Page 23 of Obedience

‘Fuuuck!’ Dylan breathed, the single-syllable word unfurling slowly. Greta responded by pressing her whole hand sideways over Dylan’s mouth.

‘Don’t make any noise,’ she ordered in a whisper. As her other hand began slowly pushing up Dylan’s T-shirt, Greta looked down, watching as she forced it under the elastic band of her sports bra, keeping her stomach exposed. Dragging her hand back down, she pressed firmly as she moved over the contours of Dylan’s toned belly. Dylan’s breathing changed dramatically as Greta kicked at her feet to widen her stance and began roughly pulling at her leather belt. Dylan’s hips shifted with every shove and pull, her eyes never leaving Greta’s as she moaned loudly onto Greta’s hand. ‘I said, don’t make a fucking sound, Dylan.’

Dylan drew in a long stuttered breath through flared nostrils as the pulse in Greta’s fingertips throbbed against her cheek. With her gaze remaining fixed on Dylan’s, Greta’s unfettered hand worked quickly and impressively at Dylan’s belt. The sound of stretched leather and the jangle of the metal buckle as it was freed reverberated in the small space. Greta moved to Dylan’s button and zip, quickly opening them and forcing the two sides apart, yanking down one side and then the other, making them sit lower on her hips. A sharp gasp fell from Greta, her mouth sliding open as she forced her hand into Dylan’s already soaked underwear. Almost completely overcome by the warm, wet feeling of Dylan as she moved over her, Greta rested her forehead on the hand still clasped over Dylan’s mouth.

‘Fucking hell,’ Greta breathed, looking up just in time to see Dylan’s eyes rolled to the back of her head; whimpering as Greta slid effortlessly through her slick arousal, slowly coating her fingers and hand.

Widening her stance even more, Dylan clenched a groan in her jaw while offering herself with a tilt of her pelvis. With their eyes now almost level, Greta lifted her head to find Dylan’s gaze. Hot breaths pushing into her fingers as they were forced from Dylan’s nose. Dipping her shoulder, Greta slowly pushed a finger inside, earning another loud whimper. The moan that spilled from Greta wasn’t bitten back or suppressed, it was a raw, unguarded sound, and it said more than she had wanted to. Dylan was so wet and turned on there was no resistance at all; Greta didn’t hesitate before pulling back and sliding two fingers back inside.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so—’ Greta stopped herself, swallowing the adjective.

It had been five years since Greta had been inside a woman. Five long years. At Gotham she had wanted to fuck Dylan, desperate to push beyond where her fingertips had merely probed. But here, with Dylan tight around her fingers, bearing down, wetness dripping from her, the feeling was everything Greta had wanted and everything she had feared. This new level of intimacy, an intimacy she never thought would happen, had stolen her words as well as her breath, and was moving toward her heart. It was stoking the growing ache in her chest that had everything—and nothing—to do with lust and desire. It was more than her desperate need to fuck Dylan, but what she wanted to say felt far too vulnerable to say aloud. It would surely make her come undone completely and she was already unravelling far too quickly, so she swallowed it.

Slamming her eyes shut, Dylan pushed her hips into the contact, the back of her head hitting the wooden door with a thud, as Greta kept her mouth covered and fucked her. Dylan didn’t open her eyes; she just breathed and moaned as quietly as possible as Greta pumped her hand—slow, deep, and hard. From the clenching and pulsing of Dylan’s walls around her fingers, Greta could tell she was already close.

‘Open your eyes,’ Greta whispered breathlessly but Dylan didn’t respond. She just rode the rhythm, her hips undulating, rocking in sync with Greta, bearing down on her hand in a wordless plea for more. ‘Look at me, Dylan,’ Greta repeated, her voice remaining soft.

Dylan opened her eyes, fluttering them as she tried to focus, before locking onto Greta’s expression. The green and amber of Dylan’s eyes made Greta want to look away for fear of deepening whatever the fuck it was that they had between them. Dylan looked completely devoid of sense from the unrelenting fucking between her thighs. She seemed unable to do anything except breathe and hold Greta’s gaze.

As Greta’s forehead met the hand over Dylan’s mouth again, she looked down to watch her other hand pull out of Dylan. The feel, sight, and smell of Dylan was eroding all of Greta’s control as she sunk three glistening fingers deep inside, angling them to drag deep along the wall behind Dylan's clit. Moaning loudly Dylan’s body tensed, head dropping forward as Greta’s fingers filled her completely.

