Lie To Me

Another Cinderella story

 What if she's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?

After the long conversation about their fake engagement, the doctors finally discharged Love from the hospital. Milk carefully helped her out of the car and into the house, her arm securely around the shorter woman's waist, supporting her every step. Each movement was painful for Love, evident in the tightness around her eyes, even though she tried to play it strong.

Milk decided to take matters into her own hands. Without warning, she lifted Love into her arms, cradling her effortlessly. All the hours she'd spent in the gym were finally paying off; carrying Love felt like carrying a feather.

"You really don't have to carry me around," Love protested, her voice soft yet tinged with a hint of amusement.

"Nonsense," Milk replied with a determined smile. "I'm not letting you tear your stitches. Besides, it's easier this way."

Love couldn't help but smile at Milk's assertiveness. She's so easy to read, Love thought, secretly relishing the attention and the proximity. Leaning into Milk as they made their way to the bedroom, she could feel the warmth radiating from Milk's body, her scent intoxicating. She knew exactly how this closeness would affect Milk.

Once they reached the bedroom, Milk set Love down gently on the bed. "I'll find you something more comfortable," she said, quickly heading towards the walk-in closet, trying to keep her thoughts steady and emotions in check. Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush, she mentally told herself, fighting the warmth creeping up her cheeks.

Love watched her disappear into the walk-in closet, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. The idea of being undressed by Milk made her heart race—not out of innocence, but because she knew it would make Milk deliciously uncomfortable. She liked this game, pushing just enough to keep things interesting.

"Thank you, Milk," Love said softly, her voice laced with a calculated vulnerability, knowing it would make her fall deeper into her act.

Milk returned with a set of pajamas, her thoughts tangled between concern and something far more dangerous—longing. Focus on the task, not on her, she told herself, feeling the tension between her caretaker duties and the undeniable pull toward the woman before her. Before she could decide whether to stay or leave, Love's voice broke the silence, soft and almost pleading.

"Can you help me change?" Love asked, her eyes wide and inviting, knowing full well that Milk wouldn't refuse.

WTF, what does her leg injury have to do with not being able to put on clothes?! Milk's mind panicked, but before she could respond, Love spoke again, as if reading her thoughts.

"I can do it myself, you've done more than enough," Love said softly, feigning independence. "It's just that I'm a bit drowsy from the pain meds, but I'm sure I can manage."

" I can help," replied Milk with what she hoped was a stable voice and a normal grin.

This is going to cost me my sanity, Milk thought, feeling her heart hammering in her chest as she carefully began helping Love out of her dress. The intimacy of the act was overwhelming; her hands trembled slightly as she tried to maintain a professional demeanor. Too close to handle, she repeated in her mind. She was careful not to let her hands linger too long, but every accidental brush of skin sent a surge of guilt and excitement through her. The softness beneath her touch, the gentle shivers from Love's body in response—it was too much.

Love noticed the pink flush blooming on Milk's cheeks and felt a thrill of satisfaction ripple through her. Got you, she thought, her own heart beating faster. Milk's touch was gentle, almost reverent, and Love could sense the turmoil behind it.