The Girl I Undressed Part 4 of 5

by IamHerEmma

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

I’m deeply thankful to everyone who’s stayed with this story so far and offered your thoughts, support, or simply your time. Your messages, reactions, and quiet encouragement have meant the world. Knowing that something I wrote has found its way into your hearts is a feeling I still don’t fully have words for.

We’re now well past the halfway point of the story, and slowly making our way toward the end. This is where the story really needed to find some of its soul. For me, this chapter was a turning point, not just in what happens on the page, but in how I had to let go of some of my earlier plans and follow where the story naturally seemed to be heading. Writing this wasn’t easy. At one point, I thought I was going in a completely different direction, but along the way I realized the story needed to go somewhere else. It felt like a risk, but it’s one I’m glad I took.

All I can say is that putting this chapter together meant a lot to me, and I hope, in some small way, it gives something meaningful to you as well.

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This story is told from the POV of the female lead, Ashley.

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Sunday…

Sunday came bright and breezy, and James insisted on taking me out for lunch. Not just “grab a sandwich” lunch. A real, pick-a-pretty-dress, sit-under-an-umbrella lunch. He wore his usual soft-washed tee and jeans, a gentle return to James-mode, while I chose a floaty blouse and sandals that made my legs feel endless. We looked like the kind of couple that actually remembered to enjoy weekends.

The café he picked was charming in that curated, Instagrammable way. It felt rustic with its wooden tables, mint-green chairs, and tiny flower vases that made you feel like someone had thought about your experience. We found a table tucked beneath a flowering tree, dappled sunlight playing across our menus.

“I don’t know what to order,” I said, scanning the list. “Everything has some artisanal goat cheese angle.”

He smirked. “You’re just mad because they don’t have chicken nuggets.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You know I would eat the hell out of nuggets in a wine bar.”

“I admire your commitment to chaos,” he replied, deadpan.

We bantered through most of the ordering with him teasing me for ordering “the most basic thing on the menu” (a grilled chicken sandwich), me mocking his overly enthusiastic salad choice (“Wow, that quinoa really says you’re ready for fall”).

But then, just as the food arrived, James shifted in his seat, suddenly a little too proper, like a server had just slid an engagement ring into his arugula.

I noticed it immediately. His body language. The pause. The serious tilt to his voice.

“I, uh… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he said, carefully.

My stomach did a slow, traitorous flip. My mind raced — the pretty table, the sunny afternoon, the slightly-too-perfect day. Oh God. Was he about to propose? Here? At brunch? In front of people? Right after we’d talked about marriage?

“It’s about Emma. And you.”

My brows lifted, surprised. “Me?” Phew. Not marriage.

He nodded slowly. “I just… wanted to say thank you. For Emma. For all of it. You were the one who gave it room to happen. You saw something in me I didn’t even know was there, and… you didn’t flinch.”

My chest tightened, but I stayed quiet.

“And,” he went on, his voice softer now, “after that night… when you dressed the way you did, when you got a little more… in charge.” He glanced up at me briefly, then back down at his plate, almost like he was shy to say it. “I really liked it. More than I expected.”

I leaned back in my chair, eyes on him. “More than you expected, huh?”

He gave a crooked, sheepish smile. “Yeah. I don’t know… it just did something to me. You looked...”

“Hot?” I offered, raising a brow.

He laughed, looking down again. “That. And also like someone I could just… give in to. Completely.”

That pulled a slight hum from the back of my throat, not quite a moan, but not far off either. I reached out, dragging my fingers across the rim of my glass slowly. “So you’re saying you liked your girlfriend acting like your boyfriend.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide. “No, I mean… well… maybe a little?” He was blushing, clearly trying to scramble for the right words. “Not like... that, but... yeah. It was a turn-on.”

I smiled, not to tease, but because I understood. Deeply. “You can say it, James. Or Emma. Because whatever that was…” I let the words dangle, then tilted my head. “It stirred me too.”

His shoulders eased again, a breath exhaled between us. “I’m still figuring it out. But I know I don't hate it when you take the lead.”

That kind of honesty for wanting me to lead felt like a small, brave gift. It warmed me and steadied me.

He leaned in a little, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “I’ve been thinking about something else too.”

“Oh?” I arched a brow, feeling the playfulness stir again.

“It’s not just what you did that night,” he said slowly. “It’s how you changed. Like, something in you switched on once you were in those clothes. You didn’t act like a different person. You were still you. But there was this charge. This quiet kind of... power. Like it belonged to you.”

I blinked at that, a little taken aback. “So you’re saying I should dress like your imaginary boyfriend more often?”

James laughed. “I mean, if your imaginary boyfriend is hot and bossy and makes me feel things I don’t fully understand yet... then yeah. I think I do want more of that Ashley. Especially when I’m Emma.”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “You want her to have me, but… a specific version of me.”

“Exactly.” His voice softened. “I want Emma to have that Ashley. The one who makes her feel taken care of. Who takes charge and makes her melt. You don’t have to change who you are. I just love seeing that side when she’s around. She craves it.”

My pulse jumped a little at the honesty in his voice. It wasn’t demanding, not fantasizing, just naming something vulnerable and honest. And flattering.

“And since you took me shopping,” he added, smiling again, “I think it’s only fair I return the favor.”

My brow lifted. “Shopping?”

“Yup. For you. For her. For… Ash.”

I tilted my head, smiling crookedly. “Ash?”

He gave a slight shrug, suddenly a little shy. “That’s what she calls you. In my head. Emma, I mean.”

My chest tightened, surprised, flattered, and a little breathless. “She does?”

James looked at me, soft and sincere. “Yeah. It’s… warmer, somehow.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, feeling that name settle somewhere new inside me. Familiar, but reframed.

“Ash,” I repeated under my breath, just to feel the shape of it. And then I smiled. “I kinda like that.”

I dipped my fork into the last bit of sauce on my plate, watching him across the table. “So. Emma calls me Ash in her head. Are there any other details I should be aware of? Does she keep a diary? Sketch me in the margins like a high school crush?”

James smirked. “In a pink glitter pen.”

I choked on a laugh. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, eyes dancing. “Well, maybe not yet. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts. You’ve got that tragic heartthrob energy now.”

“Oh wow.” I leaned back, crossing my arms with mock arrogance. “So I’m the mysterious love interest? The emotionally unavailable one who softens over time?”

He went mock-dramatic. “The strong jawline. The rolled sleeves. The brooding silences between filing motions.” He sighed, mock-dreamy, then laughed when I threw my napkin at him.

“Careful,” I warned. “That tragic love interest might leave you all flustered and begging.”

He wiggled his brows. “Promises, promises.”

We lingered over the last sips of our drinks, the quiet between us now humming with something playful and sweet. Then James leaned forward again, not serious, exactly, but hopeful.

“So,” he said, voice lighter, but pointed. “Ash. You ready to go shopping?”

I smirked at the way he said it. It felt like it was an inside joke and an invitation at once. “You’re really going to buy me man-pants, huh?”

“I’m going to buy you whatever makes Emma want to push you against a wall.”

That made me laugh out loud, full and unfiltered. “God, who's dangerous now, huh?”

“And yet here you are,” he said, standing and offering me a hand, “coming with me anyway.”

I took it. “Damn right I am.”

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The shopping trip felt different this time. Like we weren’t just wandering to kill time. We had a mission. And this time, I was the one being sized up while James drifted beside me, smug and playful, a little Emma glinting behind his grin every time he handed me something unexpected.

“Remind me again,” I said, holding up a hanger, “how you got this idea?”

“Because someone’s been a boss all week,” he said, nudging my hip, “and someone deserves new clothes that match her boss energy. Also…” He lowered his voice as if it were a scandalous secret. “I want to see what you look like when you turn heads.”

I raised a brow. “And you’re not just using this as an excuse to live out your personal soft-butch fantasy?”

He shrugged. “That too.”

We moved through racks of sleek knits, slouchy tees, half-tucked button-downs, and more than a few pieces that leaned tomboy, soft-masculine, the kind of clothes that said don’t mess with me… unless you’re buying me coffee.

James handed me a pair of distressed jeans and a black charcoal shirt with rolled sleeves, and smirked. “You already made it look hot once. Let’s double down.”

We wandered from store to store, the easy kind of wandering that came when neither of us had to worry about time or money for once. He picked out things for me the same way I had for him not long ago. He was holding things up, squinting at tags, circling me with thoughtful eyes that always landed somewhere between mischief and adoration.

That,” he said, pulling out a soft gray cashmere sweater and tossing it over his arm. “That’s screaming ‘put me on and take me somewhere I’ll regret.’”

