22. Miss St John
Chapter twenty-two
Miss St John
‘Let me take you out later,’ Dylan said as she knelt on the mattress with one knee, handing Greta a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Greta’s morning eyes were fully on board with the sight of coffee in bed, served by Dylan in nothing but her boxers.
‘Mmm, thank you,’ Greta said softly, taking the cup with both hands. She inhaled the aroma before blowing on the hot liquid and taking a quick sip. ‘Out?’
‘Yes, Doctor Vincent. We’ve been through this. Going outside, as opposed to staying inside,’ Dylan deadpanned.
‘Where to?’
‘Well, wherever, the world’s our lobster,’ Dylan replied excitedly.
She sat on the edge of the bed facing Greta, one possessive arm stretched out across Greta’s thighs.
‘We don’t have to go big, G. I’m not suggesting two bags of Molly and a gang bang.
’ Greta gave a dry, sarcastic smile. ‘But I’d like to take your mind off things. A film?’
‘We can watch a film here.’ Greta canted her head and took another sip of coffee.
‘Some nice food somewhere then maybe?’
‘We can have nice food here.’
Dylan tutted. ‘A play then? Some comedy? I could check what’s on at the Royal Exchange or HOME? The Frog and Bucket might have some good comedians on?’
While taking a slow sip, Greta watched Dylan over the rim of her cup.
She wasn’t sure she was ready to be seen as a couple.
The thought irked her, which in turn made her annoyed with herself.
She knew she didn’t want anyone else; she meant what she had said the previous night and she had wanted to say more.
A deep ache had thrummed in Greta’s chest. The words were there.
Three of them. Pushing into her mouth. Pressed against her teeth, fully formed but completely unusable.
It was far too soon for such a declaration.
If said, the words would surely just dissolve into the stress of what they were fighting, stripping them of the meaning that they would have if they could just be happy and together, without judgement and the prying eyes of the world.
She knew how she felt; she knew what she carried in her heart for Dylan went beyond anything she could have imagined, and she knew it had been this way for months; Dylan consumed her.
The way Dylan made her feel when they were alone was too precious to risk losing by exposing themselves to wider judgement, the very notion made her skin crawl.
She was afraid it would burst their bubble, that reality would cast their relationship in a harsh light, and the rose tint would fade.
The thought of people looking, whispering as they attempted to calculate the age gap, felt like a weight she wasn't ready to carry.
She didn't feel strong enough to be a we, or an us, in the eyes of the world yet.
‘Earth to Doctor Vincent,’ Dylan said softly, dipping her head to catch Greta’s gaze.
Greta remained still, staring vacantly at nothing over the rim of her cup. ‘Hmm?’ Greta finally blinked, the movement slow and heavy, before taking a cautious sip of her coffee.
Dylan watched her for a moment, before starting to pull back. ‘You know what? It’s okay,’ she said softly. ‘Another ti—’
‘I want to date you, Dyl. I do.’ The words came out in a rush. Greta reached out, her hand trailing down the length of Dylan’s arm. ‘I’m just so distracted at the minute. I feel like I would ruin it and I want things to be perfect.'
‘Say no more.’ Dylan moved closer. ‘I’ll cook you a nice tea instead.’
‘You cook?!’
‘Yes. It’s a relatively easy process, actually, Doctor. Even us Gen Zee’ers can do it,’ Dylan replied, slipping into yet another inexplicable American accent. ‘I make a mean mushroom risotto.’
‘Is that so?’ Greta pursed her lips against a smile and cocked her head.
‘That would be nice,’ she said softly. She let the words settle for a beat, because it really would be nice.
The thought of coming home to Dylan, of simply having her around, was all she really wanted. ‘Are you going to see Margaret today?’
‘I am indeed,’ Dylan said cheerfully. ‘I’m meeting Pri for a brew, then we’ll see Margs.’ She paused to take a quick sip of her coffee. ‘Then, I have a Teams call with my tutor about my dissertation.’ Dylan wrinkled her nose at the thought.
‘We could look at it later if you like?’ Greta offered, setting her cup down on the mid-century bedside table.
‘Err, no thanks,’ Dylan laughed. She put her own cup down and shuffled across the sheets, closing the space between them. ‘I’d much rather give you your bravery reward,’ she said softly, leaning in until they were inches apart.
‘Oh?’ Greta said, feigning innocence.
Dylan tugged on the knot at Greta’s waist. ‘Yeah, I mean it’s only right.
You’ve been a very’—she pulled one side of the dressing gown open—‘very’—then the other—‘brave woman, Greta Vincent.’ She whispered the last words, her gaze raking over Greta’s naked body before she leaned in to kiss her throat.
Greta tipped her head back, sighing and leaning into the contact of Dylan’s mouth. ‘Don’t start something you can’t finish, Miss St John,’ she said softly, gesturing toward the bedside clock with her eyes.
