The Healing Note, Part 1

VP and BP Standings
Erin - 99 VP - 5100 BP - 2 Achievs
Liesa - 96 VP - 3200 BP - 3 Achievs
Sam - 95 VP - 7700 BP - 2 Achievs
Norah - 94 VP - 1850 BP - 3 Achievs
Chloe - 88 VP - 4850 BP - 2 Achievs
Claire - 87 VP - 7900 BP - 2 Achievs
Emi - 86 VP - 6050 BP - 3 Achievs
Emily - 81 VP - 5600 BP - 3 Achievs (2 used)
Marissa - 77 VP - 5000 BP - 2 Achievs
Dawn - 75 VP - 5800 BP - 3 Achievs
Myra - 52 VP - 4300 BP - 2 Achievs
Riley - 42 VP - 7100 BP - 3 Achievs
Laura - 18 VP - 6950 BP - 1 Achiev

Andy awoke to a warmth that was part sunlight, part Chloe. He was on his back in the massive bed of the Master’s Suite, arms locked around a gentle weight—Chloe, pressed close, head nestled in the dip below his collarbone. Her hair, with its fresh-baked-bread and faint milk scent, tickled his chin whenever she exhaled. She must have shifted in the night: her entire right leg was thrown over his hip, a soft lock, while her fingers explored his chest in slow, absentminded circles.

He didn’t move. He could have spent the next day listening to her breathe, the tiny hum she made on each inhale, the warmth of her skin pressed against his ribs. Through the sheers, sunlight crawled up the foot of the bed, caught on the old wooden dresser, and spilled itself generously across Chloe’s back. She somehow now wore one of his old shirts—a faded blue thing, two buttons open at the top, the fabric slipping off her shoulder and exposing the soft cream of her skin. One of her bare breasts peeked out, nipple barely visible against the bunched fabric, already leaking a tiny drop that glistened gold in the sun.

He didn’t dare move at first. He was afraid that if he did, she’d vanish, or worse, that the hush of the morning would break and the old ghosts would reclaim the air. For once, though, they didn’t. The ghosts lingered at the edges, but the room was too full—of Chloe, of warmth, of a future that wasn’t just a collection of best-case scenarios.

After a while, Chloe’s eyes fluttered open, two wide pools of honey and hazel. She smiled, slow and syrupy, and reached up to brush a strand of hair off her cheek. “Good morning,” she whispered, voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” he whispered back, matching her tone.

They just breathed together for a while, noses inches apart. Then Chloe pushed herself up, propped on one elbow, and stared down at him with a look that was equal parts awe and embarrassment.

“I had the weirdest dream,” she confessed, after a moment. “Except it wasn’t bad. It was just… big.”

Andy brushed his thumb over her jaw, encouraging. “Tell me?”

She took a breath, as if trying to catch every detail before it scattered. “We were in that house again,” she said. “The one from yesterday. Except this time, it wasn’t just us. It was… all of us. And there were kids. A lot of them.” She squinted, thinking. “I’m pretty sure two of them were twins, but one had green hair and one had pink. Which I guess means Erin and Emily somehow had kids at the same time, and then they ran away to join the circus.” Chloe made a face. “I don’t think the dream was super logical. But I was happy. Everyone was.”

She blinked, then ducked her head, embarrassed. “Sorry. That’s probably too much for a first thing in hte morning.”

Andy grinned. “No, it’s not. It sounds…” He reached up and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “It sounds fun, honestly.”

Chloe bit her lip, then pressed her forehead to his. “It’s stupid,” she said. “I know it’s impossible. But I keep thinking about it.”

He shook his head. “It’s not impossible. Maybe it’s your brain telling you what it wants.”

She thought about that for a moment, then wrinkled her nose. “I guess it’s what I always wanted,” she said, quiet. “Even when I told myself it didn’t matter.”

Andy ran his hand up her back, slow and reassuring. “I want it too.”

