20. I won’t panic
Chapter twenty
I won’t panic
‘Alexa, volume down,’ Greta said firmly as she entered the kitchen, gently massaging her temple with her fingertips, her thumb pressed into the angle of her jaw.
Dylan grimaced with a wordless apology while pouring their drinks. ‘Coffee?’
‘Mmhmm,’ Greta hummed.
Monday morning had arrived in record time, leaving the weekend feeling like a blur.
Greta was already back in her professional skin, all business in sharp blouse creases and high-waisted tailored edges.
Gone was the bare skin of the night before, replaced by a silhouette that looked meticulously crisp, neatly tucked in and intimidatingly polished.
With her hair pulled into a high, sleek ponytail, her eyes lined to perfection, and added height from her heels, she looked powerful and fucking hot.
Dylan couldn’t pull her eyes away. As much as she appreciated the precision of the look—and she really did appreciate it—she would have been equally happy to render her naked again and take her back to bed.
They’d had sex until the early hours, the fatigue leaving dark crescents under Greta’s eyes and tugging at her mood as the reality of the pending week settled over her like a thick fog.
Dylan watched her from across the kitchen island.
With one hand scrolling her phone, Greta sipped from her coffee cup with the other, a slight furrow tugging at her brow.
‘Shall I meet you for a bit of dinner today?’ Dylan said. ‘South Manchester Gen isn’t far from the PCI… I could pick us something up and—’
‘No!’ Greta’s voice was far too stern and too quick.
‘No,’ she repeated, immediately softening her tone.
‘I’m so busy today, Dyl. I got nothing done over the weekend.
You go and see your mum, and I’ll call you later.
’ She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes already drifting back to her screen.
‘If we leave now, I can drop you at South Manchester Gen?’
‘It’s okay. Traffic will be shit, I’ll jump on the tram. There’s one from Piccadilly.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Mmm.’ Dylan gave a small nod as she swallowed her coffee, softly placing it on the kitchen island with both hands.
The silence stretched between them as Dylan watched Greta scroll.
‘Please call, G.’ The request was suddenly earnest, punctuating the quiet as her fingers and thumbs flicked restlessly at the rim of her cup.
‘What?’ Greta replied softly, finally looking up.
Dylan sighed. ‘Don’t leave here and panic. Don’t let the cold light of a grey Manchester Monday get under your skin. We can do this, you know? Me and you. We can do it.’
Dylan’s eyebrows drew together, looking genuinely pained by the thought of Greta changing her mind.
After setting her cup down, Greta moved around to Dylan’s side of the island, guiding the stool until they were face-to-face.
Parting Dylan’s thighs with her own, she looped her arms over her neck as Dylan’s hands, fingers splayed, swept up the back of her soft blouse.
‘Do you really believe I would ghost you? Now?’ Dylan dropped her head to Greta’s collarbone and gave a small shrug.
‘I’m sorry that I’m being moody,’ Greta said softly, placing a delicate kiss on the curve of Dylan’s ear.
Dylan looked up at her. ‘I realise I’m being a bitch, but I’m not used to all the sex and zero sleep. I’m old, remember?’
As they shared a deep, lingering kiss, Greta tenderly held Dylan’s face with both hands.
‘I just...’ Dylan sighed as they pulled away.
‘What?’ Greta dipped her head to find Dylan’s gaze.
‘I just...’
‘Tell me,’ Greta urged softly.
‘I just really wish we’d finished that food last night,’ Dylan said with a quirk to her lip. ‘Those noodles will be ruined now.’
‘Jesus!’ Greta laughed, playfully slapping Dylan’s chest.
As Greta moved to pull away Dylan tightened her hold, locking her arms around her waist. Greta’s palms flattened against Dylan’s shoulders, sliding up the sides of her neck.
‘Seriously though, G. Please promise me you won’t panic.’
‘Dylan, I—’
‘Promise me, Greta.’
‘I promise. I won’t panic.’
‘If you have regrets or doubts, just call me. Text me, telepathy me, send up a flare, use my Semaphore flags.’ Greta smiled, her gaze fixed on Dylan’s imploring expression. ‘Anything! Just don’t panic.’
Holding the back of Dylan’s head, Greta leaned in.
‘I won’t panic,’ she promised, kissing Dylan softly on the mouth.
‘I won’t panic,’ she whispered again, her lips lightly tracing over the sharp edge of Dylan’s jaw.
A flat hand pushed into Dylan’s hair, fingers curling into a fist as Greta tugged her head back.
Her lips hovered over Dylan’s ear, twisting the tip of her tongue over her lobe before placing a kiss on the soft shell.
She pressed herself firmly between Dylan’s thighs.
‘I won’t’—she gently bit her earlobe—‘panic.’ A deep moan rumbled in Dylan’s throat, as her eyes softly closed.
