Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The drive home should feel longer than it does.

Carol knows that with the quiet certainty of someone who has spent years memorizing every road in Blackwater. There are only so many ways to travel between the turnout and the house. She knows where every curve bends toward the sea, where the pavement narrows beneath the pines, where the harbor briefly reveals itself between rows of weathered buildings before vanishing again behind fog. She could probably navigate the route blindfolded if she had to.

And yet the distance seems to collapse beneath them.

Not because she is eager to reach home.

Because she cannot stop looking at Zosia.

Fog drifts across the windshield in soft gray ribbons as the Porsche glides through town, swallowing storefronts and street signs before releasing them again moments later. Amber streetlights burn through the haze like distant lanterns, their reflections smearing across damp pavement. Beyond the buildings, Carol catches occasional flashes of dark water where the harbor lies hidden beneath the evening mist, and for a strange moment the town feels less like a place she has lived for years and more like something half-remembered from a dream.

For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels light.

The sensation catches her off guard.

Not happiness exactly, though there is happiness too. Something deeper than that. The quiet relief of finally setting down a weight she has carried for so long that she had forgotten what it felt like to stand without it. Alexander Keating is behind her now. The meetings. The fear. The endless shadow he cast over her life. All of it belongs to the past.

And sitting beside her is the woman who listened to every second of it.

The woman who watched her walk away.

The woman Carol has not been able to stop thinking about since.

Her gaze drifts sideways again.

Dark eyes meet hers for a fleeting second before returning to the road.

A few moments later they return.

The corner of Carol's mouth lifts despite herself.

Zosia remains stubbornly silent, her attention fixed firmly ahead, but the effort is almost transparent. Carol can practically see the thoughts moving behind her expression. Every conversation from the office. Every answer. Every moment they had shared throughout the day turning over and over again in her mind.

Warmth unfurls through Carol's chest.

For years, Zosia has been the one capable of unsettling her with almost effortless precision. The one who stepped too close. The one who stole kisses. The one who watched with those impossibly attentive eyes until Carol lost her train of thought halfway through a sentence and forgot what she had been saying altogether.

Tonight feels different.

Tonight, for perhaps the first time since they met, Carol finds herself standing on the other side of that equation.

And to her growing delight, she discovers she likes it far more than she probably should.

Slowly, Carol reaches across the center console.

The movement is casual enough that it could almost be accidental. The sort of unconscious gesture that develops between people who have spent enough time together to stop thinking about proximity altogether.

Her fingers brush lightly against Zosia's wrist.

The response is instantaneous.

Not dramatic. Not obvious.

The kind of reaction most people would never notice.

But Carol notices everything when it comes to Zosia.

She feels the slight tightening beneath her fingertips before she sees it. Watches a subtle tension gather through her shoulders, sees her posture shift almost imperceptibly behind the wheel. Even her breathing changes, interrupted by a shallow inhale that disappears so quickly it might have been imagined.

Carol pretends not to notice any of it.

Her fingertips continue upward anyway, tracing the line of Zosia's forearm with unhurried ease, following the shape of muscle beneath the sleeve of her jacket.

An innocent gesture.

At least in theory.

The fact that it is anything but remains entirely between them.

The road stretches onward through the fog.

For several moments neither woman speaks.

Then, without looking away from the windshield, Zosia says, "You are staring."

The accusation arrives in a voice carefully flattened by restraint.

Carol smiles.

She turns her attention toward the passing lights outside as though she has been doing exactly that the entire time.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Beside her, Zosia makes a quiet sound of disbelief.

Carol's smile deepens.

She likes skeptical Zosia.

There is something endlessly entertaining about the woman attempting to maintain her dignity while being completely unconvinced by every word coming out of Carol's mouth.

The silence that follows settles comfortably around them.

Not awkward.

Not empty.

The sort of silence that exists only between people who know each other so well that conversation becomes optional. The sort that carries its own language beneath the absence of words.

Eventually Carol shifts closer.

Not enough to crowd her.

Not enough to interfere.

Just enough.

The scent of Zosia's shampoo lingers faintly in the air between them, familiar enough now that Carol associates it instinctively with safety. With home. With every late night and quiet morning they have shared.

Before Zosia can realize what she's doing, Carol leans across the small distance separating them and presses a quick kiss against her cheek.

The contact lasts barely a second.

Gone almost as soon as it arrives.

So brief that it could almost be dismissed.

Almost.

The Porsche drifts slightly toward the center line before correcting itself.

Carol bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to keep from laughing.

Beside her, Zosia exhales slowly through her nose.

The sound carries all the long-suffering patience of someone enduring a very specific form of torment.

"Carol."

Her name arrives exactly the way Carol knew it would.

A warning.

A complaint.

And, somehow, an affection all its own.

Carol settles back into her seat with an expression of perfect innocence.

Her hands rest neatly in her lap. Her gaze drifts toward the fog-softened streets beyond the windshield. Every part of her posture suggests someone entirely unbothered, entirely well-behaved, entirely committed to leaving the poor woman beside her in peace.

The effort lasts approximately twenty seconds.

Maybe less.

The temptation proves impossible to resist.

This time, when she leans closer, her lips find the curve of Zosia's jaw.

The kiss is brief.

Barely there.

Yet she allows it to linger just a fraction longer than the last one, long enough to feel the warmth beneath her skin and the subtle shift in Zosia's breathing before she withdraws.

Then she settles back into her seat as though nothing happened.

Outside, Blackwater continues to drift past in a blur of fog and amber streetlights.

Inside the car, the silence that follows is immensely satisfying.

