Chapter One

Rachel had always been the quiet one. At twenty-three, she carried herself softly, a slim 5’3” frame wrapped in modest clothes that concealed more than they revealed. Her long red hair tumbled like fire down her back, the kind of beauty she never quite believed belonged to her. Beneath her shyness lay a storm of secret cravings no one guessed at — not her mother, not her friends. They were cravings for women: for the weight of soft curves, the brush of tender mouths. And always, at the heart of them, stood Danielle.

Danielle was everything Rachel wasn’t. At forty-nine she moved with easy confidence, her curvaceous figure filling a room before her laughter even did. Long brown hair spilled across her shoulders, framing the heavy swell of her breasts that no blouse could quite hide. She called herself straight, and maybe she believed it — though late at night, when the wine was half gone and loneliness pressed in, she sometimes wondered what it might be like to give in to the whispers that brushed the edge of her thoughts. Rachel had seen enough in stolen glances, lingering hugs, to know her fascination was no passing fancy. It was hunger.

It began with afternoons at the kitchen table. Danielle often dropped by after work, a bottle of wine in hand, laughter spilling as she and Rachel’s mother, Sarah, shared gossip about neighbours. Rachel, supposedly busy scrolling her phone or helping with dinner, would steal glances, studying the way Danielle’s blouse dipped when she leaned forward, the jingle of her bracelets as she gestured.

One evening, as Danielle brushed crumbs from her lap, Rachel blurted out, “You always dress so nice, Danielle.”

Danielle blinked in surprise. “Oh? This old thing?” She tugged at her blouse’s sleeve and chuckled. “Hardly glamorous.”

“It is,” Rachel insisted, cheeks pink. “You always look… put together. Elegant.”

Her mother laughed from across the room. “You hear that, Dani? Someone appreciates your style.”

Danielle smiled warmly at Rachel, but a flicker of distraction crossed her eyes before she laughed — a fleeting glance toward the window, as if her thoughts had strayed elsewhere. Rachel caught it, a shadow she couldn’t name, and her pulse quickened.

Later that night, after Danielle had gone and the house had settled into quiet, Sarah called Rachel into the living room. She had her feet curled beneath her chair, a book resting open on her lap, and she held out a small silver key.

“Hey, love,” she said. “Danielle rang earlier. She asked if I could pop round tomorrow night to feed her cats — she’s working late. But I can’t, I’ve got to stay on at work late myself. Could you do it for me?”

Rachel’s heart skipped, excitement prickling through her chest. Danielle’s house. Danielle’s room. Danielle’s scent everywhere. She reached for the key, hoping her mother couldn’t see the flush rising in her cheeks.

“Of course,” she said softly. “I’ll handle it.”

Sarah smiled, relieved. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’re a lifesaver. Just make sure you check their water too — they’re fussy devils if it runs low.”

“I will,” Rachel promised, her fingers curling tight around the key.

Sarah yawned, slipping her bookmark in place. “Right, I’m heading up. Night, love.”

“Night,” Rachel echoed. She retreated, but instead of climbing straight upstairs, she made her way to the kitchen. The empty wine glasses were still on the table, catching the light. Danielle’s glass bore a faint smudge of pink lipstick. Rachel sat for a moment, tracing a finger along the rim where Danielle’s mouth had been, imagining the warmth of her lips.

She lifted the glass to her own mouth, chasing the ghost of her taste. The faint waxy tang of lipstick met her tongue, mixed with the last drop of wine at the bottom. Rachel closed her eyes, savouring it, her whole body prickling. She could almost hear Danielle’s laugh echoing in the silence. Danielle’s smile replayed in her mind — warm, but with something behind it. Something Rachel wanted to believe was for her.

Only when the house was silent did she finally slip away to her room. She carried the key with her, turning it over in her hand as though afraid to set it down.

Rachel shut her door and pressed her back against it, the silver key still burning in her palm. She turned it over once, twice, then set it on the nightstand. Under the lamplight it seemed to glow, small and sharp, like a secret no one should hold.

Her fingers trembled as she touched it again, guilt flickering at the edge of her thoughts. Danielle was her mother’s friend, practically family. If her mother knew what she felt, if Danielle rejected her — she would lose them both. But the thought of Danielle’s perfume, her laughter, drowned out the warnings.

