25. Of my own volition
Chapter twenty-five
Of my own volition
In the quiet of Greta’s bed later that night, Dylan lay on her back with Greta pulled in tight. With her head over Dylan’s heart, Greta possessively draped a leg over Dylan’s thighs and wriggled as close as she could.
‘I had an email yesterday,’ Dylan said tentatively, her fingers tracing slow, idle swirls over the back of Greta’s soft vest.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, from a bloke called Phil on the Student Wellness Team,’ Dylan couldn’t find any tone other than the melancholy one the whole situation induced.
‘Okay,’ Greta whispered. She pressed a kiss to Dylan’s chest, her chin trembling with the emotion she was clearly fighting back. ‘When is your meeting?’
‘Next week. They’re going to get back to me with a day and time.’
‘Are you taking anyone with you?’
‘You wanna come?’ The joke landed flat the second it left Dylan’s lips. ‘Sorry,’ she added softly.
‘It’s okay.’
‘I’m going alone. I know what I want to say, and it’s getting said.’
Greta responded by squeezing her tighter, as if trying to physically hold them together. ‘What a fucking mess, Dyl.’
‘It’ll settle, G. Kicked-up dust always does.’
Greta sighed against her skin. ‘It’s the mud sticking that I’m worried about, Dylan.’
With her mouth pressed to the top of Greta’s head, Dylan breathed her in as she held onto the moment for a long, heavy beat. The smell of Greta’s shampoo making her eyes softly close. ‘Do you still want this, G?’ she asked cautiously.
‘I want this more than I’ve wanted anything for a very long time, Dylan,’ she said resolutely while tightening her hold around Dylan. ‘And no one is going to take it from me.’
‘Hmmm,’ Dylan hummed low in her throat. ‘Feisty fucker Vincent reporting for duty?’
‘You can bet your outrageously toned arse she is.’
Dylan laughed, pulling Greta on top of her.
‘Come here,’ Dylan whispered as Greta settled on her hips.
Greta met her with a soft, open kiss, her arms bracketing Dylan’s head while Dylan’s hands found the curve of her waist. Pulling away just enough to brush a kiss against the tip of Dylan’s nose, Greta looked down at her.
As a silent beat passed, Dylan stared back, her eyes warm and soft. ‘I like you, Doctor Vincent.’
Smiling, Greta pushed Dylan’s curls back off her forehead with her fingertips. ‘I like you too, Miss St John.’
Just as Dylan was melting under the trail of kisses peppering her jaw, Greta suddenly rammed her face into Dylan’s neck, obviously aiming for some long-awaited retribution.
Dylan didn’t react. She didn’t so much as gasp.
Greta pulled back, blinking rapidly. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? That doesn’t make you crazy?’
‘Nope.’ Dylan gave the 'p' an elaborate pop and while grinning.
‘You’re not one bit ticklish? Anywhere?’
‘Nooope,’ Dylan ground out cockily as Greta searched her face with narrowed eyes.
‘You’re lying,’ Greta said, staring Dylan down to see if she’d break.
‘I am not,’ Dylan lied, though her lips were already starting to twitch.
As Greta sat up to straddle her belly, Dylan was completely powerless to stop her gaze from raking slowly over Greta's knickers and vest, the soft skin of her hips and belly just visible in the gap between the two garments. With Greta’s knees pressed into each bicep, pinning her in place, Dylan arched a brow suggestively, unsure of where this was heading but praying it was toward her face.
Greta leaned back. ‘Sooo, I could touch you here,’ she said, grabbing Dylan’s waist behind her, ‘And you’d be fine?’
‘Well, quite clearly,’ Dylan said, unbothered, though the wide smile she was trying to stifle was now giving her away.
‘Hmmm,’ Greta pondered. The pressure against Dylan’s biceps intensified as Greta ran her hands over Dylan’s chest, slowly heading toward her underarms. Dylan twitched uncomfortably underneath her. ‘Ahhhh.’ Greta’s eyes lit up when Dylan’s muscles began to bunch against her knees.
‘G, don’t!’ Dylan warned but Greta allowed her hands to continue their agonisingly slow path that was making Dylan squirm beneath her. ‘Greta Vincent, I am warning you— Fuck!’ Greta dug her fingers into Dylan’s underarms, making Dylan buck so hard she almost threw her off the bed.
Dissolving into helpless laughter and fighting for her life, Dylan managed to wrench an arm free and wrap it around Greta’s waist. After wrestling a giggling and squealing Greta down to the mattress, she slid between her thighs, pinning her arms above her head.
Still laughing, Dylan pulled back to look down at her.
‘Oh shit,’ Greta laughed breathlessly.
‘Yeah, oh shit!’ Dylan chuckled. ‘Who am I, G?’