I laughed. “So basically, date night attire.”

“Exactly.”

He was genuinely glowing, with the joy of picking for someone else. I caught him eyeing a structured jacket with a bold collar and low waistline, sharp and femme but with just enough edge to tip toward neutral.

“You like it?” I asked.

He shrugged, which for James meant yes. “You’d look powerful in that.”

“Is that code for hot?”

“It’s definitely code for you’d make the clerk nervous in all the right ways.”

I flushed a little and tossed it over my arm. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re lucky I’m emotionally generous.”

Eventually, our arms were full. We had picked out jeans, a soft pair of high-waisted trousers, an oversized button-down in sage green, and a sleek pair of black ankle boots I couldn’t believe he picked for me without me even trying them on.

He paid, barely letting me argue, and we stepped outside, blinking against the afternoon light.

He bumped his hip into mine as we walked. “So, Ash… you ready to try some of these on for me at home?”

I looked sideways at him. “That depends. You're gonna be watching as James or Emma?”

He smiled, like a secret unspooling. “Maybe both.”

We were still trading light jabs as we headed out of the last store, bags bumping against our legs with every step.

“I can’t believe you talked me into those boots,” I said.

“You didn’t need convincing,” he replied, all smug and warm beside me. “Your eyes lit up like it was your birthday and the boots had whispered sweet nothings.”

I snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stylish. It’s a burden, I know.”

We laughed again, and it just felt so easy. Like all the emotional weather we’d been through had finally cleared for a bit of sun.

“Coffee?” I asked, pointing ahead. There was a cute little café on the corner, the kind with outdoor seating and tiny succulents on each table.

“Yes, please. Shopping with power is just as exhausting as shopping without it.”

We were about to cross the street when something in the window to my left caught my eye.

A pair of heels.

Not just any heels. A pair of black kitten heels, patent leather with a soft almond toe and a delicate ankle strap. Not loud. Not towering. Not a statement. Just… pretty. Feminine. The kind that could transform a quiet outfit into something quietly right.

I stopped short.

James, a few steps ahead, turned back. “What’s up?”

I blinked, glanced back at the display, and then to him. “Nothing. Just… here.” I handed him two of the lighter bags and shifted the others higher on my arm.

He raised a brow. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll meet you at the café in five minutes. Order me something iced.”

His smile curved, eyes narrowing just enough to tease. “You’re being mysterious.”

“Am I?”

“Deeply. Suspiciously.”

“I have my secrets,” I said, letting the words linger as I stepped just slightly out of his reach.

He raised a brow, not moving. “You’re not going to tell me?”

I smiled sweetly. “Nope.”

He squinted at me, lips twitching. “Is this one of those things where you pretend to be mysterious but you’re actually just buying another candle?”

“Go,” I said, nudging his elbow with the shopping bag. “Order something with oat milk and smugness. I’ll be right behind you.”

James studied me for a moment longer, like he was trying to read a riddle on my face. Then he gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But if you disappear and come back with matching leather jackets or a full-blown motorcycle, I reserve the right to be concerned.”

“I’ll text you a photo of the helmet first,” I said, grinning.

He chuckled, kissed the side of my head quickly, then turned to go, still muttering something about “secret missions” and “Ashley being too quiet to trust.”

I waited until he was halfway down the block, the bags swinging in his hand and his back turned to me, before I shifted on my heels and faced the shop window again.

My fingers twitched at my sides. This wasn’t just about the shoes. It hadn’t been for a while. And I had a plan. One Emma didn’t see coming.

With one last glance to make sure James was out of sight, I pulled open the door and stepped into the store, my heart quietly racing.

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Thirty minutes later, I pushed open the door to the café, and James was already fidgeting with his napkin, his coffee half-finished and his expression edging toward frustration.

I couldn’t blame him. I had taken my time. But I also couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at my lips as I walked toward our table with two glossy bags in hand.

His eyes narrowed the moment he saw me. “You disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

“I know,” I said quickly, sliding into the chair across from him. “Sorry. I got… a little distracted.”

He eyed the bags as I tucked them beside the table. “What is that?”

“Nothing,” I said, too casually.

He didn’t buy it. “Ashley.”

“Just a couple of things,” I hedged, sipping the lukewarm latte he’d gotten me.

His hand reached down before I could stop him, pulling out one of the boxes. “A couple of what—” He paused mid-sentence as he popped the lid. Then blinked. “Whoa.”

Inside sat a pair of heels. Deep burgundy, sleek and sculpted, with an arch that could ruin a spine and a pointed toe that looked straight out of a dream. He lifted one slowly, almost reverently.

“These are… damn,” he said. “Sexy.” He looked at me, eyes glinting. “These would look incredible on you.”

I chuckled, sipping again. “They’re not for me.”

His brow furrowed, confused for a second. Then realization hit. “Wait. Seriously?”

I nodded. “They’re for Emma.”

His mouth opened, then shut again. Like he was trying to process what that meant. They were heels, her heels, chosen for her, not borrowed or tentative. Real. Deliberate. His expression softened with something more than surprise.

“I found something better than what I saw in the window,” I added, nudging the second box toward him. “Open that one.”

He blinked at me, still halfway stunned, and then carefully lifted the lid of the second box.

His breath hitched.

They were black patent leather stilettos. Strappy, sharp, unapologetically sexy. The kind of shoes that whispered instead of shouted and still managed to command attention.

“These…” His voice was almost hushed. “These are…”

“The final piece,” I said softly, meeting his eyes. “For her. For Emma.”

James looked up at me like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the box, but he didn’t say anything right away.

I reached across the table and touched his hand. “I saw them and I just knew. She’s almost complete. This... felt right.”

He exhaled slowly, nodding once, his thumb grazing the curve of one heel.

“She’s going to lose her mind,” I said.

James gave me a look, half gratitude, half disbelief. “And we're back to you being dangerous, you know that?”

I smirked, letting my foot nudge his under the table.

“Not me. Emma in heels? That’s the real danger.”

He squinted at me. “Ashley.”

I leaned forward, all mock-innocence. “What? I can buy something hot for my girlfriend, right?”

James bit his lip, but he was grinning. “One day, these shoes are gonna be the end of me.”

“I had to. One was the final piece,” I said, tapping the first box, “but this one? This one… might just unlock a new level.”

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By the time we got home, the bags had been dropped in a soft avalanche across the couch, and James was already heading toward the bedroom, tugging at his collar.

“I need to get out of these clothes,” he called over his shoulder. “Too much real-world energy stuck to them.”

I laughed, toeing off my shoes. “Go transform, Clark Kent. Or should I call you Linda Lee?”

He disappeared, and fifteen minutes later, Emma emerged. Freshly made up, her lips glossed with something soft and peachy, her wig set just right, wearing a flowy, navy blue jersey-knit dress that hugged her lightly at the waist and swayed around her thighs. Comfortable, simple, but just feminine enough to make her glow.

Meanwhile, I’d slipped into something looser and familiar. Ash mode — the charcoal button-down rolled at the sleeves again, tucked into my favorite relaxed jeans. No performance, no pretense. Just ease.

“You ready?” I asked, gesturing toward the boxes still waiting on the couch.

Emma lit up instantly. “God, yes.”

She sank into the couch, legs tucked beneath her, her dress swishing softly around her thighs as she pulled the first box toward her with an eager, almost childlike excitement.

“Okay, okay,” she murmured, lifting the lid like it held treasure.

It did.

Inside were the black stiletto pumps. Sleek. Timeless. Bold without being loud. She stared at them for a long moment, then slowly picked one up, holding it like it might whisper secrets.

“Wow,” she breathed. “These are… serious.”

I sank down beside her. “Power shoes,” I said, nudging her shoulder. “You in those? You’d level entire buildings with just a look. Like Supergirl”

She laughed, but it was shy, almost breathless. “I don’t even know if I can walk in these.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll learn. Or I’ll carry you.” I leaned in. “They’re not for walking. They’re for arriving.”

Emma blushed, smiling down into the box, then reached for the burgundy pair.

The moment she opened it, the air between us shifted.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

The deep burgundy heels were sultrier. More sensual. Rounded toes. A slightly lower heel than the stilettos, but no less confident. These weren’t power shoes. These were presence shoes. Something worn not to impress the world, but to claim space in it.

Emma touched the suede with trembling fingers.

“I saw a pair of kitten heels first,” I said softly. “But then I saw these. And I knew. This was the final piece.”

She looked at me, eyes wide.

“They’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” I said.

