6. Are the rules the same? #3
‘I’m so sorry if you felt ambushed. I had no idea who you were. Please let me know you’re ok, Greta. Dylan x’
She hovered. She breathed. She hit send.
Fuck.
***
Startled by the vibration of her phone, which pierced the silence of her home office, Greta grabbed at it and slid her thumb over the screen.
The rush of excitement at seeing Dylan’s name at the end of the text was indescribable and, to Greta’s mind, utterly juvenile.
But she was powerless to stop the feelings of relief thrumming in her chest. She had tried in vain to stop thinking about Dylan, but her thoughts were lodged too deeply, creating an incessant, unsettling vibration in her head.
She needed to clear the air, then she could move on and leave whatever this feeling was behind.
She drew in a long breath as she took her glasses off, biting her lip while hoping for inspiration to reply but immediately reverted to Margot.
Greta:
‘You declined a meeting?’
Her heart raced as the app confirmed that Dylan had read the message and was online. Three dots appeared, then stopped. Then reappeared. Greta couldn’t suppress the swell of unexpected butterflies that had burst to life in her chest.
Dylan:
‘I’m done with Margot’
Shit. It was decided. This was the outcome she had wanted, so why did it sting? Another message.
Dylan:
‘…now I know that Greta Vincent exists x’
Greta’s stomach lurched, a smile tugging at the very corners of her mouth.
She drafted a message inviting Dylan to meet that night, then immediately deleted it, the invitation feeling far too eager.
She needed to compose herself, to build the words in her head before putting her thumbs to the screen.
She could almost see Dylan laughing as the three dots pulsed on the thread before disappearing, mocking her indecision.
Leaning back and inhaling sharply, she bounced the edge of her phone against her lips.
Her brain hummed, and before her internal filter could catch up, she had typed and sent a message she wasn’t even sure she was ready for herself.
Greta:
‘Where do you live?’
***
Dylan blinked at the screen, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. Holy shit. Galvanised by the mere fact that the conversation was happening, her thumbs rapidly typed.
Dylan:
‘Chorlton. You?’
Greta’s reply was instantaneous.
Greta:
‘I can be with you in an hour’
Dylan’s weak will for all things Greta Vincent immediately evaporated her resolve. She thought she didn't want sex. She thought she couldn't handle being dominated. It turned out she had possibly thought wrong. On both counts.
Dylan:
‘That’s not an answer to my question, Dr Vincent’
Greta:
‘Am I booking an Uber?’
Dylan scanned her house. It wasn’t exactly in a prime state for company, but she didn’t care. It never was. Whatever Greta was offering, she would take.
Dylan:
‘155 Beech Road’
Greta:
‘You are alone I trust?’
Dylan:
‘Completely’
The moment of weakness had got the better of them both.
Dylan bounded upstairs and jumped in the shower.
She dressed in fresh white boxers, a white vest, and grey sweatpants.
Her wet hair made her curls tight and short, but Greta would have to take her as she found her.
With her foot bouncing restlessly on tiptoes beneath the kitchen table, Dylan sat, nibbling at her thumbnail as the excitement of the texts slowly faded.
She still wasn't sure what she wanted or if their dynamic would even work.
Too late.
The doorbell rang, yanking her back to reality. Sucking in a steadying breath, she made her way up the hall, closing her mum’s bedroom door on the way.
Pulling back the front door, Dylan managed to suppress a whimper as Greta stood before her in a black trench coat belted at the waist, the hem stopping just above her knees.
With bare legs, and vertigo-inducingly high heels.
The noise of Dylan’s gulp seemed amplified in the narrow space.
A surge of heat flared low in her belly, settling between her thighs until she throbbed at the mere sight of Greta.
‘Doctor Vincent,’ she said with feigned confidence, pushing the door fully open with her arm outstretched.
With her eyes trained on Greta, Dylan retreated into the hall, a smirk tugging at her lips as Greta hooked a leg back and slammed the door shut, paying no attention to the harsh clatter of the glass panel.
Her thick brown waves were down, the layers brushing her collarbones.
Even with subtle make-up—winged eyes and lips shimmering with tinted gloss—Dylan’s words had caught in her throat, as she opened her mouth to speak but closed it, taking a much-needed breath instead.
Dylan tried again to take the lead but Greta cut her off by raising a finger.
‘Don’t ruin this by speaking, Dylan,’ Greta said firmly. ‘This will be the last time we meet. I had wanted to do it via the agency, but you declined.’
Dylan narrowed her eyes at Greta's chastising tone. Were their old roles really sustainable now?
‘Greta…’ Dylan said boldly but hesitated a beat too long.
Greta cocked a brow. ‘Yes?’
Unsure of Greta’s expectations, Dylan held back her aching desire to move towards her; to wrap her arms around her and kiss her on the mouth.
‘Have you come to be fucked by Remi?’
Greta's lips parted slightly with a soft breath, making Dylan's heart pound harder and faster. ‘If I say yes, will you oblige?’
‘That depends.’ Dylan’s voice was just above a whisper, gaze fixed on the glorious woman slowly swaying toward her.
Each click of her heels on the tiles made Dylan’s pulse quicken even more. Beads of sweat trickled down her back, as Greta closed the distance between them. The collision of Dylan’s uncertainties and closeness of their proximity was almost too much for her to stand.
‘On?’
‘The rules.’ Dylan licked her lips. ‘Are the rules the same?’