Chloe froze at that, just for a second, then melted into him, a quiet sound escaping her chest. “I love you,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

He smiled into her hair. “Yeah. I love you too.”

They lay together, soaking up the moment. For a long time, they didn’t speak. Chloe draped herself over him, letting her weight settle, and traced lazy circles over the spot where his heart beat. He squeezed her tighter, burying his face in her hair. If the world ended in the next minute, Andy thought, he wouldn’t regret a thing.

When the silence got too big, Chloe spoke again, voice soft and tentative. “Thank you for yesterday,” she said.

Andy blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

She looked up, eyes serious now. “For letting me be weird. For making it okay to be happy.” She chewed her lip, picking at the loose thread on his shirt. “For the first time in years, I feel like I can breathe. And it’s because of you.”

He felt his own heart trip over itself. “Chloe…”

She shook her head, silencing him. “I mean it. You taught me I could be loved, and that I don’t have to earn it by being perfect. Or quiet. Or… whatever my mom thought women were supposed to be.” She reached up, brushing his cheek with her fingers. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

Andy wanted to say something profound, but all he managed was, “You don’t have to thank me.”

She smiled, then nudged his nose with hers. “Still. Thank you.”

They dozed together, neither wanting to move. Eventually, Andy felt the dull pressure of Chloe’s thigh digging into his hip, and he realized he was more turned on than he’d ever admit out loud. Chloe noticed too; her hand drifted down, fingers tracing the line of his abs until they met the waistband of his boxers.

She glanced up at him, playful now. “Did you sleep okay?”

He nodded, a little bashful. “I did, yeah.”

Chloe giggled, then shifted so her breast pressed against his chest. “You know what would make it even better?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What?”

She hesitated, then blushed, a full-body pink that climbed her cheeks and spilled down her throat. “You know that list from yesterday.” She made a face, half-annoyed, half-proud. “I think I need to do a couple things right, to make the compulsion stop being so loud.”

Andy laughed, the sound genuine. “What’s next on your list?”

Chloe ducked her head, embarrassed. “It’s dumb. I just wanted to try giving a blowjob. I’ve never done it, and… I want to do it right.” She made a face. “Is that weird?”

He shook his head, grinning. “No. Not at all.”

Chloe hesitated a final shimmering heartbeat—her hands bracing at the waistband of Andy’s boxers, her gaze locked on him in a question so clear it hardly needed words. She bit her lip, both nervous and determined, then bent to her task, sliding the elastic down his legs and exposing him to the chilled air of the Suite’s master bedroom. Her hands trembled for the barest instant, then steadied. Andy watched her with a mixture of affection and utter disbelief; he couldn’t remember a time in his life when someone had approached anything about him with this much care, like she was unwrapping a present she had wanted for months but only just now allowed herself to believe she deserved.

She paused, looking at his cock—soft at first but quickly stiffening under her attention—her lips parting in wonder and amusement. “Wow,” she said, blinking in honest surprise. She giggled, then let her head tilt as she considered it from a new angle, chin perched on the back of her hand like a cartoon detective. “It’s kind of… different, from down here. Cutest weird thing ever.” She looked up, her smile caught somewhere between sheepish and proud. “Can I touch it?”

Andy, caught between arousal and laughter, nodded. “Go ahead.”

She beamed, then reached out, wrapping her fingers around the shaft and giving it a little test squeeze. He twitched in her hand, and her eyes went wide—she hadn’t expected it to react like that. Tentative at first, she ran her thumb along the top, then let her hand slide up and down in slow, uncertain strokes. She was studying him, watching his face with every motion, collecting data points for her own internal spreadsheet.

She bent forward and pressed a shy kiss to the tip, so gentle and feather-light he barely felt it. When she pulled back, she checked his face again, as if seeking out the exact coordinates of pleasure and approval. Emboldened by whatever she found in his expression, she circled the head with her tongue, then gave it a little flick. The muscles in Andy’s stomach tensed involuntarily, and Chloe grinned—she’d found a lever.

