Chapter 7 #4
“Tell me more,” Nell coaxed, her hand sliding up to between Sarah’s shoulder blades. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, her body aching, burning, trembling. She wasn’t used to asking for anything. She was the giver, usually, the one who commanded. But that wasn’t her role here. Here, she needed to learn how to let go.
“I want—” She heard the way her voice stuttered and cracked with her own need as she gripped the sheets, bracing herself. “I want you inside of me. To feel—I can’t wait anymore.”
Her desperation instantly made her want to crawl out of her skin. She let out an unrestrained, unmistakable whine. She wasn’t used to needing out loud like this.
Nell heard it, too; of course she did. A laugh spread through her, like Sarah had handed her the reins with a single breath. Nell shifted, as a hand traced the curve of her hip, her thigh, before finally, finally slipping between her legs, cupping her, feeling just how wet she was for Nell.
Nell let out a faint, reverent curse under her breath.
“Fuck, Sarah. So ready for me,” she muttered. “But you’re still holding back, aren’t you?”
Sarah bit her lip, her hips twitching against the teasing pressure of Nell’s fingers sliding through her folds, spreading her wetness and teasing at her clit with each deliberate pass.
Focus, she told herself, as the feeling of Nell’s touch threatened to detach her from reality. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been clinging to control until Nell’s hand was right there, undoing her piece by piece.
“Not anymore,” Sarah said, her words turning into a moan as Nell sped up the circles she was tracing.
“That’s right. Give me everything,” Nell said, pressing her fingertips into Sarah’s back, urging her into a forward fold.
Her body trembled under the work of Nell’s hands as Nell slid two fingers inside of her, breaking her open in the best possible way as Nell worshipped her through touch and praise. “Look at you, so perfect for me. Wanting me so badly.”
“N—Oh, fu—Nell,” Sarah moaned, trying to maintain her grasp on reality, but it was getting harder with each thrust and twist of Nell’s hand. “Yes, yes, please . . .” She groaned, unable to hold herself back.
“Such a desperate little thing, aren’t you?” Nell cooed as her fingers hit just the right spot.
“Fuck, please. I don’t . . . I need . . .” She could barely keep herself upright, her muscles trembling with the force of everything crashing through her. Desire, surrender, that unbearable, beautiful ache of being seen and wanted exactly as she was.
Nell’s touch was relentless, devastating, and skilled in a way that felt both practiced and deeply personal. Every stroke, every coaxing pressure, was designed not just to push Sarah over the edge but to make her feel everything—to make her remember this moment.
Sarah buried her face against the sheets, muffling a cry as her hips rocked helplessly into Nell’s hand. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but cling to the sensation of being undone so perfectly.
“You’re so close. I can feel it,” Nell murmured, her voice—the sound of pure, molten desire—pulling Sarah’s final thread as Nell’s fingers repeatedly pushed into her, meeting her hips thrust for thrust. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
Those words hit Sarah harder than any touch could have. She wanted to—needed to—but something in her still clung stubbornly to control, to the pieces of herself that were always so tightly wound, and for a moment, fear of what would happen when those pieces finally broke raged through her.
Nell tugged gently at her hair, twisting her ponytail in her grip, tilting her head back, up out of the sheets, and for the first time since they entered the room, Sarah noticed a full-length mirror directly opposite her. Holy fuck.
The reflection before her—Nell standing at the edge of the bed behind her, fingers deep in her—Sarah had never seen herself look more fucked, literally.
“Look at me,” Nell said firmly, looking at her in the mirror. “I want to watch you when you fall.”
Sarah’s heart cracked wide open at that, a cry tearing its way through her body from the very depths of her up her throat, and fall she did.
Her orgasm hit her, fast and intense and overwhelming. Her body locked up before shuddering under the force of it, pleasure and surrender filling her.
She sobbed, gasping for air, as Nell kept her tethered to reality with gentle, murmured encouragements. Nell’s hands never left her body, guiding her through her pleasure with infinite care while phrases like “Good girl” and “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come” kept her grounded.
When the feeling finally died down—when she slumped boneless onto the bed, shaking and dazed—Nell eased her down gently, stretching out beside her.
Sarah suddenly realized her face was damp with tears, and the heat of embarrassment threatened to break through her bliss.
Crying? Really? Now, of all times? She quickly wiped her eyes, trying to hide the evidence, but Nell caught her wrist, stopping her.
Instead, she wiped away the last of her tears with the pad of her thumb.
“That’s it,” Nell whispered, brushing a hand through her hair, soothing her. “You were perfect.”
That night, the fire crackled and popped, sending little embers spiraling up into the sky. Sarah cradled a heavy glass of deep-red wine in her hand—the good wine, as Nell had called it—and watched the flames dance, the scent of brackish air and smoke wrapping around her like a heavy blanket.
