Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Billie had spent years cooking in silence alone.
She’d spent so long wondering what the point of cooking for herself was at all.
And now, there she stood, a nervous wreck as she lowered the gas on the hob.
She wasn’t nervous because she didn’t enjoy cooking.
She was nervous because cooking for someone else required a kind of intimacy she hadn’t trusted herself with.
It required warmth and presence. It was the sort of soft domestic ease she’d never been good at holding onto.
And now she was standing in her own kitchen, pretending she had some kind of idea as to what she was supposed to be doing. It was hard to focus when she could feel Debra’s eyes on her back. No, not just her back. Billie could feel them everywhere.
Debra leaned against the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. At one time, Billie would have expected tension, but Debra had stepped into Billie’s apartment so relaxed that it felt as though she’d done it a hundred times before.
And right now, it was doing something terrifying to Billie’s heart.
“I know you asked if you could cook for me, but I didn’t think you actually would.”
Billie didn’t look up from the chopping board. “Why wouldn’t I cook for you?”
She felt Debra’s eyes move slowly over her. “Well, you look like you’ve just finished closing a deal for a lifetime supply of suits with a celebrity, yet you’re making me dinner.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Billie’s mouth. “Am I not allowed to be both versions of myself?”
“You’re allowed to be anything you want.”
That hit Billie harder than it should have.
She kept her focus on slicing the vegetables, even though she could feel Debra’s gaze like a sensual drag of fingertips across her skin.
Debra wasn’t trying to seduce her. Not deliberately, anyway.
She was just…there. And Billie’s body had learned very fast that Debra’s presence meant safety.
The kind of safety that made her want anything and everything.
Billie swallowed when she caught Debra in her peripheral vision.
She went in search of the wine glasses even though two sat ready on the dining table, opening cupboards without a care in the world and humming along to the radio that played low from the opposite counter.
Billie did glance up at that moment. She wore her hair down tonight, comfortable slouch clothes as Billie had requested, but Billie’s mind immediately went to what Debra was wearing underneath.
Because she’d started doing that now. Allowing herself. Allowing Debra to occupy her thoughts in the quiet moments, allowing herself to relax and give Debra free rein over the conversations they had. Allowing herself to understand that she deserved whatever was happening here.
Debra set two glasses down and angled her head towards the bottle. “Do you want me to open it?”
Billie gazed back at her, entirely unbothered as to what Debra did or didn’t do. She was too busy wishing she was kissing her, not chopping vegetables.
Debra’s brows lifted as that knowing look crept in.
“Y-yes.” Billie cleared her throat. “Please.”
Debra opened the wine and poured slowly, then stepped closer and held a glass out towards Billie.
Their fingers brushed, and Billie’s other hand immediately stilled on the knife.
A jolt ran through her—annoyingly intense for something so small—and her heartbeat picked up rapidly.
Debra seemed to sense it, but she didn’t retreat.
She simply stood there, close, still holding her glass.
Billie set the knife down on the board, then reached out and took the wine from her. Her fingertips lingered deliberately this time, and as she looked up, Debra was watching her with that calm steadiness that never failed to make Billie feel like she was being seen properly.
“You’re nervous,” Debra said as she stepped an inch closer again.
Billie scoffed softly, though she knew it wasn’t convincing. “I’m not nervous.”
Debra smiled. “Billie.”
Billie’s grip tightened around her wine glass.
This feeling… It was absurd. She’d been with women before, she’d done things she couldn’t even pretend hadn’t been intense, but this?
Cooking dinner in her kitchen while Debra looked at her as though she was the best part of her day…
yeah, she felt as though she was standing on the very edge of something huge.
She sipped her wine and set the glass down again, barely tasting it. Then she turned to Debra fully. “I need you to stop looking at me like that.”
Debra frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you’re going to stay. Like…I’m all you see.”
“I am going to stay.” Debra’s expression softened instantly, any hint of teasing draining away. “And believe me…you are all I see.”