She started slow and cautious, taking just the head into her mouth and rolling her tongue along the underside, then letting it pop free with a soft, wet sound that made them both laugh. She tried again, this time hollowing her cheeks, experimenting with suction. When Andy stifled a groan, her grin widened: she was figuring this out, step by step, and her delight in his reactions became the engine for her own confidence.

She tried using her hand at the same time, copying something she must have read online, and alternated between twisting and squeezing, her touch clumsy but determined. Andy couldn’t stop watching her; the sight of Chloe—sweet, sunny Chloe—kneeling for him and so earnestly devoting herself to this secret project, was almost more than he could handle. She caught his gaze and held it, even as she bobbed her head, determined to get feedback in real time. Her hair slipped forward in a sheet of gold and brown, falling over her cheek and tickling his inner thigh.

She attempted to take him deeper, and when the gag reflex hit, she pulled off with a cough and a snorting giggle. “Okay, that’s a lot trickier than it looks,” she mumbled, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “I’m not giving up, though.”

He reached down and combed a hand gently through her hair, settling his palm at the crown of her head. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said quietly.

She looked up, her face flush but resolute. “I want to. For you. But also for me. I think I just… want to be good at it.” She laughed, softer now. “Is that dumb?”

He shook his head, voice hoarse. “No, Chloe. Nothing about you is dumb.”

She smiled, then took a breath, steadying herself, and dove back in. This time she was more confident, her motions smoother, more coordinated. She learned quickly what he liked—how if she hummed a little, it sent sparks up his spine; how if she twisted her hand a certain way, his hips would jerk and his eyes would roll back. She played him like a new instrument, refining the melody with each pass, and the more she learned, the more she enjoyed herself.

Somewhere in the rhythm, she started to giggle every time he groaned or gasped. She’d stop, pop his cock out of her mouth, and beam up at him: “That one worked, right?” And he’d nod, barely able to string together a sentence, and she’d go right back at it, eager to outdo herself. She was, in a way, performing for both of them—testing boundaries, finding the line between pleasure and comedy, and making the act somehow sweeter and lighter than Andy had ever imagined possible.

She went back in, this time without warnings or apologies, and adjusted her angle, using gravity to her advantage. She managed a couple deeper strokes, and though she gagged once more, she didn’t pull away—she just coughed and laughed, then tried again, stubborn as ever. Andy felt himself getting close, and tried to warn her—“Chloe, I’m gonna—”—but she just shook her head and pressed forward, thumb and forefinger circling the base, tongue pressed hard against the underside.

He came with a full-body jolt, vision going white at the edges. She pulled back just a little, enough to not ****, and swallowed with a look of total triumph. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand again—her preferred technique, apparently—and beamed up at him, both bashful and proud. “Did I do okay?” she asked, voice wobbling with emotion and a bit of post-laughter breathlessness.

Andy was still panting, but managed, “You did incredible. Honestly, I think you just broke my brain.”

She crawled back up his body, burrowing under his arm like a cat, and nuzzled her face against his chest. She was warm, glowing even, her entire mood transformed by the simple act of proving something to herself.

Blowjob! +4 VP
Swallowed! +2 VP

Chloe’s cheeks flushed, and she giggled, ducking her head. “Thank you. I wanted it to be special.”

Andy pulled her up, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her, slow and deep. She melted into him, the last of her nerves dissolving in the warmth of his embrace.

They lay together for a while, just holding each other. Chloe’s hand rested on his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his ribs. She sighed, content. “I wish we could stay here all day,” she said.

“Me too,” Andy admitted. “But we should probably get breakfast. Or at least coffee.”

Chloe laughed, then rolled off the bed, grabbing one of the big hotel robes and draping it over her shoulders. She padded to the kitchen, hair wild and beautiful, her movements loose and easy. Andy followed, and together they made breakfast—eggs, toast, coffee, and, at Chloe’s insistence, cinnamon rolls from a can. They worked in perfect sync, the kind of domestic rhythm that only came from genuine affection and practice.

