Painted

Chapter 7

Later that night, Rebecca's fingers hovered over her phone, the cool screen against her skin a sharp contrast to the warmth spreading through her body. Her mind was a storm of frustration, adrenaline, and a growing, unmistakable desire she refused to acknowledge. She had to focus. She couldn’t let Sarocha win this time. This was business. Not personal. She swallowed her racing pulse, then typed.

Rebecca: 'This is business. You won’t distract me.'

Across town, Sarocha sat back in her chair, phone in hand, feeling the heat rise in her chest at the challenge. The slight curve of her lips hinted at the thrill. She loved this—pushing Rebecca, watching her squirm, knowing the longer she kept the pressure on, the closer Rebecca would be to cracking. She leaned in, her thumb hovering over the screen before typing a response.

Sarocha: 'Business, huh? Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me. Can you really focus with me in your thoughts?'

Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening. She hated how easily Sarocha could invade her thoughts, how every word from her felt like a spark against dry tinder. It was all so dangerously intoxicating, the way Sarocha’s words slid into her mind, unraveling her. She quickly brushed the sensation aside, determined not to let Sarocha see how much she was affecting her. Her fingers shook slightly as she typed the response, but her resolve was ironclad.

Rebecca: 'You don’t control me, Sarocha. Not professionally. Not personally.'

Sarocha read the message, feeling the flush of satisfaction deepen in her chest. She had to admit, Rebecca was stubborn—but that was exactly what made breaking through so delicious. She leaned back, stretching her legs out, knowing exactly how far she could take this. The playful challenge in Rebecca’s message only egged her on.

Sarocha: 'I don’t need to control you. I just need to know where your line is. How far you’ll let me take this.'

Rebecca’s heartbeat hammered in her ears. She leaned back in her chair, suddenly too aware of the tension in her body, the tightening of her muscles. The words Sarocha had sent were simple, but they pierced straight to the core of her self-control. She closed her eyes for a moment, her breath shallow, but she refused to let her body betray her. She straightened up, her fingers tightening around the phone as she tried to steady herself.

No, she wouldn't give in. Not to Sarocha. Not like this. She typed quickly, but there was a tremor in her hand.

Rebecca: 'You’ll never break me, Sarocha. Not in business. Not like this.'

Sarocha's smirk widened. Oh, she could feel the slight shift. The way Rebecca tried to hold on, yet her words, her thoughts, her body—every reaction betrayed her just a little. She could practically hear the tension in Rebecca's voice, the struggle beneath her resolve. That was the beauty of it. Sarocha wasn’t looking to break her—she just wanted to see how far she could push, how long it would take for Rebecca to lose control.

Sarocha’s fingers danced over the keys with a satisfied little flicker in her eyes, knowing this would keep the game going.

Sarocha: 'You say that, but I’m already inside your head. You know it. I know it.'

Rebecca froze at the message, her stomach flipping violently. How was it that Sarocha always knew just how to push her, always seemed to see right through her? The words hit too close to home. A tingling heat spread through her chest, down to her belly. She could feel the rush of desire fighting with her frustration, and she hated how helpless it made her feel. The deep breath she drew in was shaky, her pulse quickening, and yet she refused to back down.

She leaned forward, typing furiously as though fighting off the thoughts that threatened to consume her.

Rebecca: 'I’m done here. Don’t test me again, Sarocha.'