She looked away like she couldn’t hold the concept that she could be beautiful, but her fingers curled protectively around the edge of the box.

“Do you want to try them on?” I asked gently, curling a leg under me as I watched her.

She didn’t answer right away, but she nodded. Then, soft like a secret, she said, “I think we’re past trying them on. Trying them on would’ve been in the store. They’re mine now.”

She stood, smoothing down the soft lines of her dress. The motion was instinctive now, her gestures graceful and less forced, like she had always been learning to move this way. I watched her cross the room barefoot, open the box again, and draw out the burgundy heels.

She sat on the edge of the couch and slid her foot into one of them, tilting her head and pushing a piece of hair behind her ear as she looked at them.

It fit like it had been made for her.

The other followed, and when she stood again, she wobbled just a little. It was more from nerves than balance, but then she steadied herself.

And oh… she glowed.

Not from the heels. Not just from the dress. But from the slow, dawning realization spreading across her face. This wasn’t dress-up anymore. This was her. This was real.

I leaned back and let myself stare.

“Okay,” I said with a slow smile. “Now walk.”

Emma let out a nervous laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little. Give me one strut. Come on, I bought you the damned shoes.”

She groaned and turned like she was going to protest, but then something shifted in her spine. Her chin lifted, her shoulders eased, and she walked. Across the room and back.

It wasn’t perfect. Her steps were tentative, careful. Still boy-ish.

But it was enough.

When she made it back to me, I reached for her hand and pulled her down gently into my lap. She laughed as she landed, heels still on, legs draped over mine.

“Well?” she asked, eyes shining.

I ran my fingers over the curve of her thigh. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“These really do look good on you.” I leaned in, my voice low against her ear. “But they'd look even better with a babydoll and lacy panties on.”

Emma gasped, playfully swatted my shoulder, and then bit her lip.

I let her rest there for a minute, straddling my lap in those perfect heels, her dress riding just enough up her thighs to tempt without even trying.

My hands didn’t rush. They moved with purpose, trailing up her legs, over the soft fabric, until they landed gently at her waist.

Emma was still catching her breath from laughing, but it had quieted now into something softer. Something fuller.

I leaned in, close enough that my lips brushed her cheek when I spoke. “Do you feel it?” I asked.

She turned her head slightly. “Feel what?”

“How hot you look right now. How much you’re mine.”

Her eyes fluttered closed for half a second. And then she opened them wide, vulnerable, reverent.

“I do,” she whispered.

I gripped her waist with both hands, steady and deliberate, and lifted her just enough to shift her off my lap and guide her to stand. “Good,” I said, standing too, close behind her now, my chest brushing her back.

“Because I want to show you.”

She turned slightly, and I reached for her dress's zipper. Slow. Measured. The sound of it sliding down felt louder than it should have. Her breath hitched when I brushed my lips to her shoulder, the dress slowly slipping off one arm.

“You’re going to leave those heels on,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Understand?”

She nodded, a soft sound escaping her lips.

“Use your words, my love.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I understand.”

“Good girl.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

I eased the rest of her dress off, baring the delicate lace underneath. I ran a hand along her spine, then down over her ass, gently palming the curve of it through the fabric.

“Let’s take this to bed,” I said, stepping back and tugging her hand.

She followed me without a word.

Her dress pooled near the couch, abandoned like something she’d grown out of. Now it was just Emma. Soft and lovely Emma, in lace and those new burgundy heels that made her legs look endless.

I let her sit at the edge of the bed. No, placed her there, with both hands on her shoulders. She sank obediently, looking up at me with wide, waiting eyes.

“You’re already shaking,” I said, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

She trembled beneath my touch, eyes wide, lips parted. Her skin was warm, flushed pink at the cheeks and chest. I glanced down and there it was. The soft outline of her cock straining against her panties, visibly hard, twitching slightly with each breath. She was already dripping through the fabric.

“Oh, baby…” I purred, dragging my fingers lightly along her inner thigh. “You’re this hard just from my voice?”

She whimpered, nodding. Her thighs pressed together, but I slipped between them, spreading her wide with deliberate ease.

“You want me to take care of your pretty little rose bud tonight, don’t you?” I whispered against her ear.

Another whimper. Another nod.

“Say it.”

“I… I want you to take care of my rose bud,” she breathed, the words like a secret spell.

“Good girl.”

I slid down her body, kissing a slow trail along her belly, dragging my nails lightly down her sides. When I pulled her panties down, her cock bobbed up. It was beautiful, flushed, leaking, and I paused just to watch her squirm under my gaze. I grinned and licked my lips, but I didn’t go there, not yet. She could wait.

Instead, I bent lower and spread her ass cheeks, revealing that tight, clenching hole that pulsed like it had been waiting for my tongue all day. I blew across it, and she gasped.

“Look at that beautiful pink hole,” I whispered, running my thumb in slow, teasing circles around it. “You need my tongue, don’t you?”

“Yes.. please… Ash…”

I buried my face between her cheeks, licking deep, slow, and filthy. My hands gripped her hips, keeping her open as I tongue-fucked her, letting her moan and writhe and shudder through every stroke. Her cock twitched above us, dripping against her belly.

“You’re so soft,” I murmured into her hole. “This is mine, isn’t it?”

She choked out a yes, shaking beneath me, fingers tangled in the sheets.

Only once she was begging did I lift my head, lips wet, eyes dark with hunger.

I reached over to the nightstand and pulled open the box.

“Spread your legs. Wide.”

Emma obeyed instantly, breath shallow, eyes glued to the toy in my hand.

The soft pink dildo caught the low light, five inches of smooth promise. I kissed the tip and looked her in the eye.

“You ready for your first cock?” I asked, voice low and commanding.

She bit her lip, blushing deeply. “Please.”

Her cock throbbed again, hard and untouched, as she braced herself for what came next.

I slicked the dildo with lube, slow and intentional, letting the soft wet sound fill the room like a promise. Emma’s eyes followed every movement, pupils blown wide with anticipation and hunger. Her cock was still rock hard, twitching helplessly against her stomach.

I climbed onto the bed between her legs, pushing her thighs apart further with confident pressure. I lubed up her hole, slowly sliding a finger in, then two. Her body obeyed me like it always did when I took control—eager, pliant, trembling with the need to be filled.

“Just relax,” I murmured, slipping my fingers out and guiding the tip of the phallus to her slick hole. “You’ve already taken my fingers, and this… is barely bigger.”

She whimpered, breath catching as I circled her entrance, teasing her with just the head. Her body tensed, then softened again as I pushed in slowly, inch by inch.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, head falling back. “Ash… fuck…”

“That’s right,” I said, gripping her hips as I pressed deeper. “Let me in.”

The toy slipped past her tight ring with a soft resistance, stretching her, filling her. She moaned, her cock jerking against her belly, leaking more precum with every inch I pushed inside.

When I finally bottomed out, I paused, letting her feel it. The fullness. The way it settled inside her like it belonged there.

“Look at you,” I murmured. “Stuffed full of cock, your cock so hard, dripping for me.”

She gasped again as I pulled out slightly, then pushed back in. I moved it in slow, rhythmic strokes that rocked her body gently on the mattress. I wrapped one hand around her slick hardness and started stroking her in time with the thrusts, watching her fall apart for me.

“You love this,” I said, voice thick with heat. “Being spread open, taken, filled. You love being my good girl, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” she purred, back arching. “Yes, I love it… fuck, Ash… don’t stop… please…”

Her moans grew louder, more desperate. My hand tightened around her shaft, jerking her harder, faster. At the same time, I picked up the pace with the toy, plunging into her again and again, letting it fuck her the way I knew she needed.

I leaned over her, kissed her mouth hard, swallowed her helpless sounds.

“You’re going to cum for me like this,” I whispered against her lips. “Plugged and stroked.”

“Please… please.. Ash, I’m…”

I felt her start to break, her whole body tensing beneath me, legs trembling, breath shattering apart. With one last stroke, she cried out and came in thick, hot spurts all over her belly and my hand.

I slowed down, letting her ride it out, then finally slipped the toy free from her with a slick pop. She moaned, legs falling open, completely undone.

I leaned in, kissed her cheek, her jaw, her throat.

“My good girl,” I whispered. “You took it so well.”

Emma lay there, limp and glowing, her chest rising and falling in soft waves. Her thighs were still trembling, flushed pink from the effort of holding herself open for me. I reached for a nearby towel and gently cleaned her belly, careful and slow, watching the way she blinked at me with a dazed kind of love in her eyes.

I leaned down and kissed her hipbone. “Still with me?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, her voice low and sleepy. “Barely.”