Carol folds her arms loosely across her chest and directs her attention toward the passing scenery, carefully arranging her expression into one of complete innocence.

Beside her, Zosia remains quiet for several moments.

"You are doing this on purpose."

The accusation arrives in a low voice edged with exasperation.

Carol doesn't even look at her.

"Doing what?"

A laugh escapes Zosia before she can stop it.

The sound is short and rough around the edges, settling low in her throat.

Entirely unconvinced.

The warmth that follows spreads through Carol rapidly.

Because for perhaps the first time since they met, the balance has shifted.

For years, Zosia has been the one capable of reducing her to a complete disaster with a look, a touch, a smile held a second too long.

Tonight, however, Zosia seems to be the one struggling.

The realization is unexpectedly intoxicating.

She lets the conversation die there.

Lets the silence return.

Lets it gather comfortably around them as the Porsche glides through the fog.

After another minute, Carol reaches out again.

This time her hand settles lightly against the back of Zosia's neck.

The gesture is gentler than the others.

Her fingers slide through the short hair at her nape, feeling the tension gathered there after an impossibly long day.

The strength.

The exhaustion.

The constant vigilance.

The woman who spent hours worrying about her. The woman who sat through every painful moment of that meeting. The woman who has somehow never stopped looking at Carol as though she is something precious.

The thought sends a sudden ache of affection through her chest.

Something soft.

Something warm.

For a moment she simply watches her.

Then, without really thinking about it, she leans closer.

Her lips brush lightly against the space beneath Zosia's ear.

The reaction is immediate as Zosia's breath catches sharply. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel. A muttered curse slips free in Polish, low and automatic, disappearing into the quiet hum of the engine.

Carol has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Not because she's being cruel.

Because the sight of Zosia Borowska, usually so composed, so impossible to rattle, coming undone over something as simple as a few stolen kisses is rapidly becoming one of Carol's favorite things in the world.

Instead of laughing, Carol lets herself drift closer until her chin comes to rest lightly against Zosia's shoulder.

Only for a second.

Just long enough to enjoy the warmth of her.

Long enough to enjoy the increasingly obvious fact that Zosia is running out of patience.

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"You know," she says quietly.

"No."

The answer arrives so quickly that Carol almost laughs.

"I haven't said anything yet."

"I know exactly where this conversation is going." The certainty in Zosia's voice only widens Carol's smile.

Outside, fog continues to roll through the streets of Blackwater, softening the glow of the streetlights and turning the passing world into shifting gold and gray. Inside the Porsche, however, Carol's attention remains entirely fixed on the woman beside her.

A few seconds later, Zosia finally turns her head. Not much. Just enough. Her intentions clearly obvious.

Carol sees it coming long before the distance can close. The realization sends an embarrassingly powerful surge of satisfaction through her. For years, she has been the one caught off guard. The one left flustered. The one scrambling to recover while Zosia looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Now, finally, the situation has reversed.

Before Zosia can steal the kiss she is clearly aiming for, Carol lifts a hand and catches her gently by the jaw.

The movement is effortless. Firm enough to stop her. Certain enough to leave no room for argument. With barely concealed amusement, Carol guides her face back toward the windshield.

"Eyes on the road."

The silence that follows is magnificent. The sort of silence that practically vibrates with indignation. Carol can almost feel it radiating from the driver's seat. Several long seconds pass before Zosia finally speaks.

"You are enjoying this entirely too much."

The accusation sounds genuinely wounded.

Which only makes it worse.

Carol hums thoughtfully, as though she is giving the question serious consideration.

Her hand remains where it is for a moment before sliding lower, fingers brushing lightly along the line of Zosia's throat in a gesture that is far gentler than it is innocent.

"Maybe."

Zosia lets out a disbelieving breath, "Maybe?"

This time Carol doesn't even pretend, "Definitely."

The look she receives is immediate. Scandalized. Offended. Entirely deserved.

Carol laughs before she can stop herself. The sound fills the car, bright and warm and completely unapologetic. For a moment afterward she simply watches her. The strong line of her profile illuminated by passing streetlights. The stubborn set of her jaw. The concentration she is trying, and increasingly failing, to maintain.

Beautiful, Carol thinks.

The realization arrives with startling simplicity. Not because she has never noticed before. Because she notices all over again. This woman has spent years taking care of everyone around her. Carrying burdens that were never hers to carry. Watching over people who rarely noticed how much of herself she gave away in the process. And somehow, despite all of that, she still looks at Carol as though she is something precious. Something worth protecting.

The thought settles heavily in Carol's chest.

Warm and certain.

Profound in a way she cannot quite put into words.

As the miles disappear beneath them and the fog-draped roads wind steadily toward home, that certainty only grows stronger.

For years Zosia had watched her so carefully she sometimes seemed capable of predicting needs Carol hadn't recognized herself.

Food appeared when she forgot to eat.

Coffee appeared before difficult mornings.

A hand found hers before she realized she needed comfort.

It had always been like that.

Zosia giving.

Zosia carrying.

Zosia watching.

Tonight Carol intended to return the favor.

And if that meant leaving the other woman a trembling, speechless disaster by the end of the evening, well.

That seemed only fair.

The understanding settles quietly into place.

And once it does, Carol finds she cannot imagine letting it go.

Carol leans closer again. Her hand wandering lower, sliding against Zosia's sternum and settling against her stomach.

This time, Carol lets her mouth drift toward the curve of Zosia’s ear, drawn there almost absentmindedly by the sight of her, by the warmth of her beneath the dim light and the impossible temptation of being this close. Her lips barely touch skin at all. It is little more than a whisper of contact, a fleeting brush at the edge of her ear that lingers for the briefest moment before she withdraws.