She undressed slowly, not from weariness but from the ache in her chest. One layer after another, until she was naked, her skin prickling in the cool air. She slipped into fresh cotton panties that clung snug to her hips, then pulled a pale pink tank top over her head, the hem brushing just below her waist. Each movement felt deliberate, as if Danielle herself was watching.

Sliding beneath the covers, she curled tight, but her thoughts wouldn’t stay still. Danielle’s laugh echoed in her ears, her hair spilling forward when she leaned in close. Tomorrow Rachel would be inside that world — would she dare to seek the bed where Danielle slept?

Heat pooled low in her belly. She rolled onto her side, cheeks hot, breath shallow, and reached back for the key. Metal pressed cold against her fingertips. She held it there, gripping it as though the touch could carry her to Danielle herself.

Her eyes closed, but sleep didn’t come. What came instead was the first flicker of a dream, sharp and vivid, already sliding into desire.

In her mind she was in Danielle’s bedroom, the air thick with perfume and heat. She pictured herself opening Danielle’s drawer, silks and lace spilling beneath her fingers. She lingered on the feel: soft, slippery fabric catching on her skin, delicate edges whispering against her palms. The scent of Danielle clung to them — faint perfume, musk, something darker.

Rachel’s hand slipped down to her throbbing pussy. Slick. Aching. She hesitated, chest tight — she shouldn’t. Danielle was her mother’s friend. The thought made her freeze, shame catching sharp.

But desire pulled harder. She imagined herself caught red-handed, lace in her hand, Danielle entering. Not angry, but smiling, lips curling into a purr: “You naughty girl.”

Rachel’s fingers circled her clit, teasing, breath stuttering. She pictured Danielle leaning down, blouse undone, breasts swaying heavy. In the fantasy Danielle pressed her thong against Rachel’s lips. “Taste me.”

Rachel obeyed, tongue flicking the imagined fabric, her hips rolling, two fingers sliding inside her folds. Wet sounds filled the room. Her tank rode up, baring her stomach as she pinched her nipple hard, shame mixing with hunger.

She muffled a moan in her pillow, but in her mind Danielle straddled her, grinding cunt against cunt, hair swinging, breasts brushing her face. Rachel’s back arched violently, orgasm tearing through her. She shook, thighs tight, climax breaking in ragged waves.

At last she fell still, chest heaving, sweat cooling. The room was quiet again. On the nightstand, the key gleamed faintly in the lamplight, waiting.

Chapter Two

Rachel rushed through her workday, every tick of the clock dragging at her nerves. She told herself to focus — to get through the tasks before her — yet her mind kept leaping ahead. Danielle’s house. The key waiting in her pocket.

Her feelings for Danielle had never been in doubt; they burned quietly, insistently, like a hidden flame. But why this thrill, this urgency, when Danielle herself wouldn’t even be there? She would only be feeding the cats, tidying a few dishes, slipping into a house that wasn’t hers.

And yet her pulse quickened all the same. The thought of crossing Danielle’s threshold filled her with something reckless, something close to joy. She caught herself smiling at nothing, then bit her lip, embarrassed by her own eagerness.

Still, she hurried on, eager to finish early, eager to get away. Each moment at work felt like a delay, keeping her from that door, that key, that chance to step closer — even if only into the echo of Danielle’s world.

The drive across Manchester blurred, her hands tight on the wheel as her mind wandered places it shouldn’t. Every red light gave her a moment to drift into fantasy, only for guilt to cut through. Danielle was her mother’s friend. What was she doing? Why did it feel like crossing a line she could never come back from?

She parked outside, pulse drumming in her ears. The house stood quiet, lights off, neat curtains drawn. Danielle wouldn’t be home for hours. Rachel reminded herself of that, but her legs still shook as she stepped from the car.

The key felt too heavy in her hand. She slid it into the lock, breath catching, and for a heartbeat thought she might not turn it. Then the door clicked open.

The air inside wrapped around her at once. Danielle. Her perfume. The faint trace of her shampoo, the warm scent of her skin on the furniture. Rachel’s chest rose in a sharp breath as it washed over her, dizzying. Her panties dampened, the ache between her thighs blooming with every step further inside.

She stood just beyond the threshold, the key still clutched in her fingers, overwhelmed by the fact of it — that she was here, in Danielle’s space, surrounded by her presence though she was miles away.

The cats came first. They padded out as she entered the kitchen, tails curling, mewing impatiently. Rachel busied herself with the bowls, pouring out fresh water, measuring the food as if the simple routine could steady her nerves. For a moment it worked — the normality of it, the clatter of kibble against porcelain, the soft rasp of the cats eating.