I smiled and settled beside her, pulling the blankets up around us. She curled in, head against my chest, arm thrown loosely over my waist like her body was still trying to anchor itself to mine.

For a few moments, we just breathed. The kind of silence that came only after pleasure like that.

“Too much?” I asked softly, brushing my fingers through her hair.

“No,” she said. “No, it was… different, again. Deep.”

“Like?”

She nodded slowly. “Like I wanted it.”

I kissed the top of her head, letting her words settle between us. There was something so fragile and brave about the way she said them, like she was still testing the truth of it against her own skin.

“I know it’s a lot,” I said quietly. “And I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m pushing you.”

“You weren’t,” she whispered immediately. “You haven’t.”

I let that sink in. The way her trust had been building in places neither of us had named yet. The way her body, her mind, Emma herself, kept saying yes to things that neither of us could’ve imagined a few months ago.

She lifted her face a little, eyes soft and vulnerable. “I.. I know that was for me. It feels selfish that you didn't even...”

I nodded. "I was sated. You made me happy. You were beautiful. Completely...”

A blush bloomed across her cheeks. It was real, helpless, and bashful in the way James never was. “I feel wrecked.”

“You are,” I smirked, and we both laughed, the tension between us dissolving into something easier, more familiar.

We lay there a while longer, limbs tangled, the room still smelling faintly of sex and something sweet. Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, everything felt loud in the best possible way. It felt like our pulses still echoing, thoughts still dancing, bodies still open.

“You wanna sleep?” I murmured.

She nodded against my chest.

I kissed her forehead and pulled the blankets higher.

“Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

=====================================================================

Monday…

I woke up to the smell of skin-warmed sheets, the tickle of hair on my collarbone, and the tiniest groan beside me.

“Mmmph.”

A very eloquent Emma.

I blinked my eyes open slowly, stretching one arm up, the other still tucked around her waist. She was burrowed against me, face half-buried in the crook of my neck, one leg shamelessly draped between mine.

“Morning, princess,” I whispered.

She grunted. Definitely not ready for language.

“You okay?” I asked, brushing hair from her face.

Another groan. Her hand drifted down, lazily finding my hip. “Everything… hurts. My ass is mad at you.”

I laughed. “That’s not what it said last night.”

A soft gasp-laugh puffed against my skin. “Last night it said please and then forgot how to speak English.”

“Oh, I remember,” I said, rolling just enough to nuzzle her cheek. “I believe I had a certain girl moaning into the pillow like she was being possessed.”

“I was,” she muttered dramatically. “Possessed by a very smug, very hot dommy girlfriend.”

“Mm. You love her though.”

“I never said I didn’t,” she murmured, then winced as she shifted her hips slightly. “But that was… a lot.”

I gave her a mock-serious look. “You saying I broke you?”

She peeked up at me, eyes puffy with sleep and delightfully unimpressed. “If I said yes, would I get breakfast in bed?”

I grinned. “You might get a protein shake and an ice pack.”

“Romance,” she said flatly. “Dead.”

I sat up slightly and leaned over her, tugging the sheet down just enough to expose her shoulder. I kissed it gently, then trailed a few more toward her collarbone.

Emma shivered. “Okay, fine, I do love her. Especially when she shuts me up with kisses and makes me scream into hotel pillows.”

“We weren’t even in a hotel,” I said.

She smirked. “Give me five minutes and a fantasy.”

“Oh, so now we’re writing our own fanfic?”

“You started it,” she whispered, pulling me back toward her with a wicked grin.

I let her pull me back down, chest to chest, noses brushing. Her smile was lazy and sweet and just a little smug.

“You know,” I murmured, tracing a fingertip along her side, “if that’s how you react to a five-inch toy, I’m almost tempted to go shopping again.”

Emma gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” I said, eyes narrowing as I slowly dragged my nails down her thigh. “You forget, I saw how your legs shook when I slid it in.”

“That was muscle failure,” she shot back. “Completely involuntary. The human body does weird things under stress.”

“Oh yes,” I said, grinning. “Especially when it’s bent over a bed, begging.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Not fair. You’re using facts against me.”

“I prefer the term evidence,” I said, lawyer voice in full effect.

Emma shoved me playfully. “Ugh. You and your power suit energy.”

“I wasn’t even wearing the suit.”

“You didn’t have to. The second you rolled your sleeves up last night, I knew I was doomed.”

I kissed her nose. “That’s because you like being doomed.”

She smirked and looked up at me. “Only when you’re the one doing the dooming.”

I raised a brow. “Do you want me to make breakfast, or do you want to keep tempting me into round two?”

She pretended to think for a moment. “Mmm. Food first. Then round two.”

“Smart girl.”

“But,” she added, voice suddenly very sweet, “if breakfast involves you walking around in just that tank top and boxer briefs, I make no promises about my self-control.”

I slid out of bed slowly, dramatically, giving her a little show as I reached up to stretch. Her eyes did not leave my ass.

“Eggs and coffee?” I called over my shoulder.

Her voice came back low and devilish. “Only if you’re on the menu too.”

I was halfway to the door, teasing her with my hips, when it hit me like a punch in the gut.

“Shit.”

Emma blinked. “Wait… what?”

I froze, then whipped around, wide-eyed. “It’s Monday.”

“Ohhh,” she said slowly, watching my face shift from sultry to sheer panic. “It’s Monday.”

“The announcement,” I groaned, slapping a palm to my forehead. “The partners’ meeting. The official one. They’re going to announce it today. I was supposed to be in by nine.”

Emma bolted upright, sheets falling to her waist. “Babe, it's already past eight!”

I was already moving. Clothes. Hair. Bag. “I haven’t even washed my face! My hair’s a mess… where the hell is my watch?!”

Emma scrambled too, fumbling for her robe as if she had to give a speech. “I’ll get your coffee started… no, wait, go brush your teeth, I’ll find your shoes!”

“I had a speech in mind,” I said, dragging on slacks and grabbing a blouse from the closet. “I was going to be so calm and professional. God, I still smell like sex…”

“Well… you did earn the promotion,” Emma said, biting her lip with a teasing glint that I did not have time for.

“Not helping!” I shouted from the bathroom, trying to run mascara without poking my eye out.

From the kitchen, I heard her call out, “You still look hot, by the way! Very partner material!”

I skidded into the hallway, tugging on heels, hair half-tamed, breathless. She met me by the door with coffee and a kiss.

“Kill it,” she said.

I paused, looking down at her face. She was still glowing, still soft, still utterly Emma.

And I grinned. “Thanks for the doom and motivation.”

Then I ran.

=====================================================================

By the time I got to the office, breathless and brushing stray hair from my face, the conference room was buzzing but still waiting. Mr. Callahan, our managing partner, clock-reliant and always ten minutes behind, hadn’t arrived yet. A small miracle. I slipped into my seat just as the assistants were laying out fresh copies of the day’s agenda.

The announcement came fast, polished, and loud. Mr. Callahan made his way to the front with his usual showman’s flair, pausing only to sip his coffee like he was about to deliver a courtroom summation.

“And now,” he said, “for something more exciting than numbers. Promotions.”

A few names. Applause. And then mine.

“Ashley Hart,” he beamed. “Smart, relentless, and always fierce like a tiger. A force in litigation. An even bigger force in heels”

Chuckles rippled through the room. I laughed too, cheeks flushed, but my heart was pounding in the strangest way.

Later, alone in my new office with its sleek desk, a shiny brass plaque with my name on it, and a skyline view, I kicked off my shoes and let myself breathe.

Partner. I was a partner now.

The desk still smelled like lemon polish and fresh ink. Congratulatory emails were flooding my inbox, a fruit basket was waiting outside the door, and a handwritten note from one of the senior associates was slipped under my keyboard.

But my mind was elsewhere.

It drifted to last night, the curve of Emma’s back under the sheets, the way her lips had parted when I kissed her neck. The way she whimpered when I whispered into her ear. The way she took everything I gave her and then asked for more without a word.

I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling.

What a life.

What a shift.

It was dizzying. Not just the promotion, but the feeling that I was carrying two very different triumphs at once. One in the courtroom. And one in my bed, where Emma bloomed and begged and let herself unravel under me.

I was halfway to remembering the exact way Emma’s thighs had trembled under my mouth when the door creaked open and a familiar head of dark curls peeked in.

“Cutting it close, Ms. Hart,” Melissa said, grinning as she stepped fully into my office with a steaming coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “I was two minutes from sending a search party. Or calling the mayor.”

I smiled, sitting up straighter. “You know I like to keep things dramatic.”

