Chapter Twenty
Diana
Diana tapped her pen against the blank page. The emptiness stared back at her. She willed her hand to move, to connect her brain to the paper, but the longer she stared, the less convinced she was anything was going to happen.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap. She needed to start somewhere. With only one week of the course remaining, she could hardly put it off any longer. Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
With a sigh, she wrote. Mother.
Then she crossed the word out. Too cold. Too formal. Dr Marcos said she needed to write from the heart. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was it with these people and their obsession with the major organ?
She pressed the pen to her chin, her gaze drifting to the dresser.
Her heart skipped, remembering a needy, naked Faye spread atop it just a few nights ago.
She’d gripped the top of her soft thighs, while Diana’s tongue and lips drew out the most delectable moans Diana had ever heard.
Faye had barely been able to recover before she’d craved her again, bending the woman over the dresser this time and fucking her within an inch of her life, not satisfied until Faye had tightened around her fingers, her name falling from her lips with a strangled cry.
They’d nearly broken the mirror that night, managing to catch it just before it shattered across the floor. She could have covered the expense comfortably—explaining why Faye was peppered with glass shards in places clothes normally covered wouldn’t have come quite so easily.
She should be more careful. But as the days passed and the hunger in her chest only intensified, Diana had become a little reckless.
Any resemblance to ‘taking it slow’ had receded so far, she wasn’t sure if it had ever existed.
As soon as the two were alone, the feeling was insatiable.
Nothing felt as good as making this woman fall apart.
Whatever construct she’d created to keep her level, to keep her control, was so close to slipping…
Once it was gone, Diana wasn’t sure what she’d do.
She should’ve known better than to play with fire. She should’ve, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. But maybe that would change when their time came to an end, and they parted ways. Never kissing her again? Never tasting her, quivering and sensitive and all Diana’s?
Because in one week, she would have to say goodbye. In one week, it would all be over.
She removed the pen from her mouth, realising she was biting it. Focus. Write the letter.
“Okay.” She breathed. “Just start.”
Charlotte, she wrote, then after a beat, crossed that out too. She never called her that. Why would she start now?
So with a sad sigh, she wrote, Mum.
Something about the choice felt juvenile, but she was only a child when she died.
Getting hung up on semantics was only delaying her further, but if Diana was going to write a letter to her mother, she also wanted it to be perfect.
“Mum” was the chosen starting point, but looking at the stained paper, she crumpled it with a huff and tossed it in the bin by her feet. She’d have to start again.
She blamed her new addiction for the distraction, but really, she’d sat here all week facing the same problem she’d faced recently in her academic life. She didn’t know what to write.
A chipper knock at the door flushed all those feelings away, and she rose, fluffing her hair in the mirror before answering it.
“Hey.” Faye stepped inside, all energy and warmth, wearing her green University of Manchester T-shirt, her long hair twisted up messily.
“You’re not gonna believe this.” She set her rucksack by the door and kicked off her shoes, mouth moving a mile a minute.
“I just got back from the reserve, and little Pinkie is doing so well, they’re planning to release her back into the wild in a few weeks. ”
Diana smiled at the affectionate nickname she’d given the parakeet. “That’s wonderful news.”
“It is.” Then her expression sobered. “Still no update on the poaching, though. Riley says they can’t go around accusing people, but I mean, why not? If people have nothing to hide, they shouldn’t mind.” Her attention fell to Diana’s purple robe. “Whoa…You look incredible.”
Diana squashed the smile threatening to rise. “I’m only wearing my shower robe.”
“Exactly.”
The way Faye’s eyes roamed her hungrily set that sensation rising. The need to touch her, undo her, have her fingers bringing her to a climax hard enough to forget her own name.
She raised an eyebrow. “Keep looking at me like that, and you know what happens.”
“God, I hope so.” Her gaze held steady.
Diana had grown fond of that look. Whenever she was alone, anytime she tried to focus or relax, the memory of those eyes completely possessed her. That look did more to her than she’d care to admit out loud.
She knew the sensible explanation. Faye provided that toxic kick of dopamine and oxytocin, and Diana’s love-starved body couldn’t get enough. The question she didn’t have an answer for: was she addicted to the feeling or to the woman?
