Desire. The warmth from her hand still lingered on my cheek, and I traced the grain in the bedpost with my thumb, trying to understand why the space felt so much emptier than it had a few minutes ago.
A hot blur burned behind my eyes before I could stop it, and a tear slid down my cheek. I caught it with the heel of my hand, annoyed at myself for letting it fall.
What the hell had just happened? One moment her mouth was on mine, her hands everywhere, and I’d almost let myself drown in it. The next, I was shoving her back, spitting words I wasn’t sure I even meant. My chest still rose too fast, lungs pulling against ribs that didn’t want to settle.
The warmth of her lingered like a phantom: the cup of her palm at my cheek, the moist heat of her tongue against my neck, the heat of her body pinning me down. My body ached with the memory, even as my mind recoiled. I pressed my fists into the bedspread, willing the sensation away, but the echo of it throbbed low and sharp, impossible to ignore.
The bed dipped beneath me as I edged forward. My chest was still too tight, but another small discomfort intruded, impossible to ignore. I needed to pee.
I drew a breath and slid one foot to the floor. The rug was cool under my toes, but when I shifted to test my bad ankle, fire shot up my leg. I caught a sharp breath and stilled, waiting for the ache to ebb. I reminded myself that it was just a sprain. I eased more weight onto it, hopping a fraction until the muscles steadied. Tentative, uneven, but possible.
The en-suite door stood a few steps away, walnut panels dark in the lamplight. My hand trailed the bedpost as I pushed off, hobbling forward with my injured foot barely grazing the carpet. Each movement sent a dull throb up my leg, but momentum carried me through the doorway.
The bathroom opened wide, far larger than I expected, its marble counters running the length of one wall beneath a gilt-edged mirror. Pale stone tiles cooled the soles of my feet, and light from a sconce caught faint shimmer in the grout lines. A clawfoot tub crouched under tall windows, curtains drawn tight against the night.
I paused, steadying myself against the counter. My gaze snagged on the neat arrangement of toiletries waiting there. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and lotion were lined in a careful row. All my favorite brands. It felt like these women, who I’d never laid eyes on before today, somehow knew every one of my secrets and desires. It was unnerving.
I reached out and touched the nearest bottle. The slick plastic was cool under my fingers. Every detail was right, down to the subtle citrus scent I always chose over the floral ones.
It shouldn’t have comforted me, but it did, in a way that felt dangerous. I wasn’t supposed to like this. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything except suspicion, maybe fear. Instead, heat curled low in my stomach. I had been noticed. Seen.
How could they know? Not even friends paid attention to things like this. Not coworkers. Not the women I’d dated.
I gripped the counter harder. The tiles blurred in my vision as if the room itself leaned closer, waiting for me to choose what to believe. Were these women protecting me, watching me, or something else?
The silence pressed in, heavy with answers I didn’t have.
I lifted my head, caught by the reflection in the wide mirror above the sink. The woman staring back didn’t look like me. My cheeks were flushed, eyes too bright, lips swollen as though I’d already given in. I raised a hand to my face, tracing the same line Kara’s fingers had only minutes ago. The memory was sharper than it had any right to be.
The callused pad of her thumb along my jaw, the heat of her palm cupping my neck.
I should have been furious. I should have hated the way she’d taken liberties, the way she pushed past the word stop until I forced it again. But instead of rage, something else hummed beneath my skin, a restless ache that wouldn’t quiet.
My gaze slid lower, catching the faint rise and fall of my chest under my sweater. The outline of my body felt unfamiliar, as if Kara’s hands had redrawn it. Her mouth had burned along my throat, down to the edge of my collarbone, leaving places that still tingled when I breathed too deeply.
I pressed both palms to the counter, forcing myself to meet my eyes. I was trembling, though whether from anger, desire, or some impossible mixture of both, I couldn’t tell. The mirror offered no clarity. Only the truth that, for a few stolen moments, I hadn’t wanted her to stop at all.
And that truth scared me more than anything outside these walls.
The need to pee finally outweighed everything else. I braced a hand on the counter and shifted my weight carefully. I limped the few steps to the toilet, each shuffle sending a twinge up my leg. Lowering myself onto the seat took real effort. My palms pressed hard into the cool porcelain to steady the rest of me until I finally settled. The relief was immediate, though the position made the throbbing in my ankle harder to ignore.
When I finished, I sat still a moment longer, straining to catch any sound from beyond the door. Nothing. No footsteps on the stairs, no voices in the hall. Just the quiet hum of the house around me. My chest tightened with the realization that I had no idea what time it was. I’d have to power my phone up—but no, it was under lock and key somewhere. Irritation dusted over me.
I pushed myself upright, biting back a hiss as the tender joint protested. One hand trailed along the wall until I could lean against the counter again to pull up my pants. My fingers slid through my hair, catching on a tangle. The motion made me ache for a shower, to strip off the day and stand under heat until the tension ran down the drain. But the bandage around my ankle pulled at the skin when I flexed, a reminder of Ellie warning me to stay off of it. I muttered under my breath, half to the empty room, half to myself. “Better be healed up by morning.”
The mirror caught me again as I turned away. My reflection looked worn, hair mussed, sweater stretched, eyes too wide. I let out a long breath and eased my way toward the door. Every step was a rhythm of careful balance and stubborn will.
Crossing the threshold into the bedroom felt like reclaiming a fraction of control. I made it to the edge of the dresser and steadied myself against the wood just as a knock sounded at the door.
The handle turned, and Kara stepped in. She stopped just inside, her pale eyes finding mine instantly. For a long second, neither of us spoke. We only looked at each other, the silence stretched taut between us.
9
Kara
Her face stayed withme all the way down the stairs. Lips parted like she had more to say, green eyes flashing in the light. That hair, red and loose, made me want to fist it, test the softness against the grip it would take.
What the fuck was I thinking, pushing her like that? I prided myself on my control. I knew very well how important consent was, and yet—stupid. I'd make it right.
