Chapter 5
FIVE
SARAH
Sarah Gallagher did not give up control. Not easily. Not ever.
Her entire life had been built on the foundation of command—of knowing every angle before she stepped into a room, of ensuring she was never caught unprepared.
She had argued in front of federal judges and had turned entire depositions on their heads with a single question.
She had made billion-dollar contracts hinge on a single phrase buried so deep in the fine print that no one but her had noticed.
She did not hesitate. She did not falter. She did not lose.
So why wasn’t she saying no to Nell’s offer?
The invitation hung openly between them, not challenging her directly, just there.
But Sarah knew she wouldn’t be giving Nell an answer tonight.
The lawyer in her needed time to make her sweat a little bit.
It was the last bit of command she still held on to, and Nell seemed to be fully aware of it.
She waited for Nell’s next move, which appeared to be silence as she simply waited for Sarah’s mind to stop spinning, and somehow, that was worse. Because silence—controlled silence—was its own kind of power. A power she had wielded often but rarely had used against her.
And, in return, I get you. Nell’s words ricocheted around her brain. What exactly did that mean? She gets me?
Nell was watching her closely with steel-blue eyes that sent a shiver down her spine in the best way.
Nell wants me.
Sarah’s grip tightened slightly around the stem of her glass before she lifted it to her lips, taking a drawn-out sip of her martini. It was crisp and clean with a little bite, exactly how she liked it. Exactly how Nell had known she would.
Her glass caught the low glow of the overhead fixtures as she set it down with deliberate care, her fingers resting idly along the rim. There was no rush in her movements, no excess energy wasted. Every action was exact, as if time itself bent to her pace.
Nell exhaled. Tilted her head slightly, still not offering any additional words. Why would she? She wanted Sarah to be the one to break first, and Sarah knew that.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Sarah said, raising her eyebrow just enough to make it a challenge. “What exactly do you mean by ‘I get you’?”
“Ever a lawyer seeking clarity in the terms, aren’t you?” Nell answered, the slight lilt to her words let Sarah know that Nell wasn’t upset she had asked for more. “It can mean a lot of things. We can hash out specifics if you choose to accept my proposal.”
Well, that wasn’t an answer, but Sarah wasn’t surprised. She was skilled at extracting information from people. She’d have to try a different angle.
“How about an example?” she offered.
Across the table, a slow grin unfurled across Nell’s refined features. She sat up straighter, that ever-composed posture sharpening with interest. Sarah could see the flash of excitement, subtle but unmistakable.
She didn’t know why she was holding her breath. Nerves? Unlikely. Excitement? Probably. Anticipation? Definitely.
Then, with all the ease of a passing suggestion, Nell said:
“Put your hands flat on the table.”
Sarah blinked once. The words were effortless. Spoken in the same way someone might ask for the time. But they were a test. She had played enough power games to recognize one when she saw it, and she saw the trap before she stepped into it.
And yet . . .
She wanted to see what happened if she did.
A flicker of something sudden and electric passed through her, but she did not react. Not outwardly. Internally, however? A heat was pooling deep within.
She lifted her drink again, took another sip, and let the gin burn slightly as it settled.
“Why?” Sarah found herself asking. Another question, a tactic to buy herself time. But her voice was even, composed, because she didn’t actually need time. Sarah already knew what she wanted, but she wasn’t about to give Nell that satisfaction. Not yet, anyway.
Nell leaned in, closing the space between them, her presence heavier. “Because I told you to.”
There it was.
The shift. The moment when this stopped being a conversation and became something else that Sarah didn’t yet have a name for.
She watched Nell closely. The way her eyes narrowed in delight at her own words. There was a definite gleam in her eye that hadn’t been there before. Like something inside Nell had been lit on fire, the same way Sarah felt her desire burn.
Sarah knew she could end it right then and there if she wanted to. She could push back, could laugh it off. Nell had told her as much. That was rule number one, wasn’t it? To use her voice?
The rules. What the hell was with the rules? How many more rules were there?
The truth was, Sarah didn’t want to end this. She wanted to see how far Nell would take it. Sarah wanted to see how far she would let it go.
With purposeful ease, Sarah set her glass down, her fingers brushing the polished wood of the table but not quite settling. Her pulse had steadied, but something under her skin still buzzed.
