The Transaction
Axel checked all the boxes. He was a friend of Holloway’s, wealthy and well connected.
Attractive enough. And he was interested—he’d made that clear when he first approached her weeks ago.
The act itself had been built up for so long.
Maybe actually doing it would make her feel more like everyone else, less like an outlier.
Talia took her contraceptive teas. Put it on the calendar weeks in advance. Now it was time. Everyone else had done it, and it was her turn.
She kissed Axel at the door, cataloging sensations. His mouth was warm. Eager. His cologne smelled like figs.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured. Desire radiated off him in waves. Good. She’d read that right.
“Oh, me too.”
He pulled her to the bed. Fumbled the buttons of her blouse. She reached down to help. What she’d felt at the door was just a prelude. When he palmed her breast, his full passion crashed over her like a wave, crushing all other sensation.
Her empathy was soaking him in at every point of contact.
These weren’t her feelings, they were his.
She could taste what he wanted, the shape of it flooding her senses.
Her body arched, and her mouth made sounds she hadn’t decided to make.
It felt like the one time she’d tried to ride a horse and it’d spooked beneath her.
He groaned. “Gods, Talia. Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
She did want the experience. She was just surprised this was the thing everyone had been talking about. His hands were everywhere, slipping her shirt over her head, sliding into her pants.
“Can we go slowly?” she asked. “I want to feel you.”
He grunted an affirmation, and his hands were gentle. But he wanted her to touch him, she could feel it. She slipped his pants down his hips and ran her hands over him. His manhood felt warm and rubbery. What a strange thing.
She let it slip against the palm of her hand, chasing his flares of pleasure. She enjoyed how directly he responded.
“You’re incredible,” he said, and she soaked up the praise.
He rolled her onto her back and perched over her, propped on his elbows, all muscles and freckles.
He brushed a curl away from her face and kissed her sweetly.
Smiled. Asked permission. When he pressed into her, she felt sharp pain, then pressure, and then his pleasure crashed through her, sparking across every nerve.
It wasn’t bad. It was just that none of the best parts felt like hers. The way he moved inside her felt good in a frustrating way, like a massage that just missed the spot. She borrowed his pleasure instead and observed it like an experiment.
When it was over he pulled out and collapsed beside her, breathing hard and grinning. “That was amazing.”
She lay still. Carefully peeled herself away from his skin. She wished she felt amazing.
“You okay?” He was propped on one elbow, head in his hand. He was an attractive man, muscles flexing up his arm, sandy red hair falling loose in his eyes.
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “You were great. Thank you.”
She closed her eyes, and he stroked her hair. Nearly an hour passed before he stood up and kissed her, pulling on his trousers. Once he was gone, she sat on the edge of the bed to assess.
That had been interesting. She could see herself doing it again. But it had clearly done more for him than it had for her. She decided that her grandmother was right; sex was a tool. Potentially a useful one, so long as no one used it against her.
A few days later, she ran into Axel at lunch. He was sitting with Holloway and their usual group. When she approached with her tray, their laughter stopped. Axel smiled at her, bright and unbothered. She waved and smiled back. Holloway stared hard at his plate. His jaw was tight, his shoulders set.
“Morning, Talent.” He didn’t look up.
Her stomach dropped. He’d always called her Tally. Never Talent.
“Morning,” she answered, hurrying to find a different table.
She didn’t understand. They were friends. Why would this—any of this—matter to him? Sex was normal, practically a milestone assignment. She’d done everything right. But the way Holloway avoided looking at her, that was new.
Later, she caught him between classes. “Hey. Are you mad—”
“I’m fine.” Still not meeting her eyes. “Just busy.”
“Holloway—”
He stopped. Exhaled. “Did he treat you well?”
The question surprised her. “Yes, of course. He’s your friend.”
He nodded once, jaw still tight. “Good.” Then he walked away.
She stood in the hallway after he was gone, confused, heat creeping up her neck. Somehow, he seemed more affected by the entire thing than she was.
That night, she sat on the edge of her bed again.
Same sheets. Same room. The echo of someone else’s pleasure still ghosting beneath her skin like a bruise.
She pressed her hands flat to her thighs.
Breathed slow. Her body felt like a traitor.
Too porous. Too easy to drown in someone else.
Too easy for the consequences to spread.
She hadn’t meant to hurt Holloway. She hadn’t meant to absorb Axel’s pleasure, to let it override her own. She’d just wanted to try something new. Better to keep some distance. Just until she figured out how to maintain boundaries.
At the time, she thought it was temporary. Avoid touch, learn control, then go back to normal. She didn’t realize how quickly the distance would start to feel safe—no expectations to fail, no one close enough for her to hurt.