Page 71 of Obedience

‘Fucking hell, me too!’ Dylan laughed the words against Greta’s mouth, their breath mingling as the kiss turned into a shared grin.

‘So, what are we going to do about this dissertation, Miss St John?’ Greta asked, clicking her chopsticks together, eyes scanning the tray before selecting a piece of salmon maki.

‘Honestly?’

‘No. Lie to me. I love it,’ Greta deadpanned, before popping the nori-wrapped sushi into her mouth.

Dylan snorted, quickly covering her mouth with her hand to keep the gyoza from flying across the room, or at least to save Greta from watching her choke on it.

‘I think I might ditch the diss, G.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Greta replied flatly, sliding off her stool and heading toward the fridge for another beer.

Leaning back on her stool, Dylan ran her hands down her belly as she wolf-whistled through her teeth.

‘You can’t make me do it,’ Dylan teased.

‘Err, I think you’ll find I fucking can.’

After casually flicking the lid off her beer, Greta held the bottle up with a raised eyebrow to offer Dylan another. Dylan shook her head, her eyes locked on Greta as she took a long swig from the Asahi bottle. Dylan looked completely mesmerised, entirely focused on the simple act of Greta drinking from the bottle, her eyes dropped to the way Greta's throat bobbed when she swallowed. Greta gave her a slow-blinking side glance and a smirk as she put the rim to her lips, watching Dylan rake her gaze over her loose white shirt dress and the brown layers of her hair cascading to kiss her collarbones. Greta canted her head, well aware she was being watched and loving every second of Dylan’s adoring gaze.

‘And how do you propose to do that?’ Dylan asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

Greta sucked her teeth, running her tongue over an incisor. ‘Don’t make me pull out my best Margot,’ she said, her voice dropping in pitch. ‘She’s not buried too deeply, Dylan.’

‘Doctor Vin-cent!’ Dylan enunciated loudly, startling Greta with the bottle halfway to her mouth. ‘You and your hot alter-ego Miss Grenson will not boss me in the middle of my tea. I will not stand for it.’ Greta flared her nostrils and laughed as Dylan slammed her hands onto the island and shoved the stool back with her thighs. She rounded the island, moving quickly toward Greta. ‘I am The Dylan of this House—’

‘What the fuck?!’ Greta all but screamed.

Dylan stopped just short of a shoulder charge, and before Greta could move, she performed a breathtaking lift, hoisting Greta onto her shoulder.

‘Dylaaan!’ Greta squealed in disbelief, as she was suddenly looking down at the kitchen floor.

‘Hush, woman,’ Dylan said in a deep voice, playfully slapping Greta’s arse.

‘Put me down!’ Greta was almost hysterical, wriggling and flailing as her hips pressed into Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan’s strong arm hooked over her thighs, holding her dress in place. ‘Have you lost your fucking mind? Put me down!’ Greta ordered through her increasing giggles.

As Dylan turned toward the door, Greta relented and grew still, feeling utterly ridiculous and thrilled in equal measure as Dylan carried her out of the kitchen and into the hall—stopping briefly to appreciate the reflection in the mirror.

‘That is one magnificent arse. Wanna see it?’

Dylan spun them both so Greta could see the glass. Greta twisted her head up to look at the reflection.

‘Dylan, that’s your arse.’

Dylan spun again.

‘No, it’s not, it’s yours. See?’

She spun them again.

‘Still your arse, Dyl.’

Dylan craned her neck to look over her shoulder. ‘Oh yeah! Chef’s kiss, though, eh?’ Dylan kissed the fingers of her free hand, flicking them out with gusto.

‘Jesus Christ, you utter lunatic! Please put me down.’

Clearly enjoying the ridiculousness of Greta hanging over her shoulder, perhaps more so Greta’s hands clutching onto her arse, Dylan waited. Despite Greta’s whining, Dylan made no move to put her down, content to let her squirm for a little longer.