Yes

Tasha rocked Chloe for a moment longer, then looked up. “I’ll put her down. Go sit—master bedroom okay?”

Emily nodded, legs trembling slightly as she stood. Her body ached in all the best and worst ways. She walked slowly down the hall, the sticky seam of her thighs rubbing with each step. Her breath caught once—when she thought about what Tasha might say. But she kept going.

The bed looked too big. Too clean.

She sat on the edge of it and waited.

Tasha returned a moment later, towel bundle in hand, a warm washcloth trailing steam from the bathroom. She moved with calm certainty, spreading two towels out on the bed, then turning back toward Emily.

Wordless, she reached for the first button on Emily’s blouse.

“Let me.”

Emily didn’t argue.

As Tasha began unfastening the blouse, one slow button at a time, Emily stared at the floor. Her thoughts spun. Her skin felt electric—like every inch of her still remembered being touched.

When the shirt came free, Tasha pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms. Emily’s chest rose with a soft breath, her nipples already stiff, the blouse catching briefly on one before it dropped to the floor.

“You looked wrecked when you came in,” Tasha said quietly. “Like something broke and you didn’t know whether to hide it or show it off.”

Emily gave a breath of a laugh. “Little bit of both.”

Tasha knelt again and worked her fingers under the waistband of Emily’s skirt. She pulled it down gently, letting it fall over her knees. The stockings came next—peeled from her thighs one at a time, then the garter unclipped with a soft tug.

Now Emily sat bare, the room warm but her skin warmer.

“I fucked up,” she whispered.

Tasha didn’t react. She just reached for the cloth.

“I mean…” Emily swallowed, “I fucked. Twice. Bare.”

Tasha started wiping her slowly, beginning at the shoulders—deliberate, slow, drawing heat and softness over her flushed skin.

“It wasn’t just the act,” Emily continued, eyes unfocused. “It was how I felt. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t even feel guilty. I wanted it. I wanted to be seen. Touched. Like I mattered.”

Tasha’s hand paused over her upper chest.

“You do,” she said softly. “Even when he doesn’t see it.”

Emily laughed—raw and bitter. “He hasn’t looked at me in weeks. Not really. Not even when he’s home. And today? He won’t even know I wasn’t at work.”

The washcloth slid down her arm, across her ribs, her sternum. Tasha avoided her nipples—for now—but her palm brushed close, just enough to raise goosebumps.

“I haven’t come like that…” Emily bit her lip. “Not since before Chloe. Hell, maybe before we even started trying.”

Tasha tilted her head. “So… before all of this?”

Emily nodded.

“And this?” Tasha asked, wiping slow over her stomach now, letting the cloth brush over her hips, dipping inward—almost. “This was real?”

“Yes,” Emily breathed.

Tasha’s fingers trailed just under her belly button. “And you don’t know what you want now?”

Emily shuddered under the attention. “I want something real. I want someone to want me.”

There was a pause.

“I’ve been watching you,” Tasha murmured, “for weeks. The way you fade out. The way you hold Chloe tighter when Jason walks by you like you’re furniture.”

Emily’s lip trembled.

Tasha leaned in slightly, her voice lower now. “I’m glad you told me.”

Then she dipped the cloth again, squeezed it out—and returned to Emily’s thighs.

She wiped them gently. Reverently.

She worked slow from the knees up, trailing over muscle and softness, cleaning away the stickier messes left by the drive, the shift, the thick drips that had leaked during every step up the stairs.

Emily bit down on a moan.

Tasha’s touch stopped just short of her sex.

Just barely.

The cloth hovered.

Then paused.

Emily could feel the heat radiating there—knew what was left between her folds, inside her, smeared over her inner thighs.

But Tasha didn’t move.

Not yet.

Emily looked down, breath shallow, eyes wide.

Tasha was watching her face. Waiting.

Still holding the cloth.