“You mean you like to show up looking flawless and let everyone assume you’ve been working since dawn,” she said, handing me the coffee like it was part of an unspoken ritual.

“Flawless is a stretch,” I said, taking a sip gratefully. “I barely made it. James was being... distracting this morning.”

Melissa raised her brows, but her smile stayed innocent. “Mmm. Distracting, huh? He does seem like the type. Quietly hot. Definitely a brings-you-breakfast-in-bed-after-good-sex’ kind of guy.”

I gave her a mock-stern warning look, not serious. “Melissa.”

She held up her hands. “I’m just saying! The man looks like he gives thoughtful gifts and knows your coffee order. That’s marriage material. You locking that down or what?”

I laughed, but there was heat behind my cheeks. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, flopping into one of the visitor chairs like she lived there. “Promotion. Power office. Dream man. You’re basically a Pinterest board come to life.”

I rolled my eyes. “Tell that to my laundry pile.”

We laughed, and just like that, the air lightened again. I’d always looked out for Melissa. She was sharp, loyal, and completely unflappable. In another life, she’d be sitting behind this desk someday. Hell, maybe even this one.

“I really am happy for you,” she said, more gently. “Everyone is. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” I said softly, meaning it.

Melissa lingered a moment longer, then glanced at her phone. “Alright, I’m off to dig up those files you asked for. Might be gone a while, The archives are still haunted, I swear.”

“Be careful,” I said dryly. “And take a flashlight.”

She winked. “Don’t let Mr. Marriage Material’s thoughts distract you anymore.” A teasing giggle followed her out the door just as I gave her another mock-stern look.

When the door clicked shut behind her, I exhaled slowly.

Marriage.

That word had come up again, twice now in just a couple of days. First from James, casual but honest. And now, teasingly, from Melissa.

I tried to imagine it, just for a moment. A ring. A vow. A life threaded together with intention, not ceremony. But my mind didn’t stay there. It slipped, as it always did lately, into thoughts of Emma, wrapped in soft night fabric, bare legs curled under her, lips parted in a sigh as she whispered my name. That sweet ache in her voice. That surrender I hadn’t known I craved until I saw it in her eyes.

I exhaled and sat up straighter.

There’d be time for daydreams later. Right now, there was a promotion packet on my desk, half a dozen blinking emails, and an inbox ready to implode.

I had work to do.

But the warm current inside me, the one Emma had stirred, lingered.

=====================================================================

By the time I got home, my shoes felt like medieval torture devices and my blazer was clinging to me like a second skin. First official day as partner, and I’d already daydreamed about retirement more than once.

The smell hit me before anything else. It smelled buttery, probably illegal in six states. I dropped my bag at the door and wandered into the kitchen, where James stood barefoot, stirring a pan like he’d been born to do it.

“Hey, partner,” he said without turning around. “Wine’s breathing on the counter. Dinner’s almost done. You look like you got hit by a deposition.”

I smiled, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. “How was your day?”

He leaned into me. “Busy. I wanted some Emma time, but I had back-to-back calls. The game’s getting a solid response. Like… really solid. They’re sensing strong pre-orders already, so I’ve been on video all day talking to marketing, production, even some execs.”

I kissed his shoulder through his t-shirt. “That’s amazing.”

He nodded. “It is. Also… I’ve heard whispers. They’re looking to greenlight a horror-themed action title. Different direction. Early stages, but if it’s real, I’m going to throw my hat in.”

I smiled against his back. “You’ve been working hard. Cooking. Making things smell incredible. Meanwhile, I still have ten emails to answer before bed.”

He turned around and hugged me properly, tight and warm, tucking my head under his chin like I was something worth holding close. “Then you eat, partner,” he said gently. “And we’ll climb into bed, and you can answer emails while I rub your feet.”

I laughed, muffled against his chest. “Is this what being better off and successful feels like? Smelling like stress and garlic while you cook, and I try not to cry over Outlook?”

He pulled back and grinned. “Pretty much. Minus the crying. Tonight, we don’t cry.”

“Not unless it’s over the wine.”

“Or the garlic bread.”

I leaned up and kissed him softly. “Deal.”

Dinner was quiet. He told me more about the day’s meetings, the pacing changes that were considered, and how his inbox had become a battlefield of feature requests and suggestions. I listened with half a brain, the other half still unwinding from all the legal briefs and memos. I nodded when I could, resting my cheek on my hand as I chewed through the pasta and the exhaustion of my first day as partner.

We didn’t linger long afterward. Just cleaned up slowly, moved through the motions in tandem, his hand brushing mine here and there like punctuation marks to a language only we spoke.

Later, we crawled into bed with our laptops, back-to-back, work grinding away even in the softness of the sheets. I had a string of emails to answer, mostly polite affirmations, scheduling nonsense —the kind of partner-level stuff I wasn’t used to yet. James sat beside me, cross-legged with his laptop on a pillow, headphones half-on, zoning into something on his screen that looked like some animation pass or level walkthrough, probably.

Eventually, his typing slowed. Then stopped.

I looked over. He was slumped a little now, one hand still resting on the keyboard, head tilted in sleep, lips parted. Peaceful in that way only James could be. Or Emma. Or… both.

I sent the last email, and chewed gently on the edge of my thumbnail.

Then I opened a browser tab and typed... Wedding Dresses.

=====================================================================

A Few Weeks Later…

A couple of weeks passed in a blur. Like where you wake up in the dark and come home in the dark, and the world spins fast enough that you can’t quite tell if you’re catching up or falling behind. But we were both adjusting, James and I, to the strange new rhythms of our upgraded lives.

Work had been... relentless. The partner title wasn’t just a line on my office door; it came with expectations, authority, and an inbox that never seemed to stop bleeding. There were days I barely remembered to eat lunch and nights when I got home and collapsed half-dressed on the couch, toes aching from heels, mind humming with trial prep and firm politics.

And James… he’d been riding his own wave. The game’s pre-orders were exceeding expectations. They’d officially switched him to the revenue-share model, and from what I could tell, it was going to change things for us. Not “maybe we can afford to take a trip” money. This was “our life just shifted” money. He’d been in meetings constantly, eyes lit up with creative energy and business strategy, even quietly investigating an opportunity to pitch for the new horror-action title the studio was exploring. I could see it in him, this quiet pride, this fire that hadn’t been there a few months ago. He looked like a man becoming something more than he ever believed he could be.

Sometimes, I came home to James. Him in a loose hoodie, hair mussed, fingers clacking away on his keyboard with half a sandwich forgotten beside him. Other times… I came home to Emma.

She had started slipping into her skin more fluidly now, like it wasn’t a mask anymore but a language her body remembered. She'd been taking better care of herself lately. She started exfoliating, moisturizing, and keeping her body shaved. There was intention in it, and something quietly affirming. I could always tell, even before I saw her. The hum in the apartment. The scent of perfume faint in the air. The gentle tap of heels or bare feet against the floor. Emma was becoming familiar. Solid. Sensual.

And with her, Ash had begun to emerge more regularly too. The dominance dynamic between us had become instinctual, a pulse between our bodies. Emma wasn’t just open to it anymore. She welcomed it. We’d experimented with the dildo more than once now, and the way she responded, the way she moaned and shivered and opened up beneath me, it undid me. It also grounded me.

Then there were times when my mind would drift to thoughts of a future life together. Sometimes, those thoughts were of James. Sometimes, they were of Emma. More often than not… the latter.

I’d picture a wedding in a place that felt soft and sunlit. Maybe outdoors. Maybe under one of those gauzy canopies with too many flowers. Nothing huge or flashy. Just… us. Something honest. Intimate. A celebration of everything we’d become, everything we were still becoming.

But I thought about the feeling. The quiet rightness of saying yes to someone who had cracked me open, made room for new versions of themselves, and of me. A future where love didn’t have to follow old shapes, where we didn’t have to choose between who we were and who we were growing into.

I didn’t have all the details.

But I had the daydream. And it stayed with me, tucked in the back of my thoughts… waiting.

And then one evening, I came home and smelled garlic and tomato from the hallway. The lights were warm, music was playing low, and when I opened the door, it wasn’t James I found in the kitchen. It was Emma.

Barefoot, in a soft rust-colored wrap dress that hugged her hips and dipped a little lower than modest. Her own hair, now longer, was pulled back messily, a few strands framing her face. She didn’t turn right away, just stirred something on the stove with a focused grace. And God help me, I just stood there in the doorway, staring. Like I'd walked into the middle of a dream.

I didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, then relaxed instantly into my embrace.

