Excuses herself

Julia downed the rest of her mimosa in two quick gulps, the champagne fizz burning a cold path down her throat that did nothing to settle the heat crawling under her skin. The headmaster’s text sat like a live wire in her mind—get onto Riley’s phone, find her Snapchat, send it to him—each word pulsing in time with the insistent throb between her legs. She murmured an excuse about powdering her nose, pushed back from the table, and wove through the dining room on legs that felt too soft, too aware of every brush of fabric against her still-sensitive thighs.

The women’s restroom was mercifully empty, all marble counters and soft lighting and the faint scent of tuberose from the diffusers. Julia braced her hands on the cool sink, staring at her reflection: cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, lips still faintly swollen from the morning’s ****. She turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on her face, tried to breathe through the rising panic and the shameful, traitorous excitement twisting low in her belly. Master. The word echoed in her head again, filthy and intoxicating.

The door swung open behind her.

“Jules?” Chloe’s voice, soft and concerned, bounced off the tiles. “Hey, you okay? You looked kind of… off back there.”

Julia straightened too quickly, water dripping from her chin. “I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “Just a headache coming on. Too much sun or something.”

Chloe stepped closer, concern creasing her perfect brow. She was still in that tiny white sundress that hugged her slim frame, the kind of outfit that looked effortless on her twenty-four-year-old body and would have looked **** on anyone else. Without hesitation she reached out, pressing the back of her cool hand to Julia’s forehead, then sliding it down to cup her cheek.

“You feel really warm,” Chloe murmured, thumb brushing lightly over Julia’s cheekbone. “Like, fever-warm. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?”

Julia froze. Chloe’s touch was innocent—gentle, caring—but every point of contact sent sparks racing across her skin. The younger woman’s vanilla-jasmine perfume wrapped around her again, close enough that Julia could see the faint freckles across Chloe’s nose, the glossy sheen on her lips, the way her small breasts rose and fell with each breath. Julia’s pulse hammered in her throat; she was suddenly, acutely aware of how long it had been since she’d allowed herself to really look at another woman this way, how the fantasies she’d shoved down for twenty years were clawing their way back up now, louder than ever.

“I—I’m okay,” Julia stammered, voice catching. She tried to step back but bumped into the sink, trapped between cold marble and Chloe’s warm, concerned body. Her nipples tightened traitorously against her bra; heat flooded her core again, fresh and insistent.

Chloe frowned, misreading the flush, the shallow breathing, the way Julia’s eyes kept darting to her mouth. “You’re burning up,” she insisted, sliding her hand to the side of Julia’s neck, fingers light but firm. “Maybe you should sit down. Or I can get you some water? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Julia swallowed hard, the simple, caring touch igniting every suppressed bi-curious nerve she’d buried since college. Chloe thought she was sick; Julia knew the truth was far more dangerous. She was unraveling—right here in the country club bathroom—because a pretty young thing was touching her face, because a powerful man had just claimed her mouth and given her orders that would ruin everything, because her own body wouldn’t stop betraying her with slick, shameful want.

“I’m… I just need a minute,” Julia managed, voice barely above a whisper, praying Chloe wouldn’t notice how hard her nipples were pressing against the thin fabric of her dress.