She should have left then. That was her job done.

But her gaze drifted beyond the kitchen doorway, into the hall where framed photographs lined the walls. Danielle’s smile beamed from them — at parties, in gardens, with friends Rachel didn’t know. Rachel’s pulse skipped. She told herself she shouldn’t, but her feet carried her anyway.

Room by room she wandered, drinking in every detail: the perfume bottles scattered on the bathroom counter, the books stacked neatly by the sofa, the half-burned candles with their faint scent of vanilla. Each object felt intimate, a glimpse into Danielle’s private life, and Rachel absorbed them greedily.

At last she came to the bedroom.

Her heart thundered as she pushed the door open. The bed was neatly made, the duvet smooth, the pillows plumped. A throw lay folded at the foot, its weave soft and inviting. For a long moment she only stood there, staring, hardly daring to breathe.

Then she moved closer, her hand brushing the edge of the cover. She sat gingerly, the mattress firm yet yielding beneath her palms. Slowly she lay back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her breaths came quick and shallow. She was in Danielle’s bed. The truth of it made her dizzy, heat blooming low in her belly. She imagined Danielle above her, hair falling forward, weight pressing down, lips grazing her throat.

Rachel’s hand slipped to her crotch, pressing through her jeans, a soft moan escaping before she could bite it back. The dampness grew, the knowledge of where she was — what she was doing — sending lightning jolts through her body.

She unbuttoned her jeans with trembling fingers, sliding them down enough to reach beneath her panties. The damp fabric clung as she pushed her hand inside, fingertips gliding over slick folds. A gasp caught in her throat — she was so wet already, the reality of Danielle’s bed making every sensation sharper, unbearable.

Her hips lifted into her touch. She pictured Danielle straddling her, smiling wickedly, whispering, “Is this what you wanted?” The fantasy tightened, pulling her deeper.

Rachel’s fingers circled her clit, faster now, desperate. She bit her lip, trying to silence the whimpers spilling from her mouth. Her free hand gripped the duvet, twisting tight as if Danielle’s hand were there instead. The thought sent shivers tearing through her.

Her thighs trembled, her back arched. Lightning bolts shot through her core, building, breaking, crashing. She moaned Danielle’s name into the stillness as orgasm tore through her, wave after wave, her body writhing against the mattress.

For long moments she lay there, chest heaving, panties damp, fingers still between her legs as aftershocks rippled through her. Slowly she pulled her hand free, shame and relief washing over her in equal measure.

The room was silent again, save for her ragged breathing. She turned her head to the side, staring at the dent her body had made in Danielle’s pillow. The intimacy of it made her dizzy. She pressed her cheek into the pillow, inhaling its faint perfume, letting it coat her senses. Guilt spiked — but beneath it, hunger coiled tighter.

Rachel sat up slowly, legs unsteady, breath uneven. Heat clung to her skin, but the rush was already fading, leaving behind a heavy dizziness. She tugged the duvet straight, smoothing away her mark.

She should leave. The cats were fed, the water changed, her task complete. No one would ever know she had lingered.

But as she turned, something caught her eye — a drawer left slightly open in the chest by the wall. A glimpse of fabric peeked through: soft lace, pale silk. Her stomach clenched. Underwear. Danielle’s.

Her steps faltered. She should walk away. She knew she should.

Yet the memory of last night — of the key warm in her palm, of the fantasies that had driven her hand between her thighs — surged back, wrapping around her like a net. She felt pulled forward, powerless to resist.

Her hand slid the drawer open.

Neatly folded stacks of panties and bras lay inside, delicate, intimate, impossibly inviting. Colours soft and dark, lace edges, the faint scent of Danielle rising as though she’d just been there.

Rachel’s breath hitched. Her stomach knotted. She stood frozen, knowing she had crossed into something she could never undo. Her hand trembled above the drawer. She should close it. She should leave.

But her fingers disobeyed. They brushed the fabrics, gliding across silk, lace, cotton. Each piece felt alive, heavy with Danielle’s presence. Rachel swallowed hard, and at last she picked one up.

A pair of pale lace panties, folded neatly, impossibly delicate in her hand. She lifted them slowly, almost reverently. The faint trace of perfume clung to the fabric, her knees weakening beneath her. She pressed them to her lips, breath catching. The fantasy surged back: Danielle’s voice, purring, “You naughty girl.”