“Well, hello,” she said, a playful smile in her voice. “Sneaking up on a girl in her own kitchen? Bold move.”

“You looked too good not to risk it,” I murmured into her neck, planting a soft kiss just below her ear.

She laughed, wiggling her hips back against me. “You always say that when I’m cooking. I’m starting to think it’s the apron.”

“You’re not even wearing an apron.”

“Exactly.”

“Go on... Ash,” she said, her smile curling slowly. “Dinner’s almost ready. Try not to pick an outfit that makes me combust before dessert.”

“Too late.”

I slipped into the bedroom and peeled off the blazer and slacks I’d worn all day, trading them for something that felt more me in these moments, the side that felt natural with Emma. I pulled on a pair of loose khaki three-quarter shorts that sat low on my hips, paired them with fitted black boxer briefs underneath, then slid into a black tank and left an open button-down layered on top, sleeves casually rolled to my elbows. Simple. Relaxed. Just enough to feel a little like a slow-burning tease.

I leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching her. The soft light from above pooled around her shoulders like a spotlight.

Then I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist again, my cheek resting briefly on her shoulder.

She startled just a little again, then melted into my hold with a smile. “You need to stop sneaking up like this. You’re playing a dangerous game here.”

“I live on the edge,” I murmured, nuzzling her neck. “Also, you smell incredible.”

“That’s the wine sauce,” she teased. “But thank you.”

I gave her a light squeeze and stepped back. “I’m gonna go set the table.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes dipped once, slowly down my body and back up. “You’re going to distract the hell out of me if you keep dressing like that.”

I smirked. “Good. Then dinner will burn and we’ll have to skip straight to dessert.”

She let out a playful groan and turned back to her pan. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

By the time we sat down to eat, the plates were full, the wine was poured, and the tension between us had softened into something warm and familiar.

I took a sip. “So, how was your day?”

Emma twirled a bit of fettuccine onto her fork, then glanced up at me. “Pretty good, actually. I finished that new narrative patch early, and they’re loving it so far. One of the leads even messaged me directly just to say the dialogue felt ‘cinematic as hell.’”

I raised my glass. “To cinematic hell, then.”

She laughed and clinked her glass to mine. “And how about you, Miss Partner?”

I gave a mock sigh and leaned back in my chair. “Another thrilling day of long emails, longer meetings, and fielding opinions from three different senior associates who all think they know the best way to word a motion.”

“Sexy.”

“Oh, beyond. I was flushed with excitement every time I hit reply-all.”

Emma grinned and pointed at me with her fork. “You’re getting dangerously good at sarcasm. I’m proud.”

I gave her a smug little shrug. “I’ve been training under a top-tier sass master.”

“Careful,” she warned, eyes twinkling. “Mock the queen, get the stiletto.”

I arched a brow. “Promise?”

That earned me a blush and a pointed bite of pasta. I watched her, still amused, before letting my voice drop a little. “You know what I’d really like?”

She glanced up. “What?”

“Another whole day. Just us. No laptops, no emails, no beta builds, no emergency court filings. Just… a full Emma day.”

Her lips curled slowly, fork pausing midair. “An Ash and Emma day?”

“Mmhmm. Maybe we sleep in. Make a lazy breakfast,” I said, twirling my fork through the noodles. “Stay in bed way too long. Watch something ridiculous.”

Emma’s eyes softened instantly, her smile spreading in that sweet, sleepy way she got when something really landed. “I would absolutely be up for that,” she said, almost dreamily. “That sounds… perfect, actually.”

We kept eating, twirling pasta and teasing each other with little glances and brushes of the knee. The wine softened us, warmed us, made things a little looser around the edges.

She twirled another bite of pasta slowly, eyeing me with that sly glint I’d come to recognize. I let the moment stretch, leaned in a little with my elbow on the table.

“You know what we should do tomorrow?” I said, letting my voice dip into something suggestive. “Stay in bed till noon. No clothes. No rules. Except one.”

Emma blinked, chewing slowly. “What rule?”

“If either of us puts on clothes,” I said gravely, “we lose.”

She smirked, but I caught the faint blush that crept up her neck. “That’s a dangerous game, counselor.”

“I like a good challenge.” I let my foot slide gently along her calf under the table. “Loser has to be the big spoon.”

She almost dropped her fork. “That’s not a punishment.”

I shrugged. “Depends on how long I make you hold me.”

“Ash...”

“Yes?”

She gave me a look, then shook her head, laughing. “You’re awful.”

“And undeniably good-looking. Don’t forget that.”

“More like a queer fever dream in linen shorts,” she said, mockingly.

“I’ll take it.”

She took another sip of wine, eyes dancing above the rim. The energy between us shifted again, not heavier, but deeper somehow.

“You know,” I said, voice low, more thoughtful than flirty now, “sometimes I wonder what it would be like. Not just this. But... being out. With you.”

Emma's fork paused for the briefest moment.

I smiled, slow and soft. “Ash and Emma. Just... somewhere quiet. To see what it feels like.”

She looked up, just for a moment, and I caught it—that flicker of hope fighting with something more fragile. And before I could say more, I watched it vanish, tucked quickly behind a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh,” she said. Just that. Her voice quiet. Tentative.

I blinked, trying not to look like I’d registered the shift. “I mean…” I laughed, softer now, trying to ease the moment. “We don’t have to. It was just a thought.”

“Right,” she said, quickly nodding, too quickly. “Just a thought.”

I reached across the table and let my fingers brush lightly against hers. “Hey,” I said gently. “It really was just a thought. I promise. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Emma didn’t speak, but her fingers turned slightly, threading with mine for the briefest moment. That was enough.

By the time the plates were cleared, Emma was moving with automatic grace, rinsing dishes, stacking them, wiping the counter. But the vibe she usually carried was gone. The easy rhythm we had wasn’t quite back yet. Not fully. I dried the plates carefully, pretending not to notice the silence that filled the spaces between us. No humming. No teasing.

I wanted to reach for her again. Say something. Touch her hand. But I didn’t want to crowd her, either. Whatever that moment had stirred in her, she was still holding it somewhere just below the surface.

So I kept quiet. Let the dishes clink. Let the moment pass. But inside, I knew, it hadn’t passed. Not really.

We curled onto the couch afterward, her feet in my lap, a throw blanket draped over us. She was scrolling mindlessly through shows. I was pretending not to still feel the shadow of that earlier pause.

I wanted it.

I wanted to go out with her. As Ash and Emma. Even if it was just around the corner for a walk. A park bench. Something simple. Something real.

But the fear in her eyes when I said it, the way her voice shrank, it made me afraid to bring it up again.

So I stroked her ankle lightly, smiled when she looked at me, and nodded when she landed on a movie neither of us would really watch.

She looked relaxed, blanket tucked under her chin, and that little line between her brows finally softened. But I knew her well enough by now to recognize the difference between relaxed and quiet.

Her fingers were still, but her eyes flicked back and forth like she wasn’t really seeing the screen. Her breathing was steady, but I could almost feel the wheels turning inside her head. Like something was still looping there.

And suddenly I wasn’t sure if I’d said too much, pushed too far.

The silence between us lingered. Not quite heavy, but definite. Almost like we were both too aware of it to pretend it wasn’t there.

I swallowed, brushing my thumb slowly over the top of her foot. I didn’t say anything. Not yet. But the worry had started to bloom in my chest.

Maybe it had been too soon to bring it up.

Maybe I should’ve waited.

Then she spoke.

“Were you serious?” she asked quietly, not looking at me. “About me… going out... in public.”

I hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know if I meant to say it seriously,” I said slowly. “But... the thought’s been there.”

She gave a slight nod, like she was absorbing the answer, turning it over.

“It would be a lie if I said I haven’t thought about it myself,” she said, almost to herself.

That caught me. Something in the honesty of it, in her saying it aloud, made my throat go tight.

“And?” I asked.

She took a breath. “And maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

I shifted to face her more fully. “Are you serious?” I asked, quiet but steady.

She hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But I’ve wondered. What would it be like? What would happen if I did?”

I nodded slowly, letting that settle. “It’s not important,” I said gently. “Not unless it’s something you want.”

Emma was quiet again, her eyes dropping for a moment. Her fingers picked at a loose thread on the blanket.

Then she looked up, more steady this time. “I think… we could try.”

A pause passed between us, quiet and careful.

Then I asked again, voice low. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Emma nodded again, though her voice was still careful.

She paused, then added with a hint of hesitation, “If it’s okay… maybe we stay out a little longer.”

My heart flipped.