Chloe’s milk leaked a little as she reached for the coffee mugs, but she didn’t seem embarrassed. Andy caught her eye, and she just shrugged, grinning. “Guess we should bottle some of this for later,” she said, then winked.

They sat at the counter, eating in companionable silence. After a while, Chloe looked up, serious again.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

He nodded.

“What was it like, for you? Last night, being Andi? Was it weird?”

Andy thought about it, then shook his head. “Not really. It felt… normal. Natural, even. When I’m Andi, I don’t think about being a guy in a girl’s body. I just feel like me, but different.” He grinned. “And honestly? The orgasm was intense. Completely different from what I expected.”

Chloe giggled, delighted. “I’m glad I got to help with that.”

He smiled, then reached across the counter and squeezed her hand. “You were perfect. Gentle, sweet, and… just you.” He paused, then added, “I liked it a lot.”

Chloe blushed, then ducked her head. “Thank you,” she whispered.

After breakfast, Chloe cleaned up, humming to herself. When she finished, she stood by the door, her hand on the knob, and looked back at him.

“I should go,” she said. “But… I don’t want to.”

Andy crossed the room, pulled her close, and kissed her one more time. “You did great, Chloe. And not just yesterday night.”

She smiled, brighter than he’d seen in weeks. “I’ll be back,” she promised.

He watched her go, her step lighter than he’d ever seen it, her whole body radiating hope.

Andy spent the late morning tracing the hallways of the Hotel, following the gentle, persistent tug of the bond like a compass needle set in his chest. It was never intrusive, more a suggestion than a command—a subtle sense of where Laura was, how far, and in what emotional weather she drifted. Today, her presence was a small ache, a pinpoint of focus far away from the Master’s Suite, flickering with… not joy, not pain exactly, but something tense and tightly wound.

He found himself in the depths of the hotel corridors, that labyrinthine complex that seemed to change every time he stepped into it. He expected to round the corner and find Laura, but instead, it was Marissa. She stood near the entrance to The 88 Club, balancing a giant, institutional tray piled with fresh fruit, three napkins, and a stack of small, hand-lettered cards. She wore a white blouse, the top two buttons open, the fabric hugging her chest so tight that even the physics of buttons seemed strained. Her hair was pinned up, a few stray strands framing her face. She looked up as Andy approached and smiled, but it was the professional, guarded smile she used with difficult clients, not the unbuttoned warmth he’d seen before.

Andy stopped in front of Marissa, half expecting her to vanish like a mirage. She didn’t; instead, she set her tray down on a marble-topped side table with a precision that said she’d been holding it too long already. The fruit was perfectly arranged—grapes, melon, sliced apple, the edges of every piece flush with the next, napkins creased military straight. The whole tableau was so meticulous that Andy almost missed the tremor in her hand as she wiped it dry on her skirt.

She nodded at him, the movement as clipped as her smile. “Andy.”

“Hey, Marissa,” he said, and instantly regretted how flat it sounded. He tried for a warmer tone: “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She gestured at the tray. “I was on my way to drop this off for the Club.” Her eyes flicked down the corridor, then back to him. “You’re looking for Laura?”

Andy hesitated. “Yeah. She’s in there?”

Marissa nodded, then looked away, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the tray. “She’s been in there since before breakfast.” She hesitated, then, in a lower voice: “Don’t worry. She’s okay. She just wanted a place to practice where no one could bother her.” There was an undertow to the words that Andy recognized immediately, a therapist’s trick for signaling concern without making it sound like concern.

He shifted his weight, searching for a safe conversational foothold. “The fruit looks good,” he said. It was true; the grapes glistened under the hallway lights.

Marissa let out a surprised laugh, so abrupt that she covered her mouth for a second. “Sorry. It’s just—” She shook her head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

They stood there, the air between them prickly with things unsaid. Andy thought about Marissa’s argument with Laura—how it had seemed to resolve, but how neither woman had talked to him about it since. Marissa looked, for the first time since he’d met her, like someone who didn’t know what to do with her hands.

