Page 52 of Obedience

‘Is there any other way?’ Dylan shrugged, suggesting that anything else was sheer madness. Greta smiled, her thumb tracing the edge of Bloom Town: Genesis. ‘Like, honestly, Greta, you’ll need a nappy and a crash helmet…and maybe some steel toe-capped boots,’ Dylan chuckled. ‘Oh, and then some Rennies and a long lie down in a dark room with a cold flannel on your head. These books and Quinn will ruin you.’

Greta laughed, a deep, resonant sound that pinked up Dylan’s cheeks.

‘Well, maybe I’ll start with this one,’ Greta said, holding up In at the Deep End. ‘And when I’m done, I’ll come back for the first Bloom Town.’

Dylan’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, her eyes scanning Greta’s face with a sudden, raw vulnerability.

‘You’ll come back?’

‘Yeah.’ Greta’s voice dropped an octave as she held Dylan’s gaze with an unwavering intent. ‘There are no bookshops in Manchester, at least none I’m aware of, where I can get books.’ She reached out, her fingers grabbing at a fistful of Dylan’s vest, simultaneously uncrossing her legs, the movement deliberately slow. ‘Instant noodles,’ she continued, parting her thighs and pulling Dylan into the space she’d made for her. ‘And a ten out of ten orgasm.’

As the warmth and weight of Dylan’s body settled in between Greta’s thighs, Dylan inhaled deeply. She reached to gently brush a stray lock of hair off Greta’s forehead, her thumb lingering against her temple before she leaned in and kissed her.

‘Ten out of ten?’ Dylan repeated, a playful quirk in her eyebrow and glint in her eyes.

She pushed herself up and rocked back on her knees. With her gaze fixed on Greta's, she hooked her hands under her knees, pulling her down the bed until they were flush, chest to chest.

'Ten out of ten,' Greta murmured, a wry smile playing on her lips, Dylan’s arms framing her face.

They kissed, chaste and light touches, but as Greta craned for more, Dylan pulled back an inch, holding her lips just out of reach.

‘So, you will come back?’ Dylan asked again, her voice smaller this time, the bravado gone.

Greta scanned Dylan’s face, pushing her curls back with her fingertips. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

Dylan didn't wait for another syllable. She leaned in, claiming Greta’s mouth with a deep kiss that felt almost hopeful. As the intensity deepened, Greta felt their breathing sync, their torsos and hips pressing together until they were one again. But then, Greta noticed a flicker of distraction as Dylan stole quick, repetitive glances at the iPad resting on the bedside table. As Greta trailed a path of lingering kisses along her jawline and onto her cheek, Dylan turned her head toward the slight glow of the screen, her body tensing.

‘Hang on—sorry.’ Dylan’s voice was suddenly alert as she pushed herself up and off Greta. She waited for a beat, before another noise came through the monitor. ‘Shit, she’s properly coughing. Sorry. Excuse me for a sec.’

Dylan was off the bed before Greta could even process the words, practically running out of the room. A few moments passed in the sudden emptiness of the bedroom. Greta tried to look away, but she was drawn to the iPad’s subtle glow and the screen's content. She watched Dylan tend to her mother with a practiced ease and grace. Dylan’s softest voice drifted through the monitor, a low murmur soothing her mum. Greta watched, mesmerised, as Dylan expertly handled the suction machine to clear her mother's airway. There was no hesitation, no revulsion, just a bone-deep love and care. She heard the names Dylan used, shifting from Margs to Ma to Margarillo, finally to a softly whispered, heart-wrenching Mum.

Watching it felt like an intrusion, a violation almost, yet Greta couldn't pull her eyes away. She was filled with a warmth she hadn’t felt in years, a profound sense of admiration and respect for the woman Dylan actually was. A guilt rose in her as she thought of the way she had treated Remi. She had been cold and clinical, but that was a necessary self-preservation. If she was going to make it work with Dylan, she’d—

She stopped the thought dead.

Make it work? What was she thinking? She couldn’t be with Dylan. Dylan hadn’t even asked her age yet; once the novelty wore off, she wouldn't want to be tied to someone twenty-one years older than her. Besides, there was no world that existed where a renowned oncologist and a former escort could be together in the light of day. What the fuck was she thinking?

‘Sorry about that,’ Dylan said softly, reappearing in the room, rubbing moisturiser into her freshly washed hands.

‘That’s okay,’ Greta replied.

Dylan froze, hands in the air mid-rub, her posture tensing as she caught the shift in the room’s atmosphere.

‘What’s wrong?’ Dylan asked, her voice dropping as Greta wouldn’t hold her gaze. ‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’

‘I… I…’ Greta stuttered, the articulate oncologist suddenly replaced by a woman who couldn't find a single rational word to justify her panic.

‘Oh, come on, Greta,’ Dylan said, clearly trying to keep the exasperation out of her tone, though a hint of it bled through. ‘I have to see to her. I can’t just—’

‘No! It’s not… No! Jesus, it’s not your mum, Dylan.’

‘Well, what? What possible reason can you give me that you have to leave now? Don’t have a wobble. I know you want to stay with me, G.’

The way Dylan said G was effortless, the sound rolling off her tongue as if it had been waiting years to be spoken by her. It wasn't jarring; it didn't prick at Greta’s skin or land like a slap. It felt natural. Nice, even. The syllable danced softly in the air before it entered Greta’s ears and warmed her from the inside out.

‘Dylan, I…’ She trailed off, still unable to find the words.

She looked at Dylan, and despite her best efforts to remain composed, disappointment began pooling in her eyes and tugging at the corners of her mouth. Greta dropped her head, the weight of the conversation becoming too much. She pinched the bridge of her nose as Dylan climbed back onto the bed, moving toward her with the steady, relentless intention of someone who wasn't going to let her walk away without a fight.