Page 72 of Obedience

‘You know, G. This underfloor heating is boujee as fuck,’ Dylan said, twisting her ankles to rub her feet into the herringbone floor as if trying to soak up the warmth through her socks. Greta’s hair swung from side to side over Dylan’s back. ‘My tootsies be toasty all the time. You can’t walk barefoot in my house, not unless you want frostbitten toe—’

‘Dylan,’ Greta interrupted with a feigned, measured tone while she dangled patiently. ‘Do you intend to keep me here like some sort of Poundshop King Kong all night, or—’

‘Poundshop?!’ Dylan bellowed. ‘Insolence!’ Greta spiralled toward hysteria again as Dylan slapped her arse and turned toward her bedroom. ‘Right, early bath for you, Vincent,’ she continued, her voice dropping back to normal. ‘I can’t handle any more from you tonight.’

Bursting through the bedroom door, both of them laughing from their bellies, Dylan squatted slightly to place Greta’s feet on the floor. She slid her off her shoulder and straight into her arms. Warm and flushed, Greta stood pressed against Dylan, her eyes wet with mascara-stained tears of laughter.

‘Seriously, Dylan, why are you like this?’ Greta asked, dabbing her bottom eyelashes with her thumb and fingers.

Dylan watched her for a beat. ‘Fuck me, you’re beautiful,’ she said, a sudden earnestness catching in her voice. She pulled Greta into her body and kissed her, arms pushed all the way around her waist to hold her as close as possible.

With her arms hooked around Dylan’s neck, Greta poked her bottom lip out. ‘What about my udon noodles?’ she moaned playfully.

‘We can still do nudes,’ Dylan replied, giving Greta an over-the-top conspiratorial wink. ‘Get me? Nudes? Like noods—’

‘I get you, Dylan,’ Greta interrupted with an accompanying heavy eye roll.

Dylan chuckled and kissed her again as Greta caught her chin with one hand to hold her face still. ‘You’re pretty fucking beautiful yourself, you know?’ Greta said, leaning back in Dylan’s arms.

Dylan pointed to her own face as it contorted into a strange gurn. ‘This old boat race?’

Greta laughed again. ‘Stop making me laugh, my crow's feet can’t take it.’

Nuzzling back into Greta’s neck, Dylan whispered, ‘Never.’ She pressed a soft kiss to Greta’s warm skin as Greta allowed the word to sink in.

Chapter twenty

I won’t panic

‘Alexa, volume down,’ Greta said firmly as she entered the kitchen, gently massaging her temple with her fingertips, her thumb pressed into the angle of her jaw.

Dylan grimaced with a wordless apology while pouring their drinks. ‘Coffee?’

‘Mmhmm,’ Greta hummed.

Monday morning had arrived in record time, leaving the weekend feeling like a blur. Greta was already back in her professional skin, all business in sharp blouse creases and high-waisted tailored edges. Gone was the bare skin of the night before, replaced by a silhouette that looked meticulously crisp, neatly tucked in and intimidatingly polished. With her hair pulled into a high, sleek ponytail, her eyes lined to perfection, and added height from her heels, she looked powerful and fucking hot. Dylan couldn’t pull her eyes away. As much as she appreciated the precision of the look—and she really did appreciate it—she would have been equally happy to render her naked again and take her back to bed. They’d had sex until the early hours, the fatigue leaving dark crescents under Greta’s eyes and tugging at her mood as the reality of the pending week settled over her like a thick fog. Dylan watched her from across the kitchen island. With one hand scrolling her phone, Greta sipped from her coffee cup with the other, a slight furrow tugging at her brow.

‘Shall I meet you for a bit of dinner today?’ Dylan said. ‘South Manchester Gen isn’t far from the PCI… I could pick us something up and—’

‘No!’ Greta’s voice was far too stern and too quick. ‘No,’ she repeated, immediately softening her tone. ‘I’m so busy today, Dyl. I got nothing done over the weekend. You go and see your mum, and I’ll call you later.’ She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes already drifting back to her screen. ‘If we leave now, I can drop you at South Manchester Gen?’

‘It’s okay. Traffic will be shit, I’ll jump on the tram. There’s one from Piccadilly.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Mmm.’ Dylan gave a small nod as she swallowed her coffee, softly placing it on the kitchen island with both hands. The silence stretched between them as Dylan watched Greta scroll. ‘Please call, G.’ The request was suddenly earnest, punctuating the quiet as her fingers and thumbs flicked restlessly at the rim of her cup.

‘What?’ Greta replied softly, finally looking up.

Dylan sighed. ‘Don’t leave here and panic. Don’t let the cold light of a grey Manchester Monday get under your skin. We can do this, you know? Me and you. We can do it.’

Dylan’s eyebrows drew together, looking genuinely pained by the thought of Greta changing her mind. After setting her cup down, Greta moved around to Dylan’s side of the island, guiding the stool until they were face-to-face. Parting Dylan’s thighs with her own, she looped her arms over her neck as Dylan’s hands, fingers splayed, swept up the back of her soft blouse.

‘Do you really believe I would ghost you? Now?’ Dylan dropped her head to Greta’s collarbone and gave a small shrug. ‘I’m sorry that I’m being moody,’ Greta said softly, placing a delicate kiss on the curve of Dylan’s ear. Dylan looked up at her. ‘I realise I’m being a bitch, but I’m not used to all the sex and zero sleep. I’m old, remember?’

As they shared a deep, lingering kiss, Greta tenderly held Dylan’s face with both hands.

‘I just...’ Dylan sighed as they pulled away.