He tried again. “You know, I always thought of you as a coffee-and-toast-for-breakfast person. Not a fruit salad type.”

She snorted. “You’d be right. I don’t even like most fruit. But apparently, the last few groups who used The 88 Club managed to finish off all the snack food in the first hour. Mildred said it was a safety issue.”

Andy grinned, picturing Mildred with her clipboard, taking notes on food disappearance rates. “Makes sense.”

Marissa let her arms drop to her sides, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Actually,” she said, “I was hoping to run into you.” She paused. “Do you have a minute?”

“It’s your date day,” Andy replied, a little surprised by the question. “I’d be happy to spend time with you.”

Marissa’s mouth quirked. “That’s not what I had in mind.” She gestured down the hallway, away from The 88 Club. “Walk with me?”

He nodded, falling in beside her. They moved through the side corridor, the walls lined with glass cases holding memorabilia from a dozen lost seasons of the show. Andy slowed down, studying some of the relics—a pair of neon green high heels, a blue-and-white checkered hair ribbon, a cracked marble bust of Arabella herself. It was a museum of failed ambition, each artifact stranger than the last. And it hadn’t been there, the previous day. They passed a door, slightly ajar, that appeared to open into some sort of museum room. Andy wondered if it was connected in any way to the Museum of Pleasures Past, but suspected it was more likely to be a memorabilia room opened by some past Contestant.

Marissa walked with purpose, but also with a kind of self-consciousness that Andy had never seen in her before. “I know most of the women have created a Sanctuary,” she said. “A space that’s theirs, that shows who they are.” She flicked a glance at him. “I don’t have one.”

Andy considered this. “You have The 88, and you have the Conservatory. But you could make another one. Arabella would do it in a heartbeat.”

“That’s just it,” Marissa said, stopping in front of a case with a shattered martini glass inside. “I don’t know what it would look like. The 88 is probably the closest to one.” She turned to face him, and for once, there was no analytic shield in her eyes—just pure, unguarded blue. “I suppose you know Laura and I had an argument, a few days ago. When I argued with her, I said some things I shouldn’t have. I told myself that was progress, that it was honest. But I think I hurt her more than I realized.” She set her jaw, as if bracing herself for impact. “It made me wonder if I’ve really changed at all. Or if I’m still the same person who hides behind the job and the analysis because I’m too scared to show anyone what I’m actually like.”

Andy let the words settle. “You’re not the only one,” he said, surprised by his own candor. “But I think the fact you’re worrying about it means you’re not the same as before.”

Marissa laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Therapist logic. You’d think I’d see it coming.”

He smiled, and she smiled back, the tiniest lift at the corner of her mouth. “So what do you want?” Andy asked.

She hesitated, then squared her shoulders. “I want to do something I’ve never done before.” She looked almost embarrassed. “I want to play a song. For everyone. Tonight.”

Andy blinked. “A song?”

Marissa nodded, a flush rising on her cheeks. “I haven’t played in public since I was in high school. After my parents died, I didn’t have time, and later, my fingers just didn’t feel up to the task.” She laughed, almost self-deprecating. “I always told myself it was because I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I made so many excuses. But I realized that really, it’s because I was scared that people would see the real me.”

He absorbed this, then said, “You want me to back you up?”

She looked relieved, but also a little guilty. “If you’re willing. I asked Mildred to let everyone know, and come to the Club tonight, but I thought maybe it would be easier if you were there. If you could play the guitar, I mean.” She added, “I heard from Emily that she knows bass. I think it would be fun if she joined, too.”

Andy grinned. “You realize you’re basically asking me to form a band on six hours’ notice, right?”

Marissa nodded, her eyes suddenly bright. “I cheated,” she admitted, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I went to The 88 Club last night and asked Arabella to tweak it. Now, when you practice there, you learn a lot faster than you normally would. Like a rehearsal on fast-forward. It’s addictive.”