Greta sighed with an over-the-top eye roll. ‘The Dylan of the—’
‘The Dylan of the House. That’s correct,’ Dylan chuckled with a single triumphant nod of the head.
Sighing lightly, Dylan watched as Greta’s frantic breathing evened out; the tears of laughter still glistening in her eyes. Out of nowhere, a sudden need to crack open her heart consumed Dylan again, making it almost impossible to hold back the words that were gnawing to get out.
‘G?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I…’ Dylan hesitated as she stared at Greta’s lips.
As she made a pathetic attempt to struggle under Dylan’s soft grip that held her arms, Greta tilted her head. ‘Go on,’ she urged, craning for a kiss.
Scrunching her lips together, Dylan sucked in a quick breath.
‘I’m going to fuck you now, Doctor Vincent.
Sooo, may I suggest you offer a prayer to your higher power of choice, perhaps get something to bite down on…
’ She ostentatiously scanned the bed and checked under the pillows for a suitable mouth bite, as Greta laughed.
‘Because shit is about to get very real.’
Their laughter tapered into moans as Dylan kissed her and started to push against her. ‘I love this, Dylan,’ Greta whispered in between soft kisses. ‘I fucking love this.’ She reiterated emphatically, making Dylan’s heart fill, swell and become perilously close to exploding.
***
Dylan woke the following morning with no Greta pushed against her. Feeling ridiculously bereft by her absence, she pulled on her boxers and a white vest and made her way into the hall.
‘G?’ she called out, her voice still groggy from sleep.
Silence.
Yawning and rubbing her sleep crusted eyes with the heel of her hand, she wandered into the living room to find Greta asleep on the huge sofa in her dressing gown, her round tortoise shell glasses still on.
Dylan’s copy of In at the Deep End lay cover-up and still open on her chest. Dylan watched her for a moment.
She watched as the only woman she had ever wanted to be with took soft breath after soft breath, her chest rising and falling gently.
Greta looked small and unguarded, fragile almost. A deep ache swelled behind Dylan’s ribs, almost breaking her wide open with the realisation that the jagged edges and blurred lines of the world only ever smoothed and pulled into focus when she was with Greta.
She craved her even now, standing close enough to hear her every breath.
Her thoughts turned to her meeting and the fear that the reprisal, however that may look, for them being together may force them apart.
That the bravery Greta had shown only the day before may shrivel up and she would finally run.
That her career would be more important than what they had because what did they have?
Greta liked her. She had used the word partner and taken Dylan to meet her parents, but was she ready for the rest of the real world?
Would that be the undoing of them? Greta’s nerves had all but consumed her as they travelled to Eddie and Elaine’s.
How many times would she be able to withstand that level of anxiety?
Was Dylan, and the little she had to offer, enough?
She forced it down, burying the mere idea that what they had could, or would, end.
Silently, Dylan moved over to the sofa, delicately plucking the book from Greta’s chest with her fingers.
The moment Greta stirred and her gaze landed on Dylan, a smile pushed into her tired eyes.
She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes with her fingers.
The dark crescents under her eyes made a heavy pang of guilt stab in Dylan’s chest.
‘Hey girlfner,’ Dylan said softly with a smile as she pushed a stray lock of hair off Greta’s forehead, securing it behind her ear.
The sight of Dylan seemed to ease some of Greta's tension as she blew out a long, quiet sigh. With heavy eyes, she looked intently at the woman perched next to her, who was now fiddling with her lapels.
‘Morning, Dyl,’ she said softly, pushing her head back into a cushion with a soft groan.
Greta held up her arm, wordlessly pulling Dylan down to her. Draping a leg over Greta’s thighs Dylan nuzzled into her neck, holding them close with a hand hooked over her pelvis.
‘What you doing out here?’ Dylan asked, trying to keep the concern out of her voice.
Greta yawned. ‘I woke up at three-ish and couldn’t get back to sleep.’
Wanting to purge Greta of all she was carrying, Dylan squeezed her even harder. Greta pulled back Dylan’s curls, allowing them to fall forward again and pressed her lips into her hair.
‘She just broke his penis,’ Greta said to an immediate burst of laughter from Dylan.
‘Whaaat?’
‘Julia. In the book. The guy she hooked up with just accused her of breaking his penis.’
‘Ohhh,’ Dylan realised. ‘Imagine blaming limp dick on someone you’re fucking? Wild. I thank sweet baby Jesus Christ every day for making me gay.’
‘Amen to that,’ Greta chuckled, making Dylan’s head bob up and down on her chest.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Dylan asked softly.
‘I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so comfy.’
Another kiss was pressed to Dylan’s hair. Rolling out a little, Dylan placed a hand on Greta’s chest to rest her chin on. Greta smiled while tousling a curl, wrapping it around her fingers before pulling the soft strand through the grip of her finger and thumb.