Her stomach flipped, shame biting at her, but arousal rose sharper, stronger. She clenched the lace tight, unable to let go.

Rachel dropped onto the bed, clutching Danielle’s panties to her face. The musky scent filled her head, dizzying, intoxicating. Her free hand tore at her jeans, shoving them down, fingers diving into her dripping pussy without hesitation. A raw cry ripped from her throat, loud, reckless, her small breaths stuttering as she pinched her nipples through her shirt, twisting until pain sparked into pleasure.

She moved with desperate urgency, hips bucking against her hand, the lace pressed so tight to her mouth she could almost taste Danielle. Her fingers plunged deep, curling against her g-spot, her other hand yanking her shirt up to expose her tits. She pinched her nipples again, harder, her small breaths turning to whimpers as she ground her clit against her palm.

The orgasm hit like a tidal wave, brutal, tearing through her. Her thighs quaked, her stomach clenched, her voice shattered in a strangled scream of Danielle’s name. She rode the climax relentlessly, juices soaking her hand, her body arching off the sheets until she collapsed in a sweaty, trembling heap.

Silence fell heavy. Reality slammed back, sharp and cold. She stared at the panties crumpled in her fist, damp from her grip, stained with her own arousal. Horror prickled her skin. What had she done?

She scrambled up, dragging her jeans back on. Her hand hovered at the drawer, shame burning through her as she tried to fold the lace neatly again. Instead, she slipped the panties into her pocket. The weight of them felt dangerous, damning — but she couldn’t let them go.

With shaking fingers, she closed the drawer. She turned once, taking in the room one last time, before hurrying out.

Rachel pulled the door shut behind her, leaning against it as though the house might collapse. The stolen panties burned in her pocket, unbearable and yet impossible to release.

She hurried down the hall, the cats stirring, indifferent witnesses. The front door opened with a groan. Cool night air rushed in, a relief and a punishment both. She locked the door behind her, her hand shaking so hard it took three tries to fit the key.

By the time she reached her car, she was trembling. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she gripped the wheel tightly. For a moment she couldn’t even start the engine — afraid, ashamed, aroused all at once. The panties pressed against her thigh through her jeans, impossibly heavy, impossibly thrilling.

She forced the key into the ignition. The drive home was a blur of red lights and passing lamps. Each turn brought a fresh wave of guilt — her mother’s face flashing in her mind, Danielle’s laugh echoing faintly in her ears. She told herself she’d gone too far, that she’d never do it again. Yet the thought of the lace made her thighs clench, the memory of her orgasm still raw.

By the time she pulled into her street, her stomach was knotted, her chest aching with the effort of steady breaths. She cut the engine, gripping the wheel like it might anchor her.

At last she slipped her hand into her pocket. Her fingers brushed the lace. Still warm from her body heat. Still hers.

Rachel closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the wheel. Shame seared her, but beneath it pulsed something darker.

She couldn’t let them go. Not yet.

And with that thought, she knew she had already crossed a line she could never come back from.

Chapter Three

Rachel stood at her mirror, brushing her fiery hair until it gleamed in the lamp light. Her heart beat in nervous flutters, every stroke of the brush a reminder of where she would soon be. Danielle had invited her — so innocent on the surface, a casual film night with wine. But for Rachel, it was everything she’d longed for.

She lingered over her reflection, adjusting her blouse, turning one way then the other. She wanted to look natural, effortless, but her mind would not stop racing. Would Danielle notice the small silver chain at her neck? The faint gloss on her lips? Would she see beyond them to the hunger Rachel fought so hard to conceal?

She clutched her bag, checking for the bottle of wine she’d bought. Her palms were damp. The memory of the stolen panties hidden at the back of her drawer pulsed like a secret flame, urging her forward, reckless. Each day since, she had pressed them to her face, inhaled Danielle’s scent until she shook with want. Tonight, she would be in the same room as her. Close enough to touch.

Her stomach twisted. What if she lost control? What if she gave herself away?

The doorbell rang before she could think too much. Danielle’s voice called warmly, “Come in, love, it’s open.”

Rachel stepped inside, nerves tightening as the familiar scent of Danielle’s home wrapped around her. She tried to breathe steady, but her gaze betrayed her — it sought Danielle at once, drinking in every detail. She was in fitted jeans and a soft cream blouse, her hair tumbling loose, her smile radiant yet tinged with something shy. Rachel’s chest ached.