The muffled groans and breathless attempts at Greta’s name didn’t make her angry. Instead, she craned her neck and pressed her slightly parted lips against the hand covering Dylan’s mouth, swallowing the sounds. Her own ragged breaths landed hot, mingling with Dylan’s, wetting her fingers. Dylan's eyes dropped to Greta’s shoulder, watching it move back and forth as she fucked her hard; her own hips bucking, sobs spilling from her as Greta increased the force. Grabbing the back of Greta’s head, Dylan forced Greta’s mouth more firmly onto the hand covering her lips. Muted whimpers and the sudden flicker in Dylan’s eyes announced that she was about to come.

A tear sat in the corner of Greta’s eye, her head pulling back to better see Dylan’s face as she coaxed her orgasm from her. ‘Look at me, Dylan,’ she repeated breathlessly.

Her eyes were wide, locked on Dylan’s heavy-lidded gaze. Dylan nodded quickly, as she started to shake, breathing one long muffled moan into the hand covering her mouth, as she came over the hand inside her. Her eyebrows pushed together as if the line between pain and pleasure had been erased, the two now one and the same.

As Dylan rode out the powerful aftershocks of her orgasm Greta pressed herself against her firm body, her jaw tightening as she swallowed hard against a lump in her throat. With her forehead resting against Dylan’s cheek, Greta tried to moisten her dry lips with her tongue, while their desperate breaths pushed against her palm in loud, erratic bursts. With Dylan’s head rested back against the door, Greta dragged her hand from her mouth down her chin, finally letting it settle over her throat. As she withdrew her other hand, Greta rested her head against Dylan’s chest and watched her wet fingers splay across Dylan’s belly; the earthy smell of Dylan’s arousal rising from the heat of her skin.

‘Fuck, Greta,’ Dylan panted as the remnants of an orgasm two years in the making left her body in ripples and shudders, her raised hand pushing into the wall by her side to steady herself.

With her palm still light against Dylan’s throat and her face pressed close, Greta tried desperately not to let her emotion turn to tears. She had wanted this for so long, there was no denying it any longer. She had longed to feel Dylan come for her and for their transactional sex to be replaced with more but guilt stabbed at her eyes, her chest, her fucking heart. She pressed her face harder into Dylan until she thought she might smother herself.

The tear that had sat unspent on her lashes finally fell, and she let out a sob as it did. ‘I… I can’t…’ she whispered the words into Dylan’s T-shirt.

‘Hey,’ Dylan said softly, moving both her hands to Greta’s shoulders. With the gentlest force, she tried to ease her back, searching for her gaze, but Greta resisted and kept her face buried in Dylan’s chest. ‘Greta, it’s okay,’ Dylan whispered.

‘Please, Dylan. Don’t speak. I asked you not to…’

Before Greta could finish, her shoulders started to move up and down, raw emotion finally taking hold. Dylan wrapped her strong arms around her. Warm breaths pushed into Greta’s hair but Dylan’s lips didn’t make contact, she rested her chin there instead, holding her as the sobs came.

Greta allowed it.

Chapter eight

Let me sleep on it

The Uber pulled up outside Greta’s canal side apartment building. Dipping her head slightly to fully take in the facade she had seen a million times before, Dylan looked up through the taxi window. The old mill stood proud in red brick, its exterior darkened by time and weather. Impressively tall, evenly spaced windows set in sills and lintels of worn sandstone ran uniformly across each floor. The old painted company signage could still be seen on the brickwork, the word Textiles still decipherable amongst the faded letters. Iron fire escapes lined the building’s edge, while sealed loading doors and steel beams jutting out from the neatly laid bricks, alluded to its industrial past. The Rochdale Canal ran quietly alongside below. The building was a familiar sight to Dylan, she often wondered what the converted homes inside would be like, though she suspected she wasn’t about to find out.

‘Will you be okay?’ Dylan asked softly. She tried to ignore the driver’s prying eyes in the rearview mirror, flashing him a fuck-all-the-way-off look.

‘Yes,’ Greta replied, her voice barely a whisper.

Dylan couldn’t help but notice how fragile and small she looked. She lowered her head to snag Greta’s gaze. ‘Can I text you?’

‘I don’t think so, Dylan.’

The driver ostentatiously cleared his throat, making Dylan’s jaw clench.