17. I can’t just fuck
Chapter seventeen
I can’t just fuck
Greta got home after seeing her parents, looking pretty dreadful it had to be said.
Despite her puffy face and dark bloodshot eyes, she felt lighter, as though the knee on her chest had relented a little.
The release of pressure was finally allowing her to breathe, drawing in enough oxygen to perfuse her brain and enable her to think properly, for the first time in a long time.
She pulled out her phone to text Dylan, staring at the cursor as it blinked, waiting for her thumbs to formulate a message. She started to type.
Greta:
How is Margaret? Are you ok? I miss you. Gx
Blowing out a long breath, she deleted ‘I miss you’, retyped it, deleted it again, and finally pressed send.
As she walked through the quiet hallway—each footstep echoing louder than she had ever heard before—she dragged her fingers over the long console table, the green marble cold to the touch. Head canted, breaths slow, she stood and looked at the artwork hanging on the walls.
It’s a shrine, darling
After dropping into the soft, high-backed brown leather chair in her office, she leaned forward, both arms pressed against the oak desk.
Her office was the only space that was truly hers.
Muriel had spent years trying to renovate it, to “drag it kicking and screaming into the 21st century” she had said, but Greta had pushed back.
She needed comfort and warmth while she worked, not clean lines and concrete.
A framed picture of Muriel sat on her desk, Greta fixed her gaze on it while gently bouncing her phone against her lips; the word shrine looping in her thoughts.
The vibration of a notification shocked her back into the room.
Dylan:
Not good. At South Manchester Gen. Being admitted, waiting for a bed. I’m sorry.
Greta:
Dylan, why are you apologising? Come to me if and when you can. If you need to stay with your mum it’s fine but I don’t want you to go home and be alone.
Dylan:
Really? Are you sure? It might be late.
Greta:
I don’t care. Just come. Gx
Dylan:
Ok. Dx
***
Greta busied herself with catching up on any major developments from her missed clinic the day before and important email replies.
Hours passed as she made her way through a seemingly never-ending to-do list before finally taking her glasses off, dropping them onto her desk and rubbing her sore, swollen eyes.
She showered, splaying her hands against the not yet warmed tiles, weaving her head, as though trying to catch every drop from the enormous showerhead.
Her conversation with her mother ran through her mind, back and forth. Over and over.
She’s incredible.
She is incredible. She is fucking incredible.
We don't care about age.
If her parents didn’t care about the age gap, then why did she?
You don’t smile with your eyes anymore.
Fuck.
It was almost midnight. Wrapped in her green striped dressing gown, tied at the waist, she headed to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. The apartment buzzer sounded, making her jump with the wine mid-flow, causing a splash to hit the island.
‘Shit!’ She hissed in the quiet room, wiping it up quickly before heading to the door.
Dylan was on the intercom screen, one arm stretched over the buzzer system, her face slightly turned, ear poised for a reply.
‘Come up,’ Greta said, while simultaneously pressing the door release.
She tugged at the knot at her front, running her hands over the soft cotton, pulling the belt through her fingers and palm. Dylan knocked, once. Already behind the door Greta waited a beat before opening it, inhaling as she did.
‘Please don’t talk,’ Dylan whispered breathlessly, as though she’d run up the stairs instead of waiting for the lift.
Throwing out a hand, Dylan pushed the door open and stepped into the apartment uninvited, before pulling her jacket off and letting it fall to the floor.
Moving straight to Greta, her arms snaked around her waist, gathering her up and pulling her into a deep, searing kiss, making Greta whimper into her mouth.
Greta held Dylan’s face as Dylan kicked back, unapologetically slamming the door shut with her foot.
There was a brief space between them as Dylan pulled off her T-shirt; the scent of familiar fabric conditioner and Dylan’s intoxicating fragrance filled Greta’s nose, making her head light.
Dylan possessively pulled her back in, as if unwilling to relinquish control or waste a single, infinitesimal moment of time.
Greta turned her head, trying to speak. ‘Dyl—’
‘Shut up,’ Dylan all but growled. She turned Greta’s head to kiss her again, harder, dragging her lip through her teeth to silence her.
Dylan’s tongue was hard and hot, seeking out Greta’s, wrapping around and pushing against it. In that moment it was as though she meant to consume Greta and overcome by her own want, Greta was powerless to stop it. Pulling her head back Greta tried one more time to speak but Dylan cut her off.