The gesture is so small it should mean nothing.

A tease.

A provocation.

The sort of touch that could be dismissed if either of them cared to pretend. Yet the effect unfolds immediately beneath Carol's gaze.

She feels Zosia's breath catch before she hears it. The subtle rise and fall of her chest falters, rhythm interrupted by something involuntary and impossible to conceal. A tremor passes through her shoulders, delicate as a ripple spreading across still water, and for a moment she seems to forget herself entirely.

Carol watches it happen with quiet fascination.

The reaction is not dramatic. Zosia does not gasp or pull away. Instead, the change is written in smaller places, in the slight tightening of her jaw, in the way her lashes lower for half a heartbeat, in the visible effort it suddenly takes to remain perfectly still.
It is restraint rather than surrender.

Control fraying rather than breaking.

And somehow that makes it infinitely worse.

Or better.
Carol cannot decide.

What she does know is that she cannot look away. The knowledge settles warm and heavy inside her as she watches Zosia attempt to gather herself again, trying to smooth over the crack that had appeared so briefly in her composure. It lasts only seconds, but it is enough. Enough for Carol to see exactly what that innocent touch had done.

Enough for her to realize she is not the only one affected by this.

The realization leaves a slow, dangerous satisfaction unfurling through her chest.

Because the reaction had been immediate.

Visible.

And, to Carol's growing delight, entirely impossible to hide.

Carol has never understood why Zosia enjoys teasing so much.

Now she does. Now she understands completely. It's a powerful thing, having someone's attention and being wanted.

Beside her, Zosia appears to be hanging on by sheer force of will.

Good.

Let her.

Carol's hand drifts lower, sliding in-between Zosia's thighs with agonizing slowness. Zosia's breath hitches and her hands tighten around the steering wheel.

"Carol," she warns, half stern, half wanting. Eyes fluttering shut.

She smiles to herself, her hand pressing firmly against Zosia, heat radiating through her jeans.

"Eyes on the road," Carol says as she rubs Zosia through her jeans. Her lips closing around Zosia's ear lobe.

Zosia presses her foot down harder, the Porsche picking up speed, her thighs tensing around Carol's hand.

Carol takes the opportunity and presses firmer against Zosia, dragging her hand up and down along Zosia. Her lips move further down the side of Zosia's neck, teeth biting playfully.

Zosia is breathing roughly through her nose, her hands latched onto the steering wheel and Carol is all but fingering her over her jeans. Carol smiles against her skin as she feels Zosia slow down to make the turn towards the house.

Carol has every intention of dragging Zosia into that house, peeling her out of her clothes, cuffing her to the bed and not stopping until she can't speak anymore. It's practically making her heart race, the thought of doing so.

The Porsche rolls to a stop and Zosia kills the engine, grabs Carol's face in her hands and pulls her in for a rough, biting kiss.

She grabs the hair at the base of Zosia's neck and pulls roughly, she bites at her jaw, licking the same spot to soothe the skin.

"I'm going to take you inside, and I am going to fuck you now, okay?"

Zosia looks at her, her eyes wide, her mouth parted, she begins to nod her head up and down rapidly, "Yes ma'am."

"Good girl, come" Carol says as she opens the car door and starts making her way to the house. She is certain Zosia will follow her.

She knows her so well after all.

Carol enters the house, kicking off her shoes and dropping her cellphone onto the entryway table. She won't need that for a while. She quickly takes off her jacket, hangs it, and turns to look at Zosia. Zosia closes the front door, locking it and turns around.

"Carol-" Zosia breathes.

"I'm going to strip you out of these clothes, I'm going to cuff your hands to the bed, and then I'm going to fuck you until you scream, understand?"

"Fuck," she says breathlessly.

"Come, and don't lag behind."

They make their way to the bedroom, Carol closing the door and pushing Zosia against the wall. Her mouth is on her in seconds. Her hands at the button of her jeans. "You're always so good to me," she sinks to her knees in front of Zosia, and while she has no intention of letting Zosia finish anytime soon, she loves the look of hope and want in her eyes. "Now let me take care of you. I know exactly what you need, my love. You just need to let go."

Zosia nods, and Carol can hear the audible gulp.

She undoes her jeans, and pulls them down her thighs, pulling her underwear with them. She doesn't pull them down all the way, just enough. She leans forward, and runs her tongue through Zosia's wetness, the taste familiar and welcome. She looks up at Zosia, who's looking down at her, watching her, and she swears she can see the exact moment her legs threaten to give out.

Carol puts a hand around one of her thighs, squeezing, holding her in place. She knows exactly how to touch her, how to lick her, how to fuck her with her tongue. Zosia is a mess above her, trying to hold her composure, but failing miserably. She's moaning, and trying to be quiet, and she's panting and cursing, and her legs are trembling.

She's trying to hold it together.

It's the cutest thing.

Carol takes a breath, and dives back in. She doesn't stop until Zosia is trembling and she's on the brink of an orgasm. When she does, Carol rises to her feet, kissing Zosia softly.

"Take them off."
Zosia hurriedly kicks out of her jeans and pulls her shirt and bra off in one fell swoop.

Carol walks across the room, and opens a dresser drawer, retrieving the handcuffs. She turns around, and Zosia is standing in front of her, naked, beautiful. Her dark hair is messy, her cheeks are flushed, and her pupils are blown. "Such a good obedient girl for me, aren't you?"

"What has gotten into you?" Zosia asks, stalking forward towards her. She reaches out, grabs Carol's hips and, pulls her close. Carol allows it, her hands fastening one cuff to her right wrist.

