Page 80 of Obedience

‘Are you fucking kidding? This whole thing is my fault,’ Dylan replied, flicking a ragged piece of the beer label onto the shiny grey surface. ‘I should have just left you alone. You’d forgotten about me and—’

‘Hmm,’ Greta interrupted, shaking her head as she swallowed. ‘I hadn’t.’

Blinking rapidly, Dylan’s chin and bottom lip quivered. ‘You had. And then I fucking fucked it in front of that fucking librarian—’

‘Dyyyl!’ Greta shook her head vehemently. ‘If I didn’t want any of this, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and you wouldn’t be sitting there, littering in my kitchen.’ She glanced pointedly at the scattering of paper bits on the counter with a half smile.

Using the edge of her little finger, Dylan gathered the remnants of the label, sliding them off the surface into her waiting palm before dropping them into the neck of the empty bottle.

‘I just—’

‘Can we not talk about it? Just for a while. Just for this evening?’ Greta interrupted softly.

‘I’m so sorry, G.’

‘Dylan, if you apologise one more time, I will have Michael remove you.’ Dylan laughed, roughly swiping at a stray tear with her fingers. ‘I can’t worry about the outcome of this. It will eat me alive,’ Greta said, her tone suddenly airy. ‘I’ve spoken with Human Resources at the PCI. I have a meeting with them tomorrow and, in the words of Dame Doris, what will be, will be.’ She squeezed Dylan’s hand. ‘Thank you for being here.’

‘I told you I would be. I’m impressed you didn’t run.’

‘Mmm,’ Greta hummed as she drained her drink. ‘I didn’t. Big girl pants, Dyl.’ She placed down her glass with a sharp chink.

Dylan whistled while tugging at the waistband of Greta’s trousers. ‘Can I see them?’

Greta lightly batted her hand away. ‘They’re metaphorical, Dylan. Not literal Bridgets,’ she chuckled as Dylan poked out her bottom lip and whined.

‘I’ve started my diss,’ Dylan said with a smile, once she’d finished feigning her sulk.

‘Amazing. What title did you settle—’

‘Do I get my reward now?’

‘Reward? Ohhhh…your reward.’

With a knowing smile on her face, Dylan rose from the stool. As Greta’s blazer was eased down over her arms, the sudden warmth of Dylan’s breaths landed on her ear.

‘Although this is a very fancy blue blazer, Doctor Vincent,’ Dylan whispered. ‘It’s a little bit formal for the kitchen.’

A smirk tugged at Greta’s lips as she was spun on her stool, Dylan’s hands already sliding around her thighs towards her arse. Knowing Dylan’s penchant for picking things up, Greta sensed what was coming and lifted herself just as she was dragged against Dylan's chest. With her arms and legs wrapped tight, her fingers lightly tousled the soft curls she couldn’t get enough of.

‘If you split these trousers, Dylan I’ll—’

‘Shush,’ Dylan said through a cute half-cocked grin. ‘Lips me, G.’

‘Lips you?’ Greta scoffed.

‘Yeah, it’s what the cool kids do, innit?! They lips each other,’ Dylan joked in an accent falling somewhere between Essex and Albert Square.

‘Well, if the cool kids are doing it.’ Greta pressed a kiss to Dylan’s smile. ‘You don’t have to carry me around my flat, you know. I’m not that old, and my fall risk score is very low. It’s been at least six weeks since my last tumble. I am perfectly capa—’

‘Shut up and kiss me properly.’

As their lips met, the tension in Greta thighs tightened around Dylan’s hips. ‘Are you taking me to bed, or...?’

‘To bed?’ Dylan deadpanned, tipping her head back to scan Greta’s face. ‘How very dare you, Doctor! Are you insinuating that just because I have my hands on your arse and you turn me all the way on just by looking at me, that I’m some kind of rug-munching lesbian?’

Greta laughed with her whole chest and kissed her again. ‘Bedroom, Dylan.’

‘Mmm-kay, boss lady,’ Dylan said, slipping into her for absolutely no reason Southern American drawl.