The bay was just beyond the low stone wall, invisible now except for the rhythmic shush of the tide rolling in and out.
Emory had left an hour ago, after dropping off a huge tray heaped with marshmallows, graham crackers, and bars of glossy chocolate, giving them a teasing little salute before disappearing into the night.
Now it was just the two of them, stretched out in low chairs around the fire pit, a half-finished bottle of wine on the small table between them.
She sipped her drink and tried to lose herself in the moment, but her mind kept drifting, dragging her away, pulling at something deep inside her chest that no amount of pleasure or distraction could quiet.
Beth.
Her name moved through Sarah’s head like a breath—so effortless, but entirely unwanted and utterly inevitable. She hated it.
Sarah shifted in her chair, tucking one bare foot up under her thigh, her other hand worrying the stem of her wineglass. Guilt, longing, and shame all knotted in a tangle she couldn’t unpick.
She felt Nell’s eyes on her from where she sat across the fire. She wasn’t staring, but she was definitely observing.
“Where are you right now?” Nell said finally. “Because I can tell you’re not here with me.”
Sarah blinked at her, caught, her fingers tightening reflexively around her glass. “I’m sorry,” she said thinly.
Nell shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “I don’t need your apology. I want the truth.”
Sarah hesitated. The firelight flickered across Nell’s face, catching the strong lines of her cheekbones, the knowing tilt of her mouth. She wasn’t pushing or prying. She was waiting for Sarah to open up.
She swallowed hard, deciding to sidestep Nell’s request. “You didn’t let me touch you earlier. Did I do something wrong?”
Back in the bedroom—once she had come down from her own high—Sarah had let her hand wander to the hem of Nell’s shirt, fully ready to reciprocate, only to be stopped with a simple “No.”
Disappointment at her aversion graced Nell’s gaze, but she still answered.
“I didn’t want you to. I wanted you; I got you. There’s nothing more to it. Now, are you done avoiding my question?”
Busted.
“It’s Beth,” Sarah said, her voice barely louder than the crackling fire. “My ex-wife.”
Nell said nothing, just nodded once. Sarah stared into the flames, surprised at how fast her words came, ready to tumble out, clumsy and raw. “I’m still in love with her. I’ve never stopped loving her.” The confession felt like ripping a bandage off.
Nell leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs lazily, swirling her wine in its glass, still not speaking.
Sarah pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself. “And it’s complicated,” she continued, the words coming faster, “because she’s with someone else now, and she’s happy. God, she’s so happy.”
A wild laugh left her—one that wasn’t hers. It was absurd. All of this was absurd. Her feelings for Beth, this thing with Nell, all of it.
“And I should want that for her. I do want that for her. Mostly. But—” She broke off, shame flaring hot in her chest. “But there’s this awful little part of me that wonders .
. .” Sarah’s voice cracked. “What if it doesn’t last?
What if something happens? Jamie had cancer years ago, and she’s okay now, but”—God, this was so fucked—“but sometimes, late at night, I think . . . maybe something will happen. And maybe Beth will be alone again. And maybe I’ll get another chance. ”
She couldn’t look at Nell now, couldn’t bear to see disgust or disappointment in her eyes. But when Nell spoke, her voice was calm, free of the judgment she expected to hear. “That’s not awful, Sarah,” she said simply. “It’s incredibly human.”
Sarah let out a shaky breath, her whole body sagging with the weight of the admission. “I’ve never said any of that out loud before.”
Finally, Sarah was courageous enough to look up and Nell smiled faintly, tilting her wineglass toward her in a silent toast. “Well,” Nell said dryly, “it’s a good thing you’re drinking the good wine for it. Rule number three: Always drink the good wine. And especially for conversations like this.”
Sarah laughed, a real laugh this time, wiping at her eyes.
They sat for a moment in comfortable silence, the fire crackling between them, then Nell leaned forward slightly, setting her glass down on the table beside her.
“You’re clear about what this is between us?” she asked evenly. “You’re not here because you’re trying to replace Beth, correct? Forgetting is fine; I can help you forget. But I’m not a replacement. I don’t do those kinds of relationships.”
Sarah looked at her—really looked—and found nothing in Nell’s face but certainty.
“I’m clear,” she said, matching her certainty. “That’s why this works. I like being here. With you.” She took a sip from her wineglass, feeling the peppery burn in her throat. “I’m not looking for romance. I’m looking for a connection. For someone to see me, even if it’s just for a little while.”
“I see you, Sarah,” Nell said quietly. “I see you very clearly.”
Sarah’s throat tightened as Nell stood, stretching with a luxurious groan that made that fire low in Sarah’s stomach ignite and twist with residual want.
“Come on,” Nell said, and gestured toward the tray Emory had left behind. “Let’s set something on fire. It’s good for the soul.”
Sarah got up and joined Nell, her heart a little lighter, her body still deliciously sore, and her mind finally quiet.