Painted

Chapter 8

Time ticked by and Sarocha sat on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, staring at the screen. Her mind buzzed with anticipation and frustration, her thoughts spiraling. She hadn’t heard from Rebecca in what felt like forever—too long for her liking. She knew, rationally, that Rebecca was probably busy with her own life, her own distractions, but that didn’t do anything to ease the heat that simmered in Sarocha’s chest.

She shifted restlessly, her fingers tapping out a rhythm against the screen, her mind flashing back to every moment they’d shared. The last night they’d spent together—the electric touches, the heated looks, the way their bodies had moved in perfect sync. The way Rebecca had let herself go, at least for a moment, abandoning that stubborn need for control. Sarocha swallowed, the memory of it making her pulse race again.

'She’s got me on edge,' Sarocha thought bitterly, trying to shake the feeling of vulnerability. 'Damn her... and damn me for letting her.'

Her eyes flickered back to the phone screen, willing it to light up with a message, a notification, anything. She glanced at the time—Rebecca had been quiet for nearly an hour now.

'I should be patient. Let her come to me.'

But patience wasn’t something Sarocha had in abundance when it came to Rebecca. Not anymore. Every second that ticked by felt like a challenge—an unspoken game between them that Sarocha couldn’t help but get lost in. She wanted more. She wanted to see Rebecca squirm. Wanted to be the one to push all her buttons, to see how far she could go. How long would it take for Rebecca to give in to the attraction, to let herself fall as hard as Sarocha already had?

Sarocha let out a soft, frustrated breath and tossed the phone aside for a moment, leaning back against the pillows. The cool fabric of the sofa felt nice against her heated skin, but it did little to ease the tension that coiled deep inside her.

'God, I want her...'

She didn’t want to admit it, not to herself, not to anyone—but she couldn’t deny it. Rebecca had gotten under her skin, in a way no one else had before. The challenge was intoxicating, but the emotional pull? That was something she hadn’t expected. And that made her even more determined to not let herself become too involved.

But it was hard. The longer she waited, the more she found herself craving something deeper—something that went beyond just the heat between them. She knew the moment Rebecca responded, things would shift again. The electricity would crackle back to life, and they’d find themselves tangled up once more in this unspoken, irresistible desire.

'I’m playing with fire,' she thought, running a hand through her hair, 'and I can’t seem to stop.'

Her phone buzzed, cutting through her swirling thoughts. Her breath caught as she quickly reached for it, her fingers shaking slightly as she unlocked the screen. A text from Rebecca. Finally.

It’s about damn time.

The minutes dragged on for Rebecca after the knock at her door, the cold reality of her friend’s interruption settling in like a fog. The fire Sarocha had ignited within her still burned hot in her chest, every nerve in her body still humming with desire and anticipation. But now, as she sat back down, the weight of that longing grew heavier with every passing second. Her pulse raced, the memories of what almost happened lingering like a phantom.

It had been an hour. An hour that felt like a lifetime. The silence in her apartment was deafening now, and yet, all she could think of was the smoldering tension between them. The feeling of Sarocha's eyes on her. The way Sarocha’s voice had lowered, seductive and daring, urging her to come closer. She could almost hear it again. 'Show me... Becca.'