‘Please, G. Unless it’s to tell me to stop. Don’t,’ Dylan said quietly. ‘Do you want me to stop?’
Greta shook her head, whispering a breathless ‘no’, as Dylan dragged her blunt fingernails up the sides of her thighs, almost making Greta’s legs forget their role in keeping her standing.
Letting out a shaky exhale, Greta yielded, fully understanding that Dylan needed this moment and fuck, so did she.
She kissed Dylan with a matched and increasing fervour.
A cacophony of sounds filled the hallway, growing louder after the previous night of biting back moans and clenching teeth.
The emptiness of the apartment finally allowed them to fully express their desire and lust.
Dylan’s hands moved to the belt of Greta’s dressing gown, her fingers struggling with the tight knot, before finally freeing it, pulling the robe over Greta’s shoulders and kicking it away as it hit the floor.
Standing still for a brief moment, Dylan’s fast blinking eyes roved over Greta in her silk vest and knickers.
She raked her suddenly watery gaze back up Greta’s body before crashing back into her with even more passion.
Her open mouth dragged over Greta’s, tasting her tongue, her teeth, her lips.
She pulled Greta to her by her face until they were touching, almost violently, but it wasn’t enough.
They weren't close enough. It was everything they both wanted, but it wasn’t enough.
Dylan deftly unfastened her own jeans as Greta yanked them down, pulling on them roughly as they hitched on Dylan’s hips.
Hurriedly, Dylan stamped free of the denim, her socks, and Converse, before pulling Greta back into her body, as if unwilling to allow even a millimetre of space between them for too long.
A groan flew from Greta’s mouth as she was suddenly against the wall.
‘Oh, fuck!’ Greta breathed as Dylan slammed into her.
Grinding against Greta with a frantic urgency, Dylan thrust forward, almost lifting Greta with her thigh.
Greta’s hands delved into Dylan’s hair, fists full of curls, fingertips scraping down the low fade and over her neck.
Dylan thrust again, grinding her pelvis and thigh as hard as she could, pulling another loud, guttural moan from Greta’s throat.
The sensation of Dylan’s hands sliding under the silk vest and over Greta’s skin sent a pounding throb to her core.
Their shared, fervent desire spilled over as they pressed together, Greta’s knickers already drenched. It was almost too much.
Dylan pulled Greta’s vest off, catching her breasts in her hands, pulling them to meet her face, licking and biting her nipples, teasing them with the twisted tip of her tongue before flattening it against them.
‘Oh my God,’ Greta breathed, clawing at Dylan as though she were trying to escape. But she wasn't. She was there—alive and warm—with an eager heart beating ferociously inside her chest.
With another brutal grind, Dylan cast her gaze briefly to her arousal soaked thigh. ‘Fuck, Greta,’ she rasped. ‘You’re fucking killing me.’
‘Take me to bed,’ Greta breathlessly whispered.
Sliding her hands under Greta’s thighs, Dylan picked her up. With Greta’s legs wrapped around her hips, she began the walk to the spare room.
‘My room,’ Greta instructed between kisses.
My room. My room. The words echoed in the hallway and in Greta’s head.
‘What?’
‘My room. Not the spare.’
Dylan didn’t ask questions. She didn’t wait for any more words; those were enough.
Bursting through the bedroom door, Dylan lowered Greta onto the bed, then stood and yanked down her boxers. Greta scrambled up the mattress as Dylan crawled toward her on all fours.
‘Take off your knickers,’ Dylan growled, with barely enough air in her chest to finish the short sentence.
Greta fumbled, making Dylan immediately impatient.
She moved between Greta’s legs and ripped the seam on one side, pulling them halfway down her thigh.
‘Fucking cunt!’ Dylan fumed at the fabric as she grappled with the material that now resembled a garter.
Unable to move fast enough, Dylan tore the other seam, too.
Greta watched as Dylan crashed into her, thrusting her pelvis forward with a deep, throaty moan, kissing and softly biting at her skin. Dylan’s hands roved frantically over Greta’s torso as something suddenly shifted inside her.
‘Dylan,’ Greta whispered, her chest heaving.
She reached into Dylan’s hair to pull her back, but Dylan didn’t hear above the noise of her bites and kisses over Greta’s hip bones and the soft swell of her belly.
‘Dylan,’ she said with more gusto. ‘Dylan!’ she all but yelled, sitting up and pulling hard on Dylan’s jaw.