“Wine?” Danielle asked, lifting two glasses from the counter.

“Yes, please,” Rachel said, her voice catching despite her best efforts. She moved closer, brushing fingertips against Danielle’s as she accepted the glass. The contact sent sparks rushing through her arm, so strong she nearly spilled the drink.

They carried their glasses to the sofa, the glow of the TV lighting the room. Rachel sank into the cushions, her pulse racing. Danielle sat beside her, not too close but not distant either, her body angled just slightly in her direction. Rachel’s skin burned with awareness of every inch between them.

“So, what shall it be?” Danielle asked lightly, scrolling through film titles with the remote.

Rachel took a quick sip of wine, summoning courage. “Maybe something romantic?” she suggested, her cheeks heating.

Danielle gave her a soft smile, amused but not dismissive. “Romantic it is.”

The film began to play, and with it Rachel’s obsession sharpened. The story mirrored her own secret longings — a young woman drawn to her older teacher, forbidden yet irresistible. Rachel’s pulse quickened with every scene, not for the film itself but for Danielle’s reaction. She glanced sideways often, noting every shift, every tightened breath. Danielle’s lips parted slightly during a tender kiss on screen. Rachel nearly moaned aloud.

She shifted closer, inch by inch, until their thighs brushed. Danielle didn’t move away. Rachel’s blood roared.

Reaching for the bowl of popcorn balanced on Danielle’s lap, she let her fingers graze deliberately across the curve of Danielle’s thigh. “Oops, sorry,” she murmured, retrieving a kernel with slow care. She slipped it between her lips, sucking lightly before chewing.

Danielle’s eyes flicked to her mouth, then away. A faint flush spread across her cheeks. Rachel’s stomach flipped.

The film carried on, the lovers on screen confessing their forbidden desire. Rachel felt Danielle’s tension beside her like a current. She slid her hand again into the bowl, this time letting her fingers linger against Danielle’s before retreating.

“Sorry,” she whispered again, her smile betraying that she wasn’t sorry at all.

Danielle’s laugh was soft, nervous. She adjusted her robe as though too warm, though the room was cool. Rachel’s gaze locked on the movement, her throat dry.

Rachel leaned closer, her voice trembling but daring. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Loving someone you shouldn’t.”

Danielle stiffened, her head turning sharply to Rachel’s. Their eyes met, locked. Heat flared between them, raw and undeniable. Danielle’s lips parted, no words forming. Rachel could feel her pulse hammering in her throat, but she didn’t retreat. Not this time.

The moment stretched, breathless, dangerous. Neither moved away.

Chapter Four

Friday night came in a rush of nerves. Rachel stood at Danielle’s door, clutching wine and a small overnight bag. Beneath her coat she wore pale blue silk, short enough to show thigh, thin enough to reveal every curve.

The door opened. Danielle stood in jeans and a cream blouse, casual and breathtaking. “Rachel,” she said warmly. “Come in, I’ve poured us a glass.”

Rachel set the wine down, coat still wrapped tight. The living room glowed with candles, sofa ready, a film paused on screen.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Rachel said quickly, voice trembling. “I’m already in my nightwear. Me and Mum always watch films that way.”

Danielle paused, then smiled softly. “I don’t mind.”

Rachel slipped her coat off. The silk clung to her skin, nipples sharp against the fabric. Danielle stared, mouth parting, a blush rising before she turned away. “I suppose I should change too,” she murmured, leaving the room.

Rachel’s pulse hammered. Had Danielle checked her out? The thought thrilled her. She fussed with cushions, angled the blanket, made space at her side—not too obvious, just an invitation.

When she returned, Danielle wore a black silk robe, tied loosely at the waist, cleavage shifting naturally beneath. She carried popcorn, the scent of salt and butter warming the air. Rachel patted the cushion beside her. Danielle sat, thigh brushing Rachel’s.

Rachel scrolled and chose a romantic drama about a student falling for her female teacher. Danielle shifted at the word lesbian, cheeks flushed, but said nothing.

Rachel leaned into the bowl, fingers brushing Danielle’s thigh as she plucked popcorn. She “accidentally” dropped a piece onto bare skin, retrieved it with a graze of her fingers. Goosebumps rose where she touched.