It caught me off guard, not that she said it, but that she said it at all. There was hesitation in her voice, a quiet uncertainty. But still, she’d said it.

I smiled, warm and slow, trying to lighten the moment without brushing past it. “Do I get to hold your hand the whole time like some embarrassing but weirdly sexy girlfriend?”

She laughed softly and a little awkward. “Only if you don’t walk three feet ahead like a coward when I start panicking about lipstick.”

“No chance. I’d reapply it for you in public. Maybe straddle your lap on the bench for dramatic effect.”

She snorted. “You’re the worst.”

“Only on weekdays.”

Her foot nudged mine gently beneath the blanket. “Okay, partner. When the time comes… you can straddle me.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

=====================================================================

Saturday…

Saturday had arrived like it had been waiting for us, sun-drenched and slow. It felt like a morning that made everything feel a little more possible.

I called Melissa, doing my best impression of a scratchy throat and mild despair. “I think it’s just a bug,” I said, half-hunched over the sink for added realism. “I’ll be out today, maybe Monday too if I’m not better.”

Melissa, bless her, sounded genuinely concerned and told me to rest and not worry. I promised I would and ended the call with a bit of guilt and a lot of giddiness.

After a breakfast that consisted of pancakes, eggs, and fruit, it was time. We dressed separately but emerged together.

Emma wore a light sundress in soft teal, the fabric brushing just below her knees. A white cardigan rested on her shoulders, fingers smoothing down the sleeves with surprising ease. Her makeup was soft and delicate, with a touch of blush and a gentle pink lip. Her hair framed her face just right, a little tousled but effortlessly pretty. She looked… radiant.

And calm.

There was something steady about her. Almost like she’d made peace with this moment before I even caught up to it.

I blinked, caught off guard in the best way. “You okay?” I asked anyway, softly, more out of habit than necessity.

Emma nodded, meeting my eyes with a small smile. “I’m good. Really.”

Her voice was sure, but as I turned to lock the door behind us, I caught her giving me a once-over. The kind of look that started at my sneakers and didn’t stop until it landed just below my collarbone.

I raised a brow. “Are you… checking me out?”

Emma didn’t even pretend to deny it. She tilted her head with a little grin, her eyes warm. “Just saying, I think Ash is looking really hot.”

I smirked as we walked toward the elevator.

I bumped my shoulder lightly into hers. “Honestly, I’m the one who should be nervous going out with you.”

She glanced sideways, a flicker of amusement in her voice. “Aren’t you the one who likes taking the lead?”

I didn’t skip a beat. “Only all the time.”

And then the doors opened, and we stepped inside.

The lobby was quiet, and as we crossed it, Emma’s heels clicked softly on the floor. She walked beside me, steady, her sundress swaying just above her knees and the soft cardigan hanging open like it belonged there. The morning sun had turned everything a kind of golden, and for a second, I forgot to breathe.

We stepped outside, and I instinctively reached for her hand. She took it without hesitation, fingers threading through mine. Just like that, simple and easy.

At the car, I opened the passenger door for her. She raised a brow at the gesture but smiled as she slid in, smoothing her dress and buckling in. I closed the door, walked around, and got in on the other side, starting the engine.

As I pulled away from the curb, I kept sneaking glances at her profile, at the way her hair caught the light, at how composed she looked. I was searching for nerves. For the tell. The breath too deep, the lip caught between teeth, the restless shifting in her seat. But none of it came.

She just looked… calm.

And yet, despite everything, the conversation, the hesitation she’d shown when we talked about it, there were no signs of nerves. No flicker of doubt. No edge to her posture or voice. She looked steady and at ease. And it caught me off guard. I’d expected her to hesitate. But there was nothing hesitant about her right now.

It made me wonder what had shifted. Or if maybe I was the only one still holding onto the weight of that moment.

I drove slowly, looping around our neighborhood, weaving through the familiar streets in lazy circles. After a few minutes, Emma glanced over.

“Are we… lost in our own zip code, or is this some kind of scenic route?”

I kept my eyes on the road, trying to sound casual. “Just keeping us close to home. In case you wanted to bail.”

She smiled faintly, brushing a hand over her skirt. “Ash, I said I’m good. You can drive out further if you want. I’m not gonna freak out.”

“You sure?”

She looked over again, sincere. “I’m in our car. With you. I feel safe.”

That made something in my chest stretch. I nodded once and turned us toward the main road.

The city opened up ahead of us in slow gliding frames with trees lining the medians, early Saturday joggers, and a dog in a baby stroller. The light in Emma’s eyes hadn’t dimmed. She kept watching the world go by, as if it were all brand new.

I steered toward the area where we’d first gone shopping for her weeks ago, but now felt like lifetimes. My fingers tapped the steering wheel at a red light, glancing over at her again. Still no nervous tics. Just Emma, resting a hand on her lap, her other arm leaning casually against the door, gazing out the window.

And then another car pulled up beside us, slowing to a stop in the lane next to hers.

It was an older man behind the wheel, sunglasses on, face weathered and unreadable. I felt my spine go tight.

Emma caught the flicker of tension and turned to look out her window, following my gaze.

The man looked over for just a second or two, and then faced forward again. No lingering. No staring. Just… nothing.

I waited for her reaction, but she said nothing, only looked ahead again and let the tiniest smile curl at her lips. Like she’d just passed an invisible test.

I looked at her. Then at the green light.

And I drove on.

“Hey… can you find a place to park?”

I blinked. “Wait, what?”

She turned to me, calm as ever. “Just a spot nearby. I want to walk for a bit.”

That… was not what I expected.

Still, I obeyed, easing the car into the next available space on the street. I turned off the ignition and turned to look at her.

“What’s going on?”

Emma tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You just asked to go for a walk. In public. As Emma. Like it’s nothing.”

She gave me an almost amused look. “And?”

I stared. “And?”

Emma leaned back in her seat, smirking. “Okay, fair. But I’m not hiding in the backseat with a hoodie over my head this time, am I?”

“I’m not freaking out,” I lied.

“You so are.”

I huffed, trying not to smile.

Emma’s voice softened. “Ash… you’re the one who always wanted this. To go out. To just be with her. With me. And I feel okay right now. Really. I’ll tell you if that changes, I promise.”

She reached for the handle and stepped out, her sundress fluttering slightly in the breeze.

I followed, still trying to make sense of the cool, collected version of her beside me. I shut the door behind me and barely had time to settle before Emma turned toward me.

She looked at me with a slow, teasing smile that made my heart beat unevenly.

Then, with deliberate calm, she slipped her arm into mine, her hand trailing down before locking her fingers tightly with mine.

Mocking, playful, and sexy as hell, she murmured, “Shall we?”

I huffed, narrowing my eyes at her mocking tone, but let her tug me forward.

We walked.

Just… walked.

It wasn’t even that far at first. Just down the block, past a boutique or two. But what stunned me was how Emma didn’t hesitate. She lingered in front of window displays, her head tilting in that way I recognized from all the times she’d gotten distracted online shopping. And then, bold as anything, she pushed open the door to a store and went in.

She turned halfway back just as I stepped through the doorway, catching the expression on my face, mouth slightly open, halfway to stunned.

Without missing a beat, she reached up and gently closed my jaw with two fingers.

“Careful,” she said lightly. “You’ll catch flies.”

Emma ran her fingers over fabrics like she belonged there. She pulled me toward a rack of blouses and handed me one with a look that said you’d look hot in this, don’t argue. When I did argue, she simply smirked and threw it over her arm.

She dragged me through two more shops, one where she bought a pair of earrings she didn’t need, and another where she found me a casual shirt in a color she insisted brought out my eyes. I rolled mine at that, but the way she looked at me when I tried it on made me buy it anyway.

And through it all… my nerves started to settle. The who is this woman questions began to fade.

The world hadn’t imploded. No one had stared. No one screamed or whispered.

Then it happened.

We rounded a corner too quickly and nearly collided with a woman. Emma jolted slightly but caught herself, steady as ever. I moved to check on her, my reflexes still ahead of my brain, but she waved me off gently.

The woman blinked up at Emma, a spark of recognition flashing across her face. It was something more professional, more situational.

“Oh! I remember you,” the woman said, her eyes lighting up.

Emma tilted her head, eyebrows lifting in surprise before she smiled. “Yeah. From the wig shop. You helped me!”

“I did,” the woman said with a slight, pleased nod. “I don’t usually forget a face. You were trying a few on that day… I remember you seemed a little nervous.”

My chest tightened slightly, but Emma just grinned.

Then, with a quick breath, Emma added, “Actually… I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself that day.”