"I just wanna show you how much I appreciate you. You are always so vigilant, so protective, so aware of my needs. What makes you think I haven't been aware of yours?" Carol pushes her onto the bed, crowding her back towards the headboard.
She begins to lick up Zosia's torso, starting at her navel. Stopping to worship her breasts, before continuing higher, biting lightly at her neck. She grabs Zosia's hands and places them over her head, weaving the cuffs through the headboard and securing her other wrist.

"Let me be in control for once." Carol says, kissing her lightly. "Let me ruin you the way you ruin me."

Carol whispers in her ear, "I don't want you to come yet, can you do that?"

"Yes," Zosia says, "I promise."

Carol moves her mouth down, slowly kissing down Zosia's jaw, neck, chest, and stomach, before licking her from her entrance to her clit.

"Fuck," Zosia whimpers.

"If you break your promise, I will stop, understood?"

"I promise, I won't, just please."

"Please what?"

"Ruin me, Carol."

"You're so desperate for me aren't you?"

"Yes," she gasps, as Carol circles her entrance. "I've been thinking about this all night."

Carol continues her ministrations.

Zosia is a mess beneath her, her legs trembling, her wrists struggling against the restraints. She's panting, and whimpering, and moaning, and Carol hasn't even been at it for more than five minutes.

Zosia is so, so responsive.

Carol loves that about her.

Carol has the upper hand for once, and she is going to enjoy it.

"Tell me what you want."

"You, all of you."

"Then you do as I say."

"Yes, ma'am."

The sight of her is almost too much.

Her chest is heaving, her hips are bucking, her thighs are straining, and her head is thrown back. She is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and her dark hair is spread around her, and Carol has never seen anyone so beautiful in her life.
"Can you not stop staring? I can't take it," Zosia complains, her voice a broken moan.

"No," she says, "because you are stunning. How do you not realize how beautiful you are?"

Zosia gives a helpless sound that goes straight between Carol's legs.

Carol begins to toy with her, her fingers moving in and out of Zosia's entrance, the wetness causing obscene sounds.
Her eyes locked onto Zosia's face. God, she loves her, loves being her fiancé, loves being loved by her, taken care of by her. She just wants to repay her in kind. Zosia lays her down on some nights and every worry in her mind disappears until Carol is satiated and spent. She just wants Zosia to experience that as well. Because she is unsure if she ever has. The giver deserves to be the taker every once in a while.

Carol has two fingers inside her, and Zosia is already on the brink, her walls beginning to flutter around her fingers, and her hips bucking off the bed.

"Not yet," she commands, removing her fingers.

"Jesus, you're killing me," she whines.

"Be a good girl, and I will give you what you want," she says, her lips pressing into Zosia's collarbone.

"I will be, I will," she promises.

"Will you? If I put my fingers back inside you, will you stay still?"

"Yes, yes, just please."

Carol kisses her, her tongue moving against hers as her fingers return. She kisses her for a long time, swallowing every moan, and whimper, and whine. Her own underwear ruined at this point, every moan from Zosia goes straight to her cunt. How on earth could anyone think a love this pure and unadulterated was wrong? She just wants to worship Zosia and that should be allowed. God, to watch her like this is heaven on earth. She could get off simply watching. Now she understands why Zosia never takes her eyes off her when the roles are reversed.

"Zosia, you're perfect."

"Please, let me, I can't," Zosia cries out, her walls beginning to flutter around Carol's fingers.

"Go ahead, sweetheart, come for me."

The reaction is immediate, and gorgeous.

"Oh fuck, Carol."

Her walls tighten around her, and she's coming hard, and trembling.

"You are so good, you're so good, Zosia. I'm going to take the cuffs off, but I need you to roll onto your stomach for me."

"Okay," she whimpers.

"That's it," she says, removing the cuffs and rubbing her wrists.

She moves her hand down Zosia's spine, stopping at her lower back, and running her hand over her ass, and back up. "Do you want me inside you again?"

"Yes, please."

Carol licks her fingers, and presses them to her entrance. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," Zosia moans, her body moving against her fingers, "please, fuck me."

"God, I love hearing you beg for me," Carol says, as she enters her again, "you're so hot, and wet, and perfect, and I could just spend the entire day fucking you. Your cunt is so tight, and warm, and soft. Can you tell how much I want you?"

Zosia responds with a strangled, broken sob.

"Can you tell how much I want to ruin you?"

"Yes."

"You are mine, and I am yours."

"Yes," Zosia nods her head vigorously, "yes, always, all yours."

"Who owns this body, who can make you come undone?"

"You, only you."

"Who do you belong to?"

"Carol," she gasps.

Carol is moving her fingers slowly, in and out of her, curling them, brushing her thumb against her clit, and Zosia is a trembling mess.

"Please, faster, harder, something."

Carol pulls out of Zosia and stands from the bed, a sob escaping from Zosia.

Carol begins to slowly remove her clothes. Her eyes never leaving Zosia's.

"I want you so bad that I can barely breathe sometimes. I spend every waking moment thinking of you." She circles the bed and opens Zosia's nightstand, pulling out the strap.

Zosia goes rigid, "Carol, I don't-"

Carol wants nothing more than to rail Zosia right now, it's like a switch has flipped inside her. That meeting changed her. Zosia fucking her in the woods changed her.

"Do you trust me?"

Zosia gulps and nods her head, "Yes."

"Don't fight it, just relax."

Carol crawls onto the bed, urging Zosia to lay on her side, her knees bent at an angle. God, she has a great ass, Carol thinks as she kneels next to her. She reaches out, grabbing Zosia's hip and pulling her backwards until her ass is resting on her lap. "Relax."