The love-making scene began. Rachel inched closer until their arms and hips pressed together. Danielle’s chest rose faster, the sash of her robe tugged and retied. Rachel laid a trembling hand on her wrist, whispering, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Danielle stiffened, eyes darting to Rachel’s face. Her gaze dipped to the peaked nipples beneath the silk. She turned away too fast. “Yes… beautiful.”

Rachel’s heart soared. She wet her lips, leaning in. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

Danielle swallowed hard. “Rachel… you’re teasing me.”

“I’m not.” Rachel closed the gap. Their lips brushed—once, twice—then deepened, tentative but hungry. Heat flooded. Silk slid, breath caught. Rachel’s fingers found the sash and tugged; the knot loosened. The robe slipped from Danielle’s shoulders in a soft hush.

Rachel guided her gently to the bedroom, the film forgotten, candlelight trailing them in flickers. At the bed’s edge she kissed Danielle again, slow and sure, hands mapping warm skin: the nape of her neck, the small of her back, the soft rise of her hips.

The nighty lifted over Rachel’s head. Cool air tightened her nipples; Danielle’s hands covered them, thumbs circling, mouth closing over one with a needy suck. Rachel gasped, pressing closer, grinding softly against Danielle’s thigh. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

They tumbled onto the mattress, bodies tangling. Rachel slipped lower, kissing the hollow of Danielle’s throat, the curve between her breasts, the warm path down her stomach. Danielle’s breath stuttered, fingers in Rachel’s hair. “Please…”

Rachel spread Danielle’s thighs, settling between them. She took her time—first a slow, flat lick from entrance to clit, tasting heat and salt; then small, teasing flicks until Danielle arched. “More,” Danielle begged, voice rough.

Rachel gave more. She suckled gently at her clit, letting it swell against her tongue, then slid two fingers inside, curling until Danielle cried out. “God, you’re so wet for me,” Rachel murmured against her, the words melting into a greedy kiss of flesh. Danielle rolled her own nipples between finger and thumb, helpless sounds spilling each time Rachel’s fingers curled deeper.

“Up,” Danielle panted suddenly, tugging Rachel by the hair with careful urgency. “I want to taste you.”

Rachel straddled her face, lowering herself. Danielle didn’t hesitate—tongue flicking clit, two fingers thrusting deep, palm grinding the pressure just right. Rachel’s cry broke raw; she steadied herself against the headboard and bent back down to Danielle, licking her in hungry, wet strokes. Their moans vibrated into each other, a wild loop of need.

Rachel pulled away, breath hitching. “I want to fuck you,” she said, the words shocking and true.

Danielle arched in answer. Rachel slid down, pressing her pussy to Danielle’s. The first grind drew a gasp from both: slick meeting slick, clit against clit, heat sparking like flint.

The rhythm built—slow at first, then urgent. Rachel hooked her thigh over Danielle’s, locking them closer. Nails found skin; breath grew ragged. “Don’t stop,” Danielle pleaded.

“I won’t,” Rachel promised, pushing harder, faster. Their bodies slapped slickly, the room thick with the smell of sex and candle wax and salt. Danielle’s hands cupped Rachel’s face; Rachel kissed her through the rush, their mouths messy and hot as friction peaked and peaked again.

Climax hit in the same breath. Rachel cried into Danielle’s mouth as her body seized, pulsing; Danielle answered with a broken sob of pleasure, thighs clamping, hips jerking, the wet slide between them turning molten. They rode it—grinding and shaking—until the shockwaves thinned and they collapsed, tangled and panting.

Silence settled, sweet and stunned. Rachel lay against Danielle’s chest, hair damp with sweat, heartbeat thudding in her ear. Danielle stroked her spine in slow lines, kissed her temple.

“No regrets?” Rachel whispered.

Danielle smiled, eyes soft. “Not for a second.”

Rachel lifted her head and kissed her—slow now, grateful—then tucked herself in, one leg over Danielle’s, fingers interlaced. Danielle’s robe pooled forgotten on the floor; the nighty lay crushed at the foot of the bed.

They murmured small nothings. Rachel traced circles on Danielle’s ribs and kissed the slope of one breast, a tender aftershock of hunger. Danielle’s hand drifted through Rachel’s hair, soothing and possessive at once.

“Stay,” Danielle breathed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rachel said, and meant it.

Chapter Five

Rachel woke to morning light slanting through the curtains. For a moment she thought she was still dreaming. Then she felt the warmth pressed to her back, the steady breath against her shoulder, the weight of an arm curled possessively around her waist. Danielle.

