Chapter 23
The door to Nerissa Aschcombe’s apartment swings open in the middle of the night, and there stands Seraphina, her hair plastered to her cheeks.
Her eyes, usually cold and calculating, now look like two exhausted wells.
She’s not wearing any makeup. There’s no trace of the unflappable CFO Nerissa has known for years. Just a woman at her limit.
Nerissa stands still in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob. The exhaustion of the day immediately transforms into something sharper. Into a dull rage that burns in her chest.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
Seraphina doesn’t answer with words. She takes a step forward, crossing the threshold. The movement is deliberate, almost defiant. She closes the door behind her and stands there, less than a meter from Nerissa.
“I needed to see you,” she confesses. Her British accent, usually so polished, sounds hoarse.
Nerissa lets out a bitter laugh. And then, she crosses her arms, instinctively shielding herself.
“Now you need to see me? After treating me like I was a mistake you could erase from your calendar… Now?”
Seraphina looks down for a second, but then lifts her gaze again. After all, she has nothing left to lose.
“You were right about everything you thought of me. I was a coward. And cruel, too.”
The air in the room is charged with electricity. Nerissa feels her pulse quicken. She wants to scream at her, she wants to throw her out, but the sight of Seraphina like this, stripped of all her armor, stops her.
“I slept with Daphne,” Nerissa blurts out suddenly, and the words sting on her tongue as she speaks them.
It’s a brutal confession, a deliberate attempt to hurt her out of the spite burning in her mouth.
“While I was consumed with wondering what the hell I’d done wrong again, I…
I sought comfort wherever I could. Comfort with the wrong person. ”
Nerissa holds her breath, waiting for Seraphina to get angry, to raise that wall of pride and aristocratic possessiveness that has always defined her.
She expects the Manchester high society woman to scream at her.
But the woman in front of her doesn’t flinch; she just looks down for a second and nods, accepting the blow as a deserved punishment.
“I know,” Seraphina replies, strangely devoid of venom. “And I have no right to reproach you for anything. It was I who pushed you into her arms. With my silence. With my damned fear.”
Nerissa blinks, completely taken aback by the lack of barriers. Seraphina takes another step toward her, breaking the safe distance. Now they are so close that Nerissa can even hear her heartbeat.
“Adrian had me trapped,” Seraphina continues.
“He had photographs of Chester. Of us. He threatened to use them if I didn’t resign and pull some strings in his favor.
He told me they’d paint me as an irresponsible, unstable, immoral mother.
And I… I was terrified, Nerissa. I was so terrified that I chose to destroy the us we had before risking losing my children.
Which… obviously, has happened,” she sobs.
Nerissa feels her anger and the hatred she felt begin to crack. The pieces suddenly fall into place.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers.
“Because I’m a proud idiot,” Seraphina replies with a sad, broken smile. “Because I thought I could fix it on my own. Because I believed that if I kept you at a distance, I was protecting you. And instead, I only hurt you more.”
Nerissa feels her hands trembling. All the resentment that has built up over days struggles against a wave of understanding. Seraphina, the woman who never lost her composure in a boardroom, stands before her confessing her greatest fear.
Suddenly, Seraphina’s knees seem to give way. She sinks to the living room floor, first sitting on the carpet, then leaning forward until her forehead almost touches the fabric. Her shoulders shake. Her whole body does. And a low sob, held in for far too long, escapes her throat.
Nerissa looks down at her for what feels like an eternity. Then, as if pushed by an invisible force, she kneels beside her. She reaches out a hand and places it on Seraphina’s back.
“Shh…” she murmurs, though she isn’t quite sure what to say. “It’s okay…”
Seraphina lifts her head. Her eyes are red, and her cheeks are wet with tears she doesn’t bother to hide.
“I’m tired, Nerissa. Tired of pretending. Of being afraid. I’ve lost control of everything. And all I could think of was coming here. Even if you hated me. Even if you kicked me out.”
“I don’t hate you,” Nerissa replies, and the truth of those words hits her hard. “I’m angry. Very angry. But I don’t hate you.”
They look at each other in the dim light of the living room, illuminated only by a floor lamp. There they are, two broken women, suspended at the lowest point of their lives. No titles. No spotless reputations. Just them.
Nerissa moves closer. She raises a hand and wipes a tear from Seraphina’s cheek with her thumb.
“Never make decisions for me again,” she whispers.
“I won’t,” Seraphina promises.
The kiss comes like an urgent need. Nerissa pushes Seraphina backward, forcing her to retreat until the backs of her legs hit the sofa and they both end up sprawled on the living room carpet.
Nerissa immediately positions herself on top of her, feeling the executive’s body damp from the rain and trembling uncontrollably beneath hers.