It’s just sex, she told herself. You have this under control.
She stepped closer, her pulse ticking up. Her hands ached to touch her. The smooth, pale skin the sun didn’t see. Her perky breasts and soft arse. The perfect waist and hips, all curves and lines she wanted to trace with her tongue, and often did.
Diana liked to tease her. She savoured the tension, the hardening nipples. Breathy pleas, cursing and demanding more. Teeth sinking into supple flesh, kisses soft and tender, everything building until Faye was wet enough to combust at the first feather-light touch of her fingers.
But tonight, she didn’t want to wait.
She cupped the back of Faye’s neck, the spot more accessible with her hair twisted up in its messy bun.
She traced the line along her square jaw with her other hand, thumb delicate as it brushed the healing line marring her perfect bottom lip.
Faye’s breath hitched as their gazes locked, Diana’s own heart thudding like a drum.
Then, unable to ignore the pull any longer, she captured Faye’s lips with hers.
Her heart fluttered at the warm mouth eager to welcome her, the hint of berry lip balm drawing her deeper.
Faye licked her silky tongue into her mouth, and the ache between her legs cracked like lightning.
The shift was instant. She slipped her hands under Faye’s T-shirt, Faye’s own hands tangling in Diana’s hair, their mouths rough and hungry, no longer asking for permission but demanding it. Their bodies knew where to go now, how to touch, when to exchange hard kisses for soft ones.
It was messy, raw, real. Diana loved it.
She pressed Faye to the wall with a grunt, sliding a knee between her thighs. Faye moaned into her mouth.
“I’m running out of new places to fuck you,” Diana murmured, feeling Faye shiver underneath her fingertips.
Faye released a shaky breath. “I didn’t realise this was part of a checklist of yours.” Her lips curled, teasing, full, perfect. So perfect, Diana couldn’t resist placing a kiss on the corner where the cut was.
“I didn’t hear you complaining while you made a mess on my dresser.” She trailed her mouth across Faye’s jaw, to her pulse point, and Faye arched underneath her. “Or when you nearly pulled the showerhead right off the wall.”
“No complaining here. Just an observation.”
Diana kissed her sensitive spot, just hard enough to draw another gasp from her mouth, then pulled back, taking in the breathless woman in front of her.
Cheeks pink, mouth puckered and swollen from kisses, her nipples hard and pressing through the thin T-shirt.
“My observation is that you’re not wearing a bra.” She cupped Faye’s breasts, thumbs pinching the peaks until she cursed.
“I know how much you like it.”
Those eyes looked back at her. Unafraid. Daring. Pupils blown wide. The moment stretched, something unspoken passing between them. Then Diana palmed her breasts again, harder, keeping her eyes fixed on hers.
Faye sucked in a hiss, teeth dragging across that full bottom lip.
“Do you need to change in the bathroom first?” Diana asked, rolling a nipple between her fingers. She pressed her free hand between Faye’s legs, and Faye let out a whimper. “Or can I show you what I’ve been thinking about all day?”
“The s–second one.”
Diana slipped her hand inside her shorts, her stomach tightening when she found her completely soaked. “God,” she growled. “You’re not wearing underwear?” Molten heat slipped between her thighs. “So wet.” She circled Faye’s clit, swollen beneath her fingertips. “Always so wet.”
“All for you, Diana.”
Faye said it so easily. Like the words wouldn’t punch through Diana’s ribcage and lodge straight into her heart. But unloading what that meant, why her entire body stilled, would have her last sliver of control completely slip away.
She packed those thoughts to the back of her mind and tugged Faye’s shorts down her legs. Faye kicked them off, and her mouth found Diana’s again, hard and fast, like she couldn’t wait any longer.
“I need you so badly,” she gasped. “Please.”
Diana gripped her waist, pushing her back until she hit the dresser they were becoming so acquainted with.
Faye perched on the edge, already spreading her legs wide, and Diana pushed up her T-shirt, the black lace support belt covering her stomach just visible, and fisted the fabric tight so Faye’s nipples strained against it.
Diana couldn’t think of anyone ever looking more perfect.
She slicked her fingers through her folds, and Faye arched. “Fuck, god, D—”