"I won't hurt you, sweetheart, trust me, okay?"

Zosia gives a short nod.

Carol's hands wander across her hips, and her waist, and her back, and her arms. She massages her shoulders and neck, and the muscles along her spine.

"That's it, good girl."

Zosia shudders.

"I'm going to take it slow, and if you want me to stop, tell me, okay?"

"Okay," Zosia mumbles.

Carol gently guides the strap-on along her folds, coating the length with her wetness.

"I've never been the one fucked, Carol, I have always done the fucking."

"Who else have you fucked Zosia?"

Carol is teasing her, but the thought of her fucking other women makes her even wetter.

She nudges Zosia's knees further apart, her cunt spreading open. Carol slides the head of the strap through Zosia's wetness again. "Who else can fuck you like me?"

Zosia's breath hitches.

"No answer, huh? I guess I'll just have to prove myself."

She leans over her, and presses a kiss to her shoulder. Her hands roam her back and sides, her mouth trailing kisses and bites along her neck.

"Carol, please."

"Please what, Zosia?"

"Just do it, God," she groans.

"You're so fucking hot," Carol says, her breath against her neck.

She reaches between her thighs and positions the head of the cock at her entrance, and slowly begins to push into her.

"God, you're tight, and warm, and perfect. You feel so good."

"Please," Zosia whispers, her head tilting back.

Carol's hands wander down her back, and along her hips.

"Look at you, my pretty girl."

Zosia lets out a frustrated moan.

"Patience, baby."

"I'm not used to being patient," she breathes.

"You're going to learn," Carol says, leaning over her. Her lips find her jaw and her neck, her hands cupping her breasts.

"Are you going to teach me, ma'am?"

"What was that, sweetheart?"

"Are you going to teach me how to be patient, ma'am?"

"Damn it," Carol groans.

"Do I make you nervous, ma'am?"

"Yeah, you're killing me, Zosia."

"I just wanted to be a good girl for you, ma'am."

"Jesus fucking Christ, are you trying to make me come right now?"

"Maybe, is it working?"

"A little bit, yeah."

Zosia arches her back, her ass grinding into Carol.

"Oh, fuck."

"You're enjoying yourself aren't you?"

"Zosia," she chokes, "fuck."

"Does this mean I'm not the only one who's a slut?"

"What did you say to me?"

"Nothing, ma'am," she smiles, her face turning toward the pillows, "You're the only one who fucks me, the only one who has ever made me feel this good."

Zosia looks over her shoulder, with that determination in her eyes, now it's a competition, who can last longer? "You're the best fuck I've ever had." She says reaching her hand back and cupping Carol's cheek.

"You're the best I've ever had." Carol says between gritted teeth.

"Show me," Zosia dares her.

"Fine, brace yourself, sweetheart."

She grabs Zosia's hips, and thrusts forward.

"Fuck."

"Feel good?"

"Mmm, fuck," she pants.

"Too much?"

"No, no, keep going, it feels good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Zosia pants, her body rolling into hers.

"Your ass is so perfect, Jesus."

"Shut up, I'm trying to focus."

"On what, being a good girl?"

"Stop talking, just keep going, please."

"As you wish, beautiful."

Carol is kissing her, and touching her, and thrusting into her, and whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

"You're so perfect, your body is perfect, I can't get enough of you, I could do this forever."

"Jesus, Carol," she breathes.

"That's it, baby, don't fight it, let me take care of you. Do you want me to be gentle or rough?"

Zosia smiles "Can you be rough?"

Carol takes it as a challenge. Now she really isn't going to be gentle or let her come anytime soon. She is going to push Zosia until she can't talk anymore.

"If you can still ask questions, then I'm not doing it right."

"Carol-"

Carol grabs Zosia's hips and pulls her flush. She knows this is going to take hours and multiple positions because they're both stubborn as shit.

"Do you need a safe word, baby girl?" Carol asks as her hips roll against Zosia, dragging the strap on deliciously through her.

"Mmm, no, just give it your all."

Carol grabs Zosia by her shoulders and pushes her down, her chest and face pressing into the mattress. She brings her hand down on her ass, a red handprint blooming across her cheek.

"Holy shit," Zosia moans, her hand grasping at the sheets.

"Tell me if you want to stop."

"I don't, keep going."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Spread your legs."

Zosia does, her body shifting slightly.

"Good girl, see, you can follow directions."

"Fuck, Carol."

Carol runs her hand down her spine, and over her ass, squeezing and groping her, before settling on her hip.

"Let go," Carol says, rolling her hips slowly, taking it slow.

"God, please," she pants, "just don't stop."

"Shhh, don't rush this, enjoy it."

"I can't, it feels too good."

"That's the point."

"You're going to make me come again."

"If you think you're coming again before I'm done with you, then you are sadly mistaken."

"Carol, I can't-"

"Yes, you can, sweetheart, trust me."

"Please, please."

"I've got you, I've always got you."

Carol begins moving, the strap-on sliding slowly in and out of her, her hips rolling into Zosia's. Her hands wandering her back and shoulders, and her lips kissing the back of her neck and along her spine. Zosia's eyes fall shut and she presses her face into the pillows, a deep moan escaping her throat. Carol looks down and lets a stream of spit fall onto the strap as it slides in and out of Zosia.

Her hand reaches around and finds Zosia's clit, swollen and wanting.

"Oh, fuck," she whimpers.

"You're doing so well, baby."

"It feels so good, Carol, I'm not gonna last."

"Let go, Zosia."

Zosia does, and her body tenses and releases, a broken sob escaping her as she trembles.

"There you go, that's it, just like that," Carol says, her hand rubbing Zosia's back.