Seraphina’s hands cling to her waist, digging her fingers in with blind force, as if she feared falling into the void if she let go.
Nerissa feels the stinging pressure of her nails through the thin fabric of her T-shirt.
A thick moan escapes her own throat when Seraphina bites her lower lip with rage, tingeing the kiss with a metallic, vivid taste.
“I need you,” Seraphina murmurs against her mouth, her eyes misty and fixed on hers. “Make me forget everything.”
Nerissa doesn’t respond with words. She jerks her head down and begins to trail her mouth along Seraphina’s neck, sucking on the skin chilled by the storm and savoring the salty trail of tears running down her temples.
Her teeth dig into the base of Seraphina’s neck, while her hands pull at Seraphina’s wet coat, opening it with clumsy, disjointed movements.
The buttons on the white blouse give way, some scattering to the floor.
The pale skin of her torso is exposed, moving to the rhythm of erratic breathing, framed by the black lace of her bra.
They tear off the rest of their clothes with savage impatience.
Nerissa slides her body downward, making her way between Seraphina’s thighs.
As she spreads her legs with her hands, she finds her soaking wet, hot, throbbing with excitement.
Nerissa doesn’t use her hands; she buries her face directly between her legs.
Seraphina lets out a stifled cry, arching her pelvis upward as Nerissa’s tongue licks her from bottom to top with voracious hunger.
The contrast of the surgeon’s hot mouth against her intimacy makes her tremble.
Nerissa sucks her clitoris hard, using her lips and teeth to gently bite the swollen flesh, causing an electric pain that only fans the fire.
Seraphina’s hands tangle in Nerissa’s hair, pulling it to press her closer to her sex, digging her nails into her scalp as her moans turn into ragged sobs.
Every thrust of Nerissa’s tongue is a reminder that they are still alive, that the mud outside has not been able to touch what lies between them.
The orgasm hits Seraphina violently; her thighs tense against Nerissa’s shoulders, and she screams her name toward the living room ceiling, clawing at the carpet as her pelvis trembles in full spasm.
However, Nerissa doesn’t give her time to recover. The adrenaline and her own arousal, built up after Daphne’s slap and the hospital’s contempt, have her on the edge. She feels her own fluids sliding down her thighs and a painful pressure in her lower abdomen. She needs more.
She sits up on her knees, grabs Seraphina by the hips, and, with a firm, authoritative movement, forces her to roll onto her stomach, pushing her until she’s on all fours on the carpet. Seraphina obeys with a submissive moan, resting her forearms on the floor, offering herself completely.
Nerissa positions herself behind her. Gazing at Seraphina’s bare back, marked by her own fingers, unleashes a primal possessiveness. She slides two fingers inside her from behind in one swift motion, seeking the depths with a relentless, hard, almost punishing rhythm.
“Fuck… Yes, like that. Harder,” Seraphina begs, her voice breaking, thrusting her pelvis backward to take the thrusts deeper, seeking the friction of Nerissa’s hand against her skin.
Nerissa fucks her mercilessly, moving her arm with a savage rhythm, deaf to any logic other than that of possessing the woman who has destroyed her world in an attempt to save her.
With her free hand, she grabs Seraphina by the hair, pulling her back slightly to force her to lift her face and bite her shoulder as she penetrates her.
The room fills with the wet sound of friction and the panting breaths of both of them.
Pleasure shoots up Nerissa’s spine like a high-voltage shock.
She is so tightly pressed against her, so lubricated, that the friction of her own sex against Seraphina’s body brings her to the edge of the abyss.
Seraphina’s second orgasm comes at the same time as Nerissa’s. The executive’s vaginal walls contract with brutal force around the surgeon’s fingers, trapping them. Nerissa lets out a hoarse moan, sinking into her one last time as she comes violently, trembling on her lover’s back.
The two collapse together onto the carpet, on their sides, sweaty, panting, and with their legs tangled.
Seraphina’s breath is a hot puff against Nerissa’s neck.
Little by little, both of their heart rates begin to stabilize, and Nerissa feels the executive’s tears wet her skin once more.
But this time they are different. There is no panic in them; they are tears of absolute relief, the weeping of someone who has let go of a weight that was killing her.
Nerissa wraps her arms around her, pressing Seraphina’s back against her chest, fitting them together like two broken pieces being forcibly joined.
“I’m not going to let you go,” Nerissa whispers into Seraphina’s ear, tightening her grip around her belly. “Tomorrow we’ll start fighting. Together.”
Seraphina nods silently, turning her head slightly to kiss Nerissa’s hand, the same one that still bears the mark of both of them.