Billie reached for Debra’s wrist and took her wine glass from her. She pulled her in, stepping further into Debra’s space, until her back met the edge of the counter. She braced one hand beside Debra’s hip, blocking her in. Debra had nowhere else to look other than up at her. “Y-you…”
“Is this you holding back?” Debra whispered as she placed a hand on Billie’s stomach.
“Yes.” Billie’s jaw tensed. “And it’s taking everything within me.”
Billie leaned in and kissed her slowly, but it deepened quickly, that intense hunger creeping into it as her control started to fray. Debra melted into her, her hands rising to Billie’s waist and curling into the fabric of her shirt like she needed something to hold.
A low moan rumbled in Billie’s throat as she kissed Debra harder, as though she could swallow the last month of distance and doubt. She pressed closer, her hips shifting forward, and Debra whimpered against her lips. That sound hit Billie’s nervous system like a spark.
She froze and forced herself back into some semblance of calm, because if she didn’t stop now, she wasn’t going to stop at all.
Her body wanted more, and her hands wanted to roam.
She wanted to take, to claim…to remind Debra exactly what she’d meant when Billie said she only wanted her.
But she forced herself to pull back a fraction and rested her forehead against Debra’s.
Billie swallowed, her voice rough as she said, “I’m trying to be good.”
Debra smiled, one eyebrow lifting a little. “For me?”
Billie nodded once.
Debra’s hand rose, her thumb brushing Billie’s bottom lip gently. “You already are.”
Billie’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.
The truth was there in her chest, as clear as day.
She didn’t just want Debra in her bed; she wanted Debra in her life.
In her mornings, her evenings, in her kitchen while Billie cooked for her, pretending that her heart wasn’t going to burst out of her chest.
She opened her eyes again and looked deep into Debra’s. “Stay here with me tonight.”
“If that’s what you want…”
Billie lifted both hands and cupped Debra’s face, those blue eyes stealing her breath along with every coherent thought she had. “I want you in my bed, Debra.”
Debra’s breath hitched. “Okay.”
Billie let out a shaky laugh and kissed her once more before forcing herself to step back. She turned, picked up the knife again with trembling hands, and stared down at the chopping board. This was absolutely happening. No doubt about it.
You don’t even realise how lucky you are!
Debra had always believed that the worst part of wanting someone was the wanting itself. The ache, the hunger, the constant hum beneath the skin that made it impossible to think straight. But this—the aftermath of dinner—was something else entirely.
It had been deceptively normal. Beautiful, even.
Billie’s food had been better than Debra thought it would be, but she should have known that Billie would likely be an exceptional chef tonight.
It was Billie Brown she was sitting across from after all.
Still, it had felt as though Billie had stood over the stove and thought about Debra while she’d stirred and tasted and plated up.
And now they were here.
Plates cleared and stacked in the dishwasher, while Debra enjoyed the view of Billie moving around the kitchen.
Billie had poured them both a drink—whiskey, of course—and Debra now sat at the table with her glass between her hands, trying to outwardly appear like a woman who could handle this.
A woman who wasn’t seconds away from losing her composure completely.
Billie moved around the kitchen with that particular kind of focus she always had, the fabric of her shirt tugging when she reached overhead. She looked like an entirely different version than any Debra had come across before.
She wasn’t Billie from the shop or Billie in the harness as she loomed over Nina in the faint light of her office, and she certainly wasn’t Billie shaking on her knees outside Debra’s door. This Billie was domestic and still a little controlled. This Billie was the Billie she adored the most.
Debra continued to watch her. She couldn’t help it.
She studied the way Billie’s fingers gripped the edge of the counter when she paused, the way she drew in a breath like she was restraining something, and the way she avoided looking directly at Debra for too long in case the last thread of control still holding her together snapped.
Debra should have said something calm and reassuring, but it was hard to find the words when every part of her body felt tuned to Billie.
Billie turned and met her gaze, and Debra’s stomach dipped.
She was giving her that look again. The one that reminded Debra that she would devour her before this night was over.
Billie set her glass down on the counter and moved slowly towards the table.
She didn’t speak; she just watched Debra as though she was assessing her.
Then Billie took a step closer. And another.