Carol pulls out and latches her mouth onto Zosia, her tongue lapping up every drop from Zosia.

Zosia is shaking and panting, her hand grabbing at the sheets, and her thighs clenching, and her back arching.

"Good, baby," Carol says, her tongue circling her clit, "you did so well, such a good girl."

Zosia whines.

Carol's hands grasp Zosia's ass, kneading and caressing the smooth skin.

"Fuck, Carol."

"I'm not done with you yet."

"I can't take anymore."

"You can, trust me."

"Where the fuck did this side of you come from?"

"You, you did this to me."

"How?"

"I don't know, I just want to make you feel good. I want to make you feel how you make me feel."

She flips Zosia onto her back and lines up with her entrance again, bringing her legs up and holding them against her chest.

"God, look at you."

Zosia is beautiful, and naked, and spread open before her, and Carol wants nothing more than to take her time. To worship her.

"Carol," she protests, her fingers curling into the bedding.

"Shhh, patience."

"This isn't fair."

"Trust me."

"You're driving me crazy."

"Good, I want you desperate, I want you begging, I want you on the verge of tears."

"Fuck," Zosia groans. "Carol, please."

Carol holds Zosia's legs against her chest and spits onto her already wet sex, enjoying the view of it sliding down the Zosia's entrance. "God, Zosia, look at you." Carol leans down and begins to lick at Zosia biting her clit playfully. Zosia's hands come to rest against Carol's head.

"Keep your hands where they are, sweetheart."

"Please."

Carol continues, her tongue running up and down her, before returning to her clit, sucking and biting the sensitive skin. Zosia is a trembling mess, her back arching, and her hips grinding into Carol's face, her thighs tensing, and her breath ragged.

"Do you want me inside you again?"

"Yes, please, please, I want you, please."

"What do you want, baby?"

"I want you inside me, I want you to fuck me, I want you, Carol."

Carol lines the cock up with her entrance, her gaze never leaving Zosia's.

"Who does this belong to?"

"You."

Carol slams into Zosia with no mercy, straight to the hilt. Her hand comes up and rests against Zosia's throat squeezing lightly, her eyes locked onto Zosia's. "I love being yours, I love belonging to you my pretty girl." She says into Zosia's ear.

Carol fucks her like she owns her, hard, and rough, and fast. Her fingers are digging into her hips, and her teeth are biting and sucking along her neck and chest, and her nails are scraping along her spine and ribs.

She's not gentle, and neither is Zosia. Her nails are scratching and clawing at Carol's back, and her teeth are biting at her collarbone and shoulders, and her legs are wrapped tightly around her, pulling her deeper, urging her to fuck her harder.

Zosia's moaning and panting, and swearing, and saying her name over and over and over.

"Carol, God, Carol, don't stop, please."

And her voice is strained, and her words are desperate, and her body is trembling, and her back is arching, and her hands are pulling at her hair, and her legs are shaking.

She's so beautiful.
And she's so close.

"Tell me, sweetheart," Carol whispers, her mouth brushing against Zosia's ear, "are you mine?"

"Yes, yes, always."

"Are you going to come for me?"

"Yes, God, please, Carol, let me."

"Come for me, baby."

"Fuck," she cries, her entire body tensing, her hips bucking wildly, and her hands clawing desperately at the sheets.

"Good girl," Carol says, her lips pressed to the base of Zosia's throat. "I love you."

"Oh God, Carol."

"I've got you, baby," she whispers, her lips brushing against the shell of Zosia's ear.

Zosia's nails dig into Carol's back, her hand latched onto the hair at the nape of Carol's neck. Her body shaking, holding onto Carol for dear life.

"Please, don't stop, please, I can't," she pleads, her head falling back and her hips rising to meet Carol's.

"God, you're beautiful, I love you, I love you so much."

"Carol," she gasps, her back arching, her body pressing against Carol's.

"You're so perfect, my perfect girl."

"Oh God, please."

"Tell me, baby, tell me what you want, what you need, what you're feeling."

"I'm not," she whimpers, her breath ragged, her fingers tugging at the roots of Carol's hair.

"Not what, not enough? Not ready? Not satisfied? What do you want, sweetheart, tell me."

"More, God, more, I'm not, I need."

"What do you need, baby?"

"You, God, Carol, fuck, I'm not-"

Zosia can't think straight and God if that doesn't spur Carol on. Such an insatiable little thing she has on her hands.

Carol licks her thumb and places it at the base of the strap, opening Zosia wider. Pressing against the back wall of her vagina. She slides in two fingers and massages her as the strap moves in and out. Her other hand grabs slick from her own sex and hovers above Zosia's mouth. "Lick."

Zosia moans at the taste of Carol in her mouth.

The strap hits her deeper than before and Zosia's eyes roll back. She reaches down and rubs her clit, her whole body moving up and down on the mattress.

"Not yet," Carol commands. She removes her hand from Zosia's mouth and moves it between her legs. Zosia's body shakes uncontrollably as her orgasm approaches. "Now, come for me again," Carol says and Zosia arches her back, her muscles tense, and a scream erupts from deep in her chest.

Carol smiles and slows her thrusts. She brushes a strand of damp hair away from Zosia's forehead and kisses her softly.

"You are incredible," Carol whispers against Zosia's lips.

"So are you," Zosia breathes out. She's still trembling, her breathing shallow and ragged.

"How are you feeling?" Carol asks, stroking Zosia's cheek with her thumb.

"Amazing," Zosia sighs.

"Good." Carol kisses her again and rolls off her. "You need a shower," she says, looking up at the ceiling.