‘And’—Greta licked the lobe, soothing the bite—‘if you’re here when I get home, you can reward me for not panicking by fucking me so hard I have to beg you to stop. ’
‘Fuck,’ Dylan breathed as her head dropped forward, only to be gently pulled back by Greta’s fist full of hair.
‘And,’ Greta continued, her tone low and teasing. ‘If you start your fucking dissertation, I will fuck you until you beg me to stop.’
‘Greta Vincent, it’s not even eight o’clock, and you're—’
‘I’m what?’ she whispered, trailing kisses down the side of Dylan’s neck.
Dylan raised her chin, offering her throat to Greta. ‘You’re—’
‘Yeees?’ Greta stretched the word as it came from somewhere deep in her throat.
Dylan’s breath hitched. ‘You’re fucking cruel, actually, because now I have to get on the tram in wet underwear.’ She shifted awkwardly against the already damp fabric.
Greta pulled back just enough to catch her eye. ‘You’re wet? Already?’ she whispered.
Her hands slid to the waist of Dylan’s jeans, roughly tugging at the top button, then pulling down the zip. In the quiet kitchen, the sharp rasp of the sliding metal sounded deafening, making Dylan’s eyes widen.
‘Yeah,’ Dylan replied, chest already heaving. ‘You make me—’
‘Lift up your arse,’ Greta demanded softly while tugging at the denim.
Keeping her gaze anchored to Greta's, Dylan pressed her hands into the sides of the stool to raise her hips. Greta eased the denim and cotton down, freeing her just enough, before Dylan slowly lowered herself back to perch on the edge. Her mouth slid open with a gasp as Greta’s flat fingers pushed through her already pooling arousal.
‘Fucking hell,’ Greta breathed.
‘Mmhmm,’ Dylan hummed.
Dylan watched Greta’s glistening fingers move in wet circles over and around her still aching, still swollen clit.
Her own hands gripped onto the edge of the stool, knuckles blanching white, as Greta dipped her shoulder slightly and slowly pushed two fingers inside her.
Dylan’s eyes drifted shut as Greta found the exact spot Dylan needed, curling her fingers to pulse gently against the wall behind her clit as her thumb softly brushed over it.
Somehow and without Dylan having to say a word, Greta instinctively knew that Dylan didn’t need it hard and frenzied.
So she moved slowly and deeply, watching Dylan succumb completely as she dragged her over the edge into a hard crashing climax.
As Dylan’s body shuddered, Greta leaned in, feathering her lips over her ear, she whispered, ‘I won’t panic.’
***
Greta was so unprepared for the week ahead it made her incredibly uneasy.
She usually spent the majority of the weekend, if not all of Sunday, working, much to her dismay but actual need.
She had no regrets about the weekend spent with Dylan—far from it.
An indelible smile remained on her face even beneath her tiredness and cranky mood.
Waiting in line at Vanoffee inside the busy hospital atrium, she thumbed open a new text from her.
Dylan:
‘FYI I cleaned the stool after you left so the cleaner doesn’t see it. I think maybe you should seek some therapy for your sex addiction’
Greta:
‘My sex addiction?!’
Dylan:
‘What have I told you about back chat? I am so sick of your mouth’
Greta:
‘You weren’t complaining about my mouth over the weekend, or last night… OR at 2am…OR at 5am, for that matter.’
Suddenly worried that everyone in the hospital’s atrium would be able to read the exchange, Greta held the phone to her chest. It vibrated on her sternum. In a desperate bid to contain her smile, she pressed her fingers to her lips.
Dylan:
‘No no, you misunderstand, that mouth, Dr Vincent, I cannot get e-fucking-nough of’
Greta:
‘Go away please, Miss St John. I am very busy and extremely important’
She bounced the phone on her lips, her smile pushing into her eyes as it vibrated on her mouth.
Dylan:
‘Thank you for spending the weekend with me. We can do this, G. I really like you. I’m off to see Margs and Dr McFossil, so you’d better be ready with my reward later. Have a great Monday. Dx’
Greta:
‘Speak later. Gx’
After ordering her usual of a cortado and a croissant, Greta stepped aside while they were prepared.
With one hand in the pocket of her trousers, she reopened her phone and flicked through her emails to make a head start, however infinitesimal.
The first subject line caught her attention, sending stomach acid to burn ferociously in her throat.
She clicked it open with her thumb, the other hand coming out of her pocket to hold the phone steady.
Subject: Relationship Disclosure
Dear Dr Vincent,
There has been an allegation of impropriety by a staff member involving yourself and an enrolled postgraduate student at The University of Manchester.
As you will be aware, our policies require full disclosure of any personal relationships with students where there may be a perceived or indeed an actual imbalance of power.