Her Swimmer

"Forbidden Rose"

And love her, she did.

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As Alexia lay beside Talia in the soft morning light, she felt last night's memories playing over and over in her mind, each moment etched deeper than the last. They had been close before, had shared intimacy, but this time felt different—more profound, as if they had crossed into a new depth of understanding and devotion. She could still feel the electricity from the moments when Talia had taken control, fierce yet tender, leaving Alexia's heart more full than ever.

Alexia turned to Talia, who lay peacefully asleep, her expression calm, softened by the quiet of early morning. She leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to the faint scar on Talia's shoulder, a small, barely-there reminder of the crash that had changed her life and taken her mother too soon. To Alexia, that scar was a symbol of Talia's resilience—her strength to move forward even when burdened by unimaginable loss. She lingered there, her lips resting over that little mark, a silent vow to be beside her, to protect her as much as she could.

Her gaze drifted down to the delicate tattoos that adorned Talia's arm, inked artwork she had seen before but still admired. Each one seemed perfectly suited. They weren't bold or oversized; instead, they were fine lines and intricate details that seemed to tell stories she hadn't fully shared but that Alexia yearned to understand. Alexia ran her fingers over them, gentle and light, savoring the feeling of each curve and line, tracing Talia's history and her quiet courage.

She couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful girl beside her, the one who, out of all the people in the world, had chosen her. Talia was still sound asleep, undisturbed by Alexia's quiet adoration, and for that, Alexia was grateful. She didn't want to break the spell of the morning, didn't want to wake her just yet. All she wanted was to take in every detail, every mark, every story etched on Talia's skin, and hold this moment close for as long as she could.

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But the spell was broken.

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The soft tranquility of the morning shattered by the abrupt ring of the doorbell, echoing through the quiet of Talia's home. Alexia's heart skipped as she glanced over, watching Talia stir just slightly, her brow furrowing in her sleep, though she showed no signs of fully waking.

With a soft sigh, Alexia carefully slipped out of bed, her movements quiet and deliberate so as not to disturb Talia. She reached for a shirt and a pair of tracksuit pants strewn nearby—both unmistakably Talia's. Pulling them on, Alexia could feel the warmth still in the fabric, a comfort that reminded her of the woman sleeping just feet away.

Making her way down the hall, Alexia wondered briefly who might be at the door this early. Perhaps a delivery driver, Ellie forgetting her key, or even Ellie's mum stopping by. But as she opened the door, any assumptions she had quickly faded.

Standing on the doorstep, dressed impeccably and with a firm, unreadable expression, was Talia's grandfather. His gaze met hers immediately, sharp and unwavering, and Alexia felt her breath catch as she took him in. He hadn't spoken a word, yet his presence alone was unmistakable—a reminder of the tension from the night before, of the unspoken judgments he still held.

Talia's grandfather's gaze dropped to Alexia's clothes, his expression shifting subtly as he took in the sight of Talia's shirt and tracksuit pants—distinctly Australian, with "Sterling" emblazoned boldly across the chest. Alexia could feel the weight of his judgment in the brief, silent exchange, and she swallowed, forcing herself to stay steady.