"So do you," Zosia replies, propping herself up on one elbow and looking down at Carol. "Do you want to join me?"

Carol turns to face Zosia and raises her eyebrows. "Of course."

Zosia grins.

◆◆◆◆◆

Zosia is fully satiated and pleased with herself after having seen that side of Carol. God, she's so sexy. But Zosia wants to get her lick back. Even if Carol can only handle one orgasm after her amazing effort.

She stands and takes the strap off Carol, throwing it into the sink. She pulls the shower curtain open and steps inside. Turning on the hot water, she leans back against the wall, letting the stream cascade over her closing her eyes and smiling.

Carol watches her for a moment before stepping into the shower. She wraps her arms around Zosia's waist and presses her lips to her neck. "You are so beautiful," she murmurs, kissing her way down Zosia's chest.

"So are you," Zosia whispers, sliding her hand into Carol's hair and pulling her closer.

"I love you," Carol says, moving her hands along Zosia's skin.

"I love you, too," Zosia replies, sighing happily as Carol's lips latch onto her throat. "I love when you take control." Zosia turns Carol around toward the wall. "I have taught you well."

Her mouth kissing the scratches she left on Carol's back. "I remember thinking how you would sound when I used to watch you through your apartment window. How well you would take me. Never once did I think the tables would be reversed."

"It's a good look for you."

"And a good look for you." She runs a hand down her spine and rests it on her lower back.

"Carol, baby" Zosia purrs. "I am not a patient person."

"Neither am I."

Zosia laughs. "Oh really? I couldn't tell."

Carol leans forward and rests her forehead on the cool tiles.

"You like it when I call you that," Zosia whispers, running her fingertips up and down Carol's inner thigh.

"Yes."

"Baby," she says, her voice low and husky.

"God, I love you," Carol groans.

Zosia's fingers travel lower, stroking her gently.

"You're so wet."

"Yes. I liked controlling you and taking you from behind." Carol says over her shoulder.

"I'm going to fuck you now, baby. And I think you deserve a reward for that fine performance in there." Zosia says as her fingers run along Carol's sex and stop at her ass.

Carol closes her eyes and exhales slowly. She leans back against Zosia and relaxes.

Zosia trails her fingers along Carol's thighs, then runs them over her ass and back up to her sex.

"Oh," Carol moans, her body trembling.

"Does that feel good?" Zosia asks, rubbing her fingers across Carol's entrance.

"Yes," she pants.

"Good."

Zosia circles her clit slowly, then presses against it with her palm, drawing a soft gasp from Carol. She kisses down Carol's back and kneels behind her, pushing her right leg higher onto the shower ledge. She grabs Carol's ass and spreads her open, her tongue finding her wanting and waiting.

Zosia licks from Carol's clit to her ass, toying with her. Her fingers sliding into Carol's pussy. She has every intention of reminding Carol who the boss is, but she will be nice about it. Only Zosia can make Carol scream as she comes and she just wants to hear it again.

Carol's hands brace against the wall. Her hips rocking in time with Zosia's mouth.

"Don't stop, oh God, please," she cries out.

Zosia pushes her tongue into Carol's cunt. Her fingers finding her clit. Rubbing faster. Harder. Faster.

"That's it, baby," Zosia breathes, her lips grazing the underside of Carol's clit.

Carol's body tenses, her muscles contracting, her nails scratching the tile. She bites her lip and moans, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Zosia licks, sucks, and nibbles, her fingers pumping faster.

All of the sudden, the doorbell rings and Carol freezes, pulling her leg off the ledges. Fuck off, Zosia thinks. She wraps her arms around Carol's thighs and holds her flush against her mouth. Eating in earnest now.

"Fuck, I'm going to come, oh God, Zosia, please," Carol cries. Her voice echoing in the shower.

"Let me hear you," Zosia whispers, her breath warm against Carol's skin.

"Yes, oh fuck, yes."

"Let go, baby," she purrs, licking up and down her slit.

"I'm going to, fuck, I'm almost, please, Zosia, please," Carol begs, her legs trembling.

"That's it," Zosia says, her voice vibrating through Carol.

"Oh, oh God, yes."

Zosia slides two fingers into Carol's dripping cunt, stroking her, sucking on her clit.

Carol is always loud and Zosia loves every moment of it, who cares if the person at the door hears. Carol begins to grind down onto her face, this is Zosia's favorite position to be in. She could live here forever.

"I'm so close, Zosia, please, please," Carol says, her voice thick with desperation.

"Come for me, baby," she whispers.

"Yes, oh God, yes, I'm going to," Carol cries, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Her hips buck forward and her muscles contract, her back arching and her toes curling.

"Yes," she moans, her body shuddering, her nails digging into the tile.

"God, you're so hot," Zosia says, her fingers still inside Carol.

She turns Carol around and hooks her leg over her shoulder. She sets a brutal pace. In and out of Carol. "Zosia, I-"

The doorbell rings again.

"Fuck." Carol says, panting.

"Just ignore it," Zosia says, licking her lips.

Carol reaches down and grabs her hand, pulling it away. "I can't, they're probably getting impatient."

"Then let them get impatient. Be a good girl and come on me."

"Zosia," Carol whimpers, her legs shaking. She leans her head back and lets out a guttural moan.

Zosia pushes her fingers into Carol and curls them upward.

"Oh, God, yes, Zosia, fuck."

"That's it, baby."

Carol's body trembles and her eyes roll back in her head. "Oh, God, Zosia, fuck," she gasps.

Zosia strokes her clit, her fingers buried deep inside her.

"I'm gonna, fuck Zosia, I'm gonna."

"Do it, baby, right into my mouth."