She stepped forward just a little, offering her hand with a calm, easy smile. “I’m Emma.”

My heart did a quiet somersault at hearing her say it aloud so clearly, so confidently.

“And this,” she added, glancing toward me with a touch of pride in her voice, “is my partner, Ash.”

I gave the woman an awkward smile and a small wave, still caught slightly off guard by the ease of it all.

The woman took Emma’s hand and shook it warmly. “I’m Wendy,” she said. “It’s lovely to officially meet you both.”

Wendy’s eyes softened, flicking between us. “You look amazing,” she said to Emma. “And so much more confident than the last time I saw you. You’ve come a long way since walking into the shop like a nervous wreck.”

Emma laughed, not ducking her head or shrinking back, but just owning it. “Wendy, I was sweating through my clothes that day.”

“You were,” Wendy agreed with a grin. “But I always know. I can spot the ones who’ll find it in themselves to show the world who they really are. It’s a kind of glow. And trust me, you’ve got it now.”

Emma’s smile lingered, this quiet, proud thing. “Thanks. That means more than you probably know.”

Wendy gave her a little wink. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

All the while, I stood there beside her, caught somewhere between awe and complete emotional disarray. Because this? This wasn’t just Emma coping or trying. This was Emma shining.

Wendy looked between the two of us one last time, her gaze landing squarely on me.

“And you,” she said, her tone suddenly shifting into something that sounded suspiciously maternal, “you make sure to cherish her.”

Emma’s brows lifted with visible delight, biting her lip to hide a smirk.

My spine straightened as if I were being addressed by someone’s mother. “Always,” I said, managing to sound just earnest enough.

Wendy smiled, clearly satisfied. “Good. I’ve got wigs to sort and customers to attend to, but you two enjoy yourselves.”

Emma smiled warmly at her and waved he goodbye.

“Bye,” I added, giving her a grateful nod as she turned and headed off in the direction of the wig shop.

We stood there for a while, the quiet rushing back in as the street noise filled the space where Wendy had been.

I turned slowly toward Emma.

I let out a slow breath, only then realizing how tightly I'd been holding it.

My eyes flicked up to Emma, unsure of what to even say. She stood there in a calm, collected, confident way that still knocked the wind out of me.

She didn’t say anything at first. And then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Coffee?”

The coffee shop was quaint, tucked at the corner of a quiet street with little round tables set under soft awnings. The late morning sun was warm but not cruel, and a soft breeze danced through the narrow street like it had nowhere particular to be.

Emma spotted an empty table outside and made a beeline for it, her dress swaying with every step. “That one’s ours,” she said with a glance over her shoulder, claiming it like she’d been doing this her whole life.

“Want anything?” I asked, already moving toward the counter.

“Something cold,” she called back. “Surprise me.”

I came back a few minutes later, balancing two drinks and still trying to understand how I’d entered this alternate universe where Emma was not only outside, but thriving. Hell, she was acting more confident than any of the real women around us.

“Good choice,” she said after one sip. “Might keep you around after all.”

We sat side by side, our knees brushing now and then under the small table, watching the street move around us. Couples strolled past, a man on a bicycle rang his bell twice, and a dog barked from inside a shop. The world just… kept going.

Emma’s gaze drifted calmly over the crowd, like she belonged here. Like this moment wasn’t new or nerve-wracking, but just another part of her day.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked quietly, unable to stop myself from asking.

She sipped her drink again before answering, eyes still on the sidewalk.

“Just people,” she said. “Everything they’re carrying. All the real-world crap they deal with. Family stuff. Money. Grief. Health. Big, messy, relentless stuff. And I think… compared to all that? My fear and insecurities feel so small.”

She didn’t say it with guilt or self-pity. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just honest.

I watched her in the quiet that followed, as her fingers lightly tapped against the cup, and her eyes followed a woman pushing a stroller, two teenagers laughing behind her. My mind kept wondering who this woman right next to me was.

I hadn’t seen her like this before. Not quite like this.

And it hit me like a truck. This wasn’t just Emma being brave.

This was Emma becoming.

“I don’t think your fears or insecurities are small,” I said after a moment. “I think they’re just yours. And that makes it valid.”

She turned to me, blinking once, like she hadn’t expected me to say anything, or at least not that. She glanced back out at the street. Her fingers ran idly along the condensation on her cup.

“I think… I’ve found her,” she said.

I turned to look at her. “Her?”

“Emma…” she said, not looking at me yet. “For the longest time, I didn’t even know what I was looking for. With all of this, I thought I was just weird. Or confused. Or selfish. And maybe a little of all those things. But lately, it’s like… like someone I didn’t even realize I’d lost finally came home.”

She paused, her gaze tracking a woman walking a golden retriever down the sidewalk. “I used to be so scared of the world. Still am. But right now it feels kind of foolish, you know? Not because people aren’t cruel, or because it’s all suddenly safe. But because there are people out there living through real shit. Losing everything. Fighting for their kids. Trying to make ends meet. And I was here, paralyzed by the thought of someone looking at me funny.”

She finally looked back at me. Her expression wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even that emotional. Just clear. Grounded.

“I don’t want to live in a box,” she said. “I don’t want to live thinking the worst is always around the corner. I’ve spent some time reflecting, Ashley. And I think what scares me more than anything now is not living. I want to experience the world. On my terms. As her. As me.”

I reached for her hand on the table, and she let me take it, her fingers warm against mine.

“And if it ever gets bad,” she said with a sly little smirk, “that’s what my strong, slightly terrifying, extremely hot partner is for.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart thumped hard in my chest.

Emma leaned in and pressed a soft, deliberate kiss to my cheek, lips barely brushing, but the warmth of it blooming like a fire under my skin.

I turned, surprised more by the when than the what. There was no one around paying attention, no eyes on us, but even if there had been… she didn’t care. And that alone was a little miracle.

Still half in awe of what she'd said, of who she was in that moment, I lifted my hand to her cheek, fingers brushing the line of her jaw, and tilted her face toward mine.

And then I kissed her.

Not the kind of kiss that tried to make a statement or defy the world. Just one that said: I see you. I’m here. And I want you.

It deepened slowly. Her lips parted, her breath catching just slightly against mine. One of her hands came up to rest over my heart, like she needed to feel it beating.

I didn't know how long we stayed like that, soft and close and utterly unhurried. But when we finally pulled apart, her eyes fluttered open, and she gave me the smallest smile.

And then I saw it, a single tear, trailing slowly down her cheek. Not sadness. Not fear. Something else entirely. Like joy. Like something inside her had finally stilled. Like, maybe, she’d found her place in the world and she knew it.

We stayed at the café until our cups were empty and the sun had shifted just enough to cast golden light over the sidewalk. When we finally stood, there was no plan. Just the city around us and the sense that this whole day had stretched out just to fit us.

We walked in silence for a bit, letting the world move around us. Her sundress swayed with every step, and her cardigan slipped a little down one shoulder. The way she carried herself — light, relaxed, almost radiant — made me forget to say anything at all.

I almost spoke, about how she now owed me twenty more confident outings, when I stopped.

Not because of anything dramatic. Just… something tugged at me.

Emma squeezed my hand. “What happened?”

I blinked, heart skipping. “Uh—cramp,” I said, reaching down to rub my calf like it had seized.

“A cramp?” she said, squinting at me.

“Tiny one. It’s gone now,” I waved it off with a smile that I hoped looked casual. It didn’t. My body had frozen for a reason altogether different.

That’s when I saw her glance past me and then follow my line of sight.

The storefront across the street.

It hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, but I’d never really noticed it. A boutique, tucked between two taller buildings. Warm lights glowed behind the glass, where lace and satin stood still on mannequins that looked like they were floating. Everything about it was soft, delicate, and glowing.

Emma’s eyes landed on it. Her brows lifted slightly. “Wow.”

My throat tightened. “Wow, what?”

She didn’t look at me, just kept her eyes on the window. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

There was no longing in her tone, no sweeping emotion. Just quiet admiration. But the way her fingers curled just a little tighter into mine, the way her gaze didn’t leave the display.

I looked at her, soaking in her profile — the line of her nose, the gentle curve of her mouth — and then said the only thing I could think of:

“Dinner?”

She turned to me, and whatever weight had brushed against the air a moment ago drifted away with her smile. “Definitely.”

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To all the readers, thank you for picking up this story and giving it your time. If you have reached here, I can only hope that you enjoyed reading it so far and will look forward to the final chapter. Please do leave your reviews, comments and feedback. It only encourages me to keep at it and trying harder. You can also contact me via email at iamheremma [at] proton.me or on Discord iamheremma .