Marissa 5000 BP - 1000 BP = 4000 BP

Andy’s first instinct was to laugh, but then he realized she was serious. “That’s actually pretty clever.”

Marissa shrugged, sheepish. “I thought it would help. I don’t want to get up there and freeze.”

Andy leaned against the display case, feeling a weird new kind of admiration for Marissa. It was one thing to confront someone in a therapy session; it was another to risk embarrassment in front of a room full of people, most of whom were now family.

“Why a song?” Andy asked, genuinely curious.

She picked at a loose thread on her skirt, then looked up at him. “Because I want to show everyone who I am,” she said, her voice so soft he almost missed it. “Not the therapist, or the woman who always has it together. Just… me.”

He nodded. “I’d love to help.”

The relief in her face was instant and real. “Thank you,” she said, the words carrying more weight than he’d expected.

He shifted, and asked, “What’s the song?”

She hesitated, then blushed. “I don’t want to tell you yet. It’s a surprise.”

He laughed. “All right. I’ll get my guitar and meet you there.”

Marissa smiled, and this time it was the open, unfiltered one he remembered from their first night together. “And bring Emily. She’s probably at her Sanctuary.”

He nodded, then turned to go. As he walked, Marissa called after him. “Andy?”

He paused, looking back.

Marissa’s expression was almost shy. “Laura’s in there. She’s been practicing the song for an hour. I asked her if she wanted to sing it, while we play. I think she wants to show you she can handle it.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you’re here. For her.”

Andy felt a strange rush of gratitude. “I’m glad you’re here, too,” he said. “For you.”

She smiled, and this time, it stuck.

He left her there, in the corridor, the tray of fruit still untouched. As he walked, Andy couldn’t help but feel a jolt of anticipation—and, underneath it, the knowledge that tonight’s performance would be one for the ages. He’d never been in a band before. But for these women, for Marissa and for Laura, he’d play any song in the book.

The rec room’s air shimmered with the vanilla-and-vinyl scent of gym mats, and the first blast of fluorescent lighting set every scuff and stain aglow, like a constellation drawn by a bored demigod. At this hour, the hotel’s gym was empty except for the two women at its heart: Sam and Liesa, in mid-rehearsal for some future neither of them had yet dared name.

Sam, sweat darkening the tanktop at her spine, stood behind Liesa, her hands bracketing Liesa’s hips with an ease born of trust. She guided Liesa through a sequence of hip hinges and shoulder openers, her voice low and rhythmic, the way it got when she was focused on a project that required her full attention. “Bend forward, let the arms dangle,” Sam said, and Liesa did—her hair, loose today, forming a shimmering curtain that reached past her chest and grazed Sam’s hands as she bent.

Liesa’s ass, perfectly defined even beneath loose running shorts, pressed back into Sam’s pelvis. “Like this?” Liesa asked, and her accent—always thicker when she was tired or aroused—made it sound like a dare.

“Exactly like that,” Sam replied. She ran her hands up Liesa’s ribcage, steady but not grabby, then palmed Liesa’s shoulders, rolling them back. “Good. Now hold it. Deep breath. Stretch into the tension.”

Liesa giggled, then exhaled in a slow, careful way, as if she were trying to release every last bit of anxiety into the sterile gym air. She was radiant in the way only post-workout bodies can be—skin still a little flushed, fine hairs pasted down at her temples, tank top clinging in places it used to hang loose. There was a dimple of sweat in her cleavage, and Sam couldn’t help but watch a bead as it traced the curve of Liesa’s breastbone.

“You’re staring,” Liesa said, straightening up with a snap that sent her hair fanning out.

Sam didn’t apologize. “You’re the most beautiful thing in here.”

Liesa rolled her eyes, but her face broke into a smile, the tension dropping away. She turned to face Sam, one eyebrow cocked. “You say that to all your gym partners?”

“Only the ones who can out-stretch me,” Sam said, grinning.