Dylan looked up at the clock, then at Greta under her lashes. ‘Who can’t finish?’ Her parted lips dragged over the smooth skin of Greta’s chest.
Greta let out a breathy laugh, threading Dylan’s soft curls through her fingers.
‘You’re a tidsoptimist, Dylan. You seem to always think you have a spare ten minutes— Fuck!
’ She gasped as Dylan bit down gently on her nipple.
Greta gulped, watching as Dylan held her gaze and moved to the other breast. ‘Aren’t you tired of me yet?
’ Her voice suddenly dropped into something softer and more uncertain.
‘I was actually getting tired of you, Doctor Vincent,’ Dylan whispered, her focus never wavering as she continued to lavish Greta’s breasts with kisses and gentle nips.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. Until last night.’ She moved back up, pressing a lingering kiss to the bottom of Greta’s throat.
‘Mmmm?’ Greta hummed.
As Greta smoothed one hand over Dylan’s low fade, the contrast of the soft, buzzed hair against her palm and the fist of curls in her other hand made her vibrate with want.
‘You piqued my interest when you decided to get all Nine Inch Nails on me.’ Dylan moved her mouth higher, trailing up the side of Greta's neck. ‘And fuck me like an animal,’ she whispered, her lips ghosting Greta’s ear.
Greta’s eyes drifted shut at the mental image. ‘Jesus, Dylan.’
Dylan pulled back just enough to catch Greta’s gaze. ‘I did nearly need a priest at one point. No, two points. Maybe three. Four, definitely four.’ Greta laughed, her cheeks flooding with warmth. ‘That. Was. Hot,’ Dylan enthused.
‘Stop it,’ Greta giggled.
‘Yeah, fuck The Frog and Bucket. We should probably just stay in and do that again. I’ll go to church today, light a couple of candles, say a Hail Mary for us both, have a chat with Father John in his sin booth, and we’ll be good to go again later.’
‘You know his name?’
‘They’re all called Father John, aren’t they?’
Greta shook her head, laughing as Dylan made a show of dragging her gaze up and down Greta’s body, one eyebrow cocked. She held Dylan’s face as she kissed her. ‘Why are you like this?’ Greta said fondly.
‘Because you’re mine, Greta Vincent,’ Dylan replied.
She climbed between Greta’s legs, her flat hands sliding down the length of her smooth thighs.
‘You are mine. Which means—’ she gripped Greta’s hips, gently pulling her down the pillows.
Greta’s smile was one of complete submission to whatever Dylan had planned next.
‘I get to send you off to work with a spring in your step.’ Dylan leaned over her, her mouth hovering playfully just above Greta’s.
‘And as The Dylan of this House…’ She leaned in to tease a kiss.
‘I get to do whatever I want with you before you go.’
Greta smiled into their kiss. As Dylan moved down her body, her hands moved from Dylan’s shoulders—which were now urging her thighs further apart—into her curls. She let the pending day drift away as Dylan coaxed a thundering orgasm from her, with her outrageously gifted tongue.
***
Leaning back in her office chair, Greta opened her phone to check the time: eleven-thirty. The stress of the day was already weighing heavily on her brow and her mood. She checked her WhatsApp messages, flicking open the six unread messages in her family group chat, ‘The Vincents’:
Mum:
‘Your father and I have forgotten what you look like so could you please send proof of life?’
Dad:
‘So bloody melodramatic! Dad x’
Mum:
‘What have I told you? You don’t have to sign your messages, Eddie. She knows it’s you’
Dad:
‘Why are you texting that when you’re sitting next to me?’
Mum:
‘Greta, ignore your father. Proof of life today or I will call the police and report you as a missper’
Mum:
‘…that’s a missing person, darling. I learned that last night on the Crime Investigation Channel. Love you x’
Greta:
‘I’m alive! Work is just unbelievable at the minute. I’ll call over weekend…And Dad, if you want to sign off, you sign off. Love you both x’
Three dots appeared, flickering for what felt like ten minutes. Greta smiled at the mental image of her dad, peering over his glasses, jabbing at his phone screen with his huge index finger, with the manual dexterity of a bull.
Dad:
‘See, Elaine! Dad x’
He finished the text with a single triumphant smiling emoji.
She smiled and closed the app. Greta stared at the blank screen for a moment before opening her thread with Dylan and sending her a text.
Greta:
‘Let’s go out later. Gx’
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Dylan:
‘FUCK YES! I’ll book something. You don’t worry your pretty little head. Dx’
Greta:
‘Pretty little head’? Is that The Dylan of the House speaking?’
Dylan:
‘Haha! This Nine Inch Nails ache in between my thighs is fucking unreal. I love it! Every bump on the tram is SO exciting!’