Unraveled

Chapter 16: Scar Tissue

Friday morning found Agatha at the office, a stack of papers in front of her and a headache building as she read through a brief one of the second-year associates had submitted. It was, without a doubt, garbage. She scribbled in red ink, her frustration mounting with each line, making a mental note that she'd have to seriously reconsider this associate's future here.

Once she'd finished tearing it apart, she set the brief aside, spinning her chair to face the window. The city skyline stretched before her, a vast expanse of silver and glass that used to offer her a few precious moments to shut off her mind, to breathe and just not think.

But now... every time she looked out at it, every time her mind drifted from work, like a rubber band, it snapped back to one thing.

One person.

Rio.

Which wouldn't be a big deal if it were purely sexual.

If Agatha could limit her thoughts to all just Rio's naked body pressed against hers, the way her hands and mouth ignited every nerve, the way Rio had a knack for pushing her past every comfort she thought she had, until Agatha found herself surrendering in ways she never imagined.

If it were just about the way Rio's voice moaned in her ear, urging her on as Agatha touched her.

Or the way Rio tasted when Agatha finally worked up the courage to go down on her, the sounds she made, the way her fingers gripped Agatha's hair, trembling under her touch.

Agatha could handle sexual.

Of course, it turned her on, leaving her part frustrated, part blissed-out mess, but that was fine— just that.

Sexual.

People were sexual beings.

It was natural.

It was simple.

What wasn't simple was the way her mind now replayed moments that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with Rio herself.

She kept seeing the color of her eyes, dark and earthy, like rich soil, matching the plants surrounding Rio's home.

Or hearing Rio's voice as she spoke Spanish, her tone lighter, her words flowing with an ease that Agatha could listen to all day without understanding a single word.

She remembered Rio's laugh— her real laugh —and how it was, to her surprise, her favorite sound to come out of her mouth, more than any moan or whispered filth.

And that damn smile —the one Rio had given her, soft and naked in her lap, post-orgasm—that smile made Agatha's heart stutter.

Agatha knew exactly what it was, even if she refused to fully acknowledge it.

It was one thing to recognize that she was attracted to a woman. To let herself explore that attraction in the privacy of Rio's capable hands, to indulge in the kind of intimacy that she always had always felt out of reach for her, reserved for someone else.

That was acceptable.

Hell— even embracing this newfound pull toward dominance and submission— especially on the submissive end, which she never would have thought herself drawn to—was somehow manageable, almost freeing.

But developing actual... feelings?

No.

That was something else entirely.

Feelings were messy, unpredictable, uncontrollable.

They tangled around reason and obscured lines.