on it. Boss me around anytime, Khlo. I’m all in.”
She laughed, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, a promise of deeper cravings yet to be unpacked. In this tiny, chaotic dorm room, with boxes still scattered around them, they’d just started to peel back the layers of their longing—and Khloei was determined to take the lead every step of the way.
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