Page 89 of Obedience

Snatching her clutch from the chair, Greta made her way into the bathroom, muttering under her breath while Dylan pressed two fingers to her lips to suppress a laugh. When Greta reemerged a few moments later, her makeup was touched up, and she was ready for revenge. Her eyes were smoky and lined, her natural lashes long and curled, and her lips a sharp red against the dark, full waves of her hair.

‘Are you seriously going to take me out strapped?’ she asked, staring at the bulge just visible in Dylan’s trousers.

Dylan fastened her suit jacket, tugging at the hem as if that would help conceal anything. ‘Are you seriously going out like a boy? Nicholas Knickerless,’ Dylan chuckled, biting her bottom lip to stop it curling into a smile.

‘You told…’ Greta’s voice flew up an octave. ‘You know what?’ She mellowed, her defiance returning as she raised her chin. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ After spritzing each pulse point on her neck, she dropped the small perfume bottle into her bag, snapping it shut with her fingers. Already at the door, Dylan smiled and held it open as Greta sauntered towards her. Stopping just inches away, Greta let her gaze drift from Dylan’s eyes to her crotch, before slowly dragging it back up her body. She leaned in until her lips hovered just above Dylan’s. As Dylan leaned to meet her, Greta denied the kiss, canted her head, and arched a perfect brow. ‘We’ll see who caves first, Miss St John.’

Biting her lip as Greta passed, Dylan kept her eyes trained on her. Knowing she had Dylan’s full attention, Greta’s hips swayed perhaps a little more elaborately than usual as she walked down the hotel corridor.

Chapter twenty-three

Kintsugi

‘How’s your strap—sorry,’ Greta corrected with a playful wince. ‘Your spatchcock. How’s the chicken?’ Greta quirked an eyebrow, her red lips pursed around a smug smile as they elegantly pulled food from her fork.

As they sat agonisingly close, nestled in a banquette within the opulent surroundings of the hotel’s restaurant, The French, both women ate their food and tried in vain to think of anything other than what was happening between their legs, or the torturous fact that their room was upstairs, a mere lift ride away.

Dylan grimaced for effect and shifted in her seat. ‘Fuck me. I can’t think about anything other than what’s under your dress, G,’ she whispered, prodding her hasselback potatoes with a fork.

‘There’s nothing under my dress, Dylan,’ Greta said, her voice dropping lower.

Dylan blinked at Greta’s parted lips. ‘I know I wanted to take you on a date, but— ’

‘But?’ Greta’s smugness danced on her face. ‘Is your plan making you come undone, Miss St John?’ She raised both brows, smiling into her glass as she sipped her wine.

‘Is everything to your satisfaction?’ The waiter boomed, appearing from nowhere as if summoned from a lamp.

‘Hmm?’ Dylan snatched her gaze from Greta to look at him.

‘It’s delicious,’ Greta replied graciously, dabbing a corner of her mouth with a napkin before laying it back on her lap. ‘Dylan was just telling me how moist the spatchcock is. Isn’t that right, Dylan?’

Dylan’s eyes grew wide. ‘Yep,’ she replied. ‘Moist.’ Suddenly rendered monosyllabic as Greta’s bare foot pushed up the inside of her lower leg. Dylan smiled inanely while swallowing dryly.

‘I’ll let the chef know,’ the waiter said, smiling politely between them both.

‘Yes. Please do,’ Greta confirmed breezily.

Dylan offered him a perfunctory smile until he turned to walk away.

‘Hurry up,’ Dylan whispered.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Finish your fucking food, Greta. I can’t stand this.’

‘Huh?’ Greta playfully tongued an incisor. ‘What’s the hurry?’ She took another unbothered sip of wine, gaze fixed on Dylan’s over the rim of her glass, while pushing her foot further up Dylan’s thigh.

Dylan took a furtive glance around the dining room. The hustle and bustle of the place created a noisy low hum as diners marvelled over their meals, clinked their glasses and engaged in conversation. The front of house staff busied themselves refilling glasses from wine and Champagne bottles and serving food. She blew out a shaky breath as Greta’s foot moved to the inside of her thigh, then higher, tracing the edge of the dildo.

‘You’re so hard,’ Greta whispered through the nonchalant smile she gave a passing waiter.

Dylan moved her hand beneath the table, grabbing Greta’s foot, making Greta gasp as Dylan forced it into her groin. Leaning forward, Dylan lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Every inch of this is for you, G. So, may I suggest you finish your fucking wine so I can take you back upstairs and make you come so hard you won’t remember your own fucking name.’

‘Get the bill,’ Greta ordered, draining the last of her wine as Dylan’s arm flew into the air.

***

Greta’s back slammed against the hotel door they had just burst through. The weight of Dylan’s body immediately pressed into her. Their mouths frantically crashing together, tongues tangling, teeth biting at lips and skin. The frustration of the evening spilling out through urgent hands and hot, hard kisses. Dylan tore off her jacket, throwing it to the floor, as Greta ripped open Dylan’s shirt and yanked it down over her shoulders.