They moved together to the next station, a battered balance beam that ran the length of one mirrored wall. Liesa stepped up first, her feet bare and toes flexing to find purchase. She stretched her arms overhead in a slow, lazy arc, then looked over her shoulder at Sam. “What comes after?”

Sam considered. “Usually, I’d say a cool-down jog, but today I was thinking… maybe a swim?”

Liesa pursed her lips. “Do you want to see me in a bathing suit, or out of one?” The tease was light, but there was a hint of nerves underneath.

Sam smirked. “I mean, both?”

Liesa laughed, then hopped down from the beam, bouncing a little as her feet hit the mat. “I never liked swimming,” she admitted, voice quieter now. “Even as a kid. Water is… cold. And I float badly.”

Sam sobered, moving to stand beside her. “We can do something else, if you’d rather.”

Liesa shook her head, but she didn’t quite look at Sam. “No, I want to try. It’s just—I guess, I don’t know what’s next. For us. Or for me. Maybe it scares me to think about it.”

Sam’s heart pulled sideways in her chest. She reached out, brushing sweat-slick hair from Liesa’s cheek, letting her hand linger just long enough to be noticed. “You don’t have to know right now. We’re not on a clock.”

Liesa looked at her, and there was a fragility to it that Sam recognized—she’d seen it in the faces of kids at her old job, the ones who had run out of things to hope for. “I do think about it,” Liesa said, “sometimes. About what would happen if we went home. Would we see each other? Would you visit Belgium?” She laughed, but it was brittle. “Or would we just… fade?”

Sam pulled her in, arms circling Liesa’s waist. The move was smooth, practiced, the kind of hold that was both a question and a promise. “I’d visit,” Sam said. “Hell, I’d move if I had to.”

Liesa stiffened, surprised, then melted against her, burying her face in Sam’s collar. For a moment, they just stood there, the only sound the whir of the AC and their joined breath. “You would really come?” Liesa asked, voice muffled by Sam’s shirt.

Sam didn’t hesitate. “If you wanted me, yeah. I’d come.”

Liesa laughed again, but this time it was sweet and a little shy. She tilted her head up, eyes shining. “You are too good, Sam. But there’s nothing really left in Belgium, for me. I would move with you, and Andy, and all the others.”

Sam grinned. “That sounds like the right kind of chaos.”

Liesa reached up and cupped Sam’s jaw, pulling her down for a kiss. It was soft at first, exploratory, then deepened, tongues meeting with a practiced ease that made Sam’s knees weak. Liesa broke away first, nipping at Sam’s lower lip. “I know what I want, too,” she said, and her hands slid under the hem of Sam’s shirt, nails raking lightly along the damp skin of her back.

The escalation was instant. Sam pushed Liesa back until she was pressed against the mirrored wall, their bodies aligned in a way that felt both inevitable and new. Liesa’s hands moved to Sam’s waist, thumbs hooking into the elastic of her shorts, tugging her closer. Sam kissed her again, this time harder, mouths crashing, the faint taste of sweat and citrus lip balm electrifying.

Liesa gasped as Sam’s thigh wedged between her legs, the pressure deliberate. Sam ground forward, and Liesa moaned, the sound swallowed by Sam’s mouth. Liesa’s hands were everywhere—gripping Sam’s biceps, then clawing at her back, then sliding up to squeeze her shoulders. She was strong, stronger than she looked, and she used it, flipping their positions so Sam was the one pinned to the wall.

“Take it off,” Liesa whispered, tugging at Sam’s tanktop.

Sam obliged, yanking it over her head, the sweat-cool air goosebumping her skin. Liesa’s hands cupped Sam’s breasts, thumbs circling the nipples, and Sam shivered, then grinned. “You like?” she teased.

“Very much,” Liesa said, and dipped her head to bite gently at the swell of Sam’s breast. Sam gasped, her hands sliding down Liesa’s back, palms splaying across the curve of her ass.

Liesa pulled her own shirt off, letting it drop to the floor, and Sam took a second to just look. Liesa’s body was a work of art—lean, golden skin flecked with freckles, stomach flat but soft at the edges, breasts large and high, nipples a delicate pink. She was flush with arousal, with only a few garments between her and full-blown heat. Sam wanted to memorize every inch.