Memories struck all at once: the kisses, the taste, the way they had clung together in frantic hunger until sweat slicked their skin. Rachel’s cheeks flamed. Her thighs still ached, her lips were swollen, her body humming as though touched only moments ago.

She turned carefully. Danielle slept soundly, hair a dark tumble across the pillow, her face soft, unguarded. She looked younger, almost fragile. Rachel’s chest ached. She wanted to stay in this bubble forever, though guilt tugged sharp beneath it. Danielle was her mother’s best friend. The secret was already unbearable.

Danielle stirred, lashes flickering. Her eyes opened slowly, focusing on Rachel. A flush rose on her cheeks, shy but warm. “Morning,” she murmured.

Rachel smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “Morning.”

Danielle reached up, fingers threading lazily through Rachel’s fiery hair. “You’re beautiful in daylight,” she whispered.

The words filled Rachel with reckless pride. She nestled closer, pressing kisses along Danielle’s jaw, down her throat, until her lips brushed the soft swell of breast. Danielle gasped softly, her hand tightening in Rachel’s hair.

“I can’t stop touching you,” Rachel confessed, her lips closing around a nipple. She suckled gently, her hand squeezing the other breast, teasing the hardening peak between her fingers.

Danielle moaned, her back arching. “Rachel… you’re insatiable.”

“Only with you.” Rachel smiled against her skin, then bit lightly, drawing another cry. The sound spurred her on. She trailed kisses lower, down the plane of Danielle’s stomach, until her mouth hovered at the heat between her thighs.

Danielle parted them willingly, her body already slick with want. Rachel’s tongue pressed flat against her clit, slow, deliberate, until Danielle gasped aloud. Rachel teased, licked, then slid two fingers inside, curling deep.

“Oh God—yes,” Danielle moaned, hands fisting the sheets. Her hips lifted to meet each thrust, her cries filling the quiet house. Rachel quickened the pace, tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm until Danielle came hard, trembling, thighs clamping around her head as she shuddered through the release.

When the waves eased, Rachel kissed her way back up, her lips glistening, her eyes alight. Danielle pulled her close, kissing her hungrily. Then she pushed her gently down onto the mattress.

“My turn,” she whispered.

Rachel gasped as Danielle straddled her face. She lowered herself without hesitation, grinding against Rachel’s open mouth. The taste was intoxicating; Rachel devoured her, groaning into her folds. Danielle’s moans rose again, wild and broken, as she rode Rachel’s tongue until her whole body seized in another violent climax.

Before Rachel could catch breath, Danielle shifted down, straddling her thighs. “Now you,” she said firmly. She buried her mouth between Rachel’s legs, licking and sucking until Rachel screamed her name, bucking helplessly, orgasm tearing through her in brutal waves. Danielle didn’t stop until Rachel collapsed, trembling and gasping.

They curled together, sticky and exhausted, kissing softly, murmuring small truths. “I don’t regret it,” Danielle whispered, brushing hair from Rachel’s face. “Not for a second.”

Rachel smiled shyly. “Me neither.”

They lay like that, hearts slowing, when the doorbell rang. Once, twice, then the letterbox rattled. “Rachel? Dani? Are you there?” Sarah’s voice cut sharp through the quiet.

Rachel froze. Danielle went rigid beside her. The blood drained from Rachel’s face. Their phones. They’d left them downstairs.

“Shit,” Rachel breathed, scrambling from the bed. She grabbed clothes from her holdall, fumbling into jeans and a crumpled top with shaking hands. Danielle tied her robe tight and followed her down, their hearts hammering in unison.

Sarah’s voice came again, impatient: “Why aren’t you answering your phones? I’ve been calling all morning!”

Danielle drew a deep breath and opened the door, forcing a smile. “Sarah, good morning.”

Sarah bustled in, dropping her bag. “Good God, you both look like death. Up drinking all night, were you?” She frowned, then softened, shaking her head. “Honestly. You’ll be the death of me.”

Rachel forced a weak laugh, cheeks blazing. Danielle echoed it, pulling her robe tighter.

Sarah swept into the kitchen, kettle already boiling, and called over her shoulder: “Oh—and by the way, Joe dumped me last night!”

Rachel and Danielle exchanged a panicked glance, hearts still racing. The secret hung between them, burning hotter than ever.