And then, a flash of a thought.
Beth.
She hadn’t thought of her all evening. Not since she had stepped into The Prescott. Not since she had seen Nell waiting for her in the lobby. Not since she had seen the way the gray of her eyes had darkened when they landed on her.
The realization dashed across her mind, but she shut it down just as fast.
No. Now wasn’t the time. Beth belonged in a different box. One sealed shut, with other things Sarah had already decided she couldn’t afford to reopen or re-examine.
She met Nell’s gaze, steadying herself, back in the game.
Back in control.
Her fingers trailed lightly over the cool crystal.
And then, as instructed, she spread her hands flat, palms-down.
Satisfaction intertwined with Nell’s smile as she leaned back, bringing her glass to her lips, taking a sip, watching her over the rim, the weight of her gaze landing fully on Sarah.
“Good.” Nell’s low voice sent a whisper of heat right through her.
Sarah did not move. She waited. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do next. Nell hadn’t given her any other instructions—only to put her hands on the table.
Nell reached forward—painfully slow—and, with nothing more than the tips of her fingers, grazed the inner side of Sarah’s wrist.
It was the softest touch imaginable. A whisper of skin against skin.
Sarah’s pulse stuttered. It was nothing.
Nothing. She was fine, except for the fact that she wasn’t because, fuck, how was a touch as minuscule as that the hottest thing she had ever experienced?
And that look in Nell’s eyes as she had done it?
Like she had claimed a small part of her in the process?
Yeah, Sarah felt that look in every nerve of her body.
Then, Nell withdrew her hand, and it was gone. Like it had never happened. But the heat remained.
Nell reclined slightly, giving no indication of what she was thinking or what she had taken from that moment.
Instead, she simply waited. Letting Sarah sit in the space where something had been and now was not. But Sarah could play this game, too. If Nell had something to add, she would.
Finally, Nell spoke.
“Tell me how that felt.” Her eagerness slipped through the smoothness of her demand, but Sarah could hear it, and hearing Nell excited like this? That excited Sarah.
She could deflect. Could brush it off, shift the power back to herself. But instead, she let the moment stretch. Let it breathe. Then—
“Like a choice.”
She didn’t know what answer Nell had expected, but something shifted in the other woman’s expression. A flash of pleasure. Brief and subtle, but there.
And then, that smile appeared again. The rare one that Sarah had only caught glimpses of.
“It was, wasn’t it?”
Sarah exhaled, realizing she desperately wanted to know what the next choice would be.
The following morning, Sarah sat in the back of a sleek black town car, her fingers carelessly grazing over the rim of the takeaway coffee cup. The driver navigated the road toward the airport, the Washington skyline fading behind them.
Sarah had expected the car to take her back to the same private airstrip where she had arrived, but Nell had adjusted for Sarah’s comfort, and that meant something to her. She had asked for a commercial flight instead of the jet, and Nell had listened.
Allowing herself a brief moment to absorb the past twenty-four hours, Sarah pressed her temple against the cool glass of the window. Nell had given her a lot to think about.
Nell’s proposition—the arrangement, as she had put it—was unconventional at best. It was so different from anything she had experienced before.
There was no seduction in the traditional sense, no pretense of romance.
Nell had made that clear. This wasn’t about finding love; it was about power. Control.
And, of course, pleasure.
Sarah had spent the entire night lying awake in a bed too comfortable to waste on sleeplessness, but unable to stop asking herself whether or not she wanted to step into whatever game Nell was offering.
She hadn’t come to a full decision. Not yet. But she hadn’t ruled it out either.
As the car rolled to a stop outside the terminal, Sarah shifted slightly in her seat, her gaze flicking to the driver as he moved around the car to open her door.
“Ms. Gallagher,” he said smoothly. “Flight details have been sent to your email. Let me know if you require anything else before you board.”
Sarah glanced at him, momentarily thrown.
Nell had taken care of every single detail of every minute she had spent in DC.
From the travel plans, to making sure her favorite wine was waiting for her when she arrived at The Prescott, to her coffee this morning being a triple-shot, exactly the way she liked it.
Nell had covered it all without ever needing to ask her, because Nell had a way of knowing—or a thoroughly comprehensive assistant.