Liesa pressed close, skin to skin, and the friction was maddening. She ground against Sam’s thigh, the heat and slickness immediate even through the thin fabric of her shorts. Sam reached down, popped the button on Liesa’s waistband, and slid her hand inside. Liesa was already wet, and Sam moaned softly, fingers gliding through the slickness, circling the sensitive nub before dipping lower.

Liesa’s knees buckled, and Sam caught her, easing them both down onto the mats. They sprawled there, bodies tangled, sweat pooling where their skin touched. Sam kept her hand working, slow at first, then faster as Liesa rocked her hips in counterpoint. Liesa dug her nails into Sam’s shoulders, gasping every time Sam pressed just right.

“Sam, please,” Liesa begged, the accent thick as honey.

Sam grinned, then obliged, pushing Liesa’s shorts down and off, then spreading her legs and settling between them. She kissed her way up Liesa’s thigh, nipping at the tender skin, then licked a long, slow stripe up the center. Liesa convulsed, her hands flying to Sam’s head, fingers twining in the short curls at her nape.

Sam took her time, working Liesa with lips and tongue and just enough teeth. She paid attention to every twitch, every gasp, adjusting her rhythm to match Liesa’s building urgency. It didn’t take long—Liesa was already close, and when Sam sucked gently on her clit, she came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping tight around Sam’s head.

Liesa rode the wave, her body shaking, then sagged back onto the mat, spent and smiling. Sam crawled up and kissed her, the taste of both of them mingling on her lips.

Liesa put her top back on before her arousal became too much again, then pulled Sam on top, wrapping arms and legs around her, and whispered, “Now you.”

Sam grinned. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Liesa rolled them, pinning Sam beneath her, then slid down and repeated the favor, her tongue expert and determined. Sam groaned, hips lifting, every muscle singing with pleasure. Liesa knew exactly how to touch her, alternating soft licks with harder sucks, fingers probing just right.

When Sam came, it was like being swept under by a riptide—helpless, overwhelming, but not scary, not with Liesa there to hold her steady. She let herself go, voice unguarded, then collapsed, panting, onto the mat.

They lay there, tangled and sticky, the gym’s harsh lights turning them into one long, seamless shape. After a while, Liesa propped herself up on an elbow, tracing circles on Sam’s chest.

“What now?” Liesa asked, her voice dreamy.

Sam turned, met her eyes. “Now we rest,” she said. “And then we figure out what comes next.”

Liesa smiled, the expression soft and full of promise. “I want to blend our lives,” she said, repeating the phrase from earlier. “I want to be with you. Even if it’s hard, even if it’s messy.”

Sam kissed her, slow and sweet. “We’ll make it work.” She thought about it, about all the possibilities. She’d never imagined a life that included someone like Liesa, but now she couldn’t imagine one without her.

“Wherever we go,” Sam said, “as long as you’re there, I’m happy.”

Liesa’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears away. “I am happy, too. Happier than I have been in a long time.”

They snuggled closer, limbs entwined, bodies fitting together in a way that felt like home.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Sam murmured against Liesa's hair. "Big Pathfinder game in two days. I’m planning something special—there's going to be a guest."

Liesa lifted her head, eyes bright with interest. "Really? Who?"

"It's a surprise," Sam said, tracing the curve of Liesa's shoulder. "But you should dress up."

"I will look my absolute best," Liesa promised, a smile spreading across her face. "Perhaps that blue dress you like?"

Sam nodded, her throat suddenly tight with anticipation. The small velvet box hidden in her sock drawer flashed in her mind—the ring she’d secretly bought, waiting for the perfect moment. After the game, she thought. When everyone was there to witness it.

Sam 7700 BP - 1000 BP = 6700 BP

They dressed, fingers fumbling, and held hands as they walked out, the future suddenly so much brighter than it had been before.