The scene unfolding is hot and intense and Zosia is giddy at the thought of Carol squirting in her mouth. Fuck the person at the door. The world has narrowed to just Carol and her pleasure.

"I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming."

"That's it, baby, come for me, let it all out."

A gush of liquid flows into Zosia's mouth. She smiles against Carol as she swallows it all and continues to coax it out of Carol.

Carol's hands claw at her hair, her hips bucking wildly, her body quaking.

Zosia pulls her fingers out of Carol and stands, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"Good girl," she says, her lips pressed to the base of Carol's throat. Holding her upright, taking all of her body weight as she convulses, her thighs twitching.

She takes a few deep breaths and rests her forehead against Zosia's cheek. Letting the orgasm fade. The pleasure immeasurable.

"I love you," she breathes, her eyes half-lidded and her voice thick with exhaustion.

"I love you, too."

Zosia brushes her hair out of her face and kisses her softly.

"You are the best, the most patient, the sweetest," she says, kissing her forehead.

"And you are the most incredible woman I have ever known," Zosia replies.

The doorbell rings again.

◆◆◆◆◆

Carol is out of the shower and in a robe, before the knocking begins.

Not a polite knock.

Not a normal knock.

The sort of knock that suggests either someone has died or someone is here and means business. Three rings and a knock together are usually not good news.

Carol freezes halfway down the hallway.

Her damp hair hangs loose around her shoulders. One of Zosia's oversized sweaters swallows her frame almost completely, sleeves extending past her hands. The lingering heat from the shower still clings to her skin, leaving her feeling pleasantly boneless and entirely unprepared for visitors.

Behind her, Zosia stops too.

The knocking comes again.

Harder.

More urgent.

"Open the damn door!"

Manny.

Of course.

Carol closes her eyes briefly.

Somewhere in the universe, there must be a cosmic force dedicated exclusively to ensuring she and Zosia never enjoy uninterrupted privacy.

The pounding continues.

"Carol!"

Another knock.

"Zosia!"

A third.

Then Manny's voice rises through the front door loud enough to rattle the glass.

"I know you're in there! They could probably hear you all the way in Bangor!"

Carol folds forward before she can stop herself.

Laughter escapes her in a sudden helpless burst, her forehead nearly dropping against the banister as she tries and completely fails to regain control of herself.

Beside her, Zosia looks moments away from committing an actual felony.

The transformation is almost impressive.

One second she is standing in the hallway dripping shower water onto hardwood floors.

The next she looks prepared to bury Manny somewhere in the Blackwater woods and never speak of it again.

"Manny."

The single word leaves her mouth like a threat.

The knocking stops.

For approximately two seconds.

Then resumes.

Louder.

More determined.

As though he has interpreted Zosia's obvious irritation as encouragement.

"Carol, I swear to God, if you don't get down here in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to break down this door."

Carol closes her eyes.

Somewhere in the universe there must exist a force dedicated exclusively to preventing her and Zosia from ever enjoying uninterrupted privacy.

"If you'll excuse me," she says, already turning toward the stairs.

Behind her, Zosia mutters something sharp and deeply unfriendly in Polish.

Carol only catches about three words.

That is more than enough.

The threat level seems substantial.

The trip down the stairs feels absurdly normal considering the circumstances. The house is still warm from the shower. Her hair is still damp. Her pulse is still refusing to settle. Yet by the time she reaches the front door she already knows that whatever brought Manny here must be important.

Manny does not interrupt people's evenings without a reason.

Well.

Not usually.

When she finally pulls the door open, he nearly stumbles inside.

The man is carrying three coffees balanced precariously in one hand and a folder tucked beneath the other arm. His hair is windblown. His cheeks are red from the cold. And his expression is so bright with excitement that Carol immediately knows nobody is dead.

Bad news never makes Manny look like that.

His gaze moves over her.

Then past her.

To Zosia.

Then back to Carol.

Then, unfortunately, toward the second floor.

A grin spreads slowly across his face.

Carol points at him immediately.

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"Oh, I absolutely was."

"Don't."

Manny sighs dramatically.

The sound carries the suffering of a man who has just been denied one of life's greatest pleasures.

Then, almost instantly, the excitement returns.

"Oh my God, okay, fine. No comments. Listen."

He thrusts one of the coffees toward her.

The cup nearly slips from her hands.

"You are not going to believe this."

Carol accepts it automatically.

Still damp.

Still exhausted.

Still very much wishing he had arrived at literally any other point in the evening.

"What happened?"

For a moment Manny simply stares at her.

Then his grin widens.

"The department voted."

Carol blinks.

"The department voted for what?"

"The chief position."

The words land strangely.

Not dramatic.

Not explosive.

Just unexpected enough that her brain seems unwilling to process them.

For a second nobody moves.

Not Carol.

Not Zosia.

Not even Manny.

Then Carol laughs.

Short.

Disbelieving.

"Manny."

"No."

"Manny."

"No, seriously."

Something shifts.

The smile begins slipping from Carol's face.

Because Manny isn't joking.

For perhaps the first time in recorded human history, he is completely serious.

"The deputies voted this afternoon."

The excitement remains in his voice, but something else has joined it now.

Something quieter.

Something proud.

"Every single one of them."

The hallway suddenly feels very small.

Outside, fog presses softly against the windows.

Inside, Carol becomes aware of her own heartbeat.

Slow.

Heavy.

Uncertain.

"What are you talking about?"

Manny laughs softly.

The sound shakes his shoulders.

"They made you chief, idiot."

Chief.

The title hits harder than she expects.

Chief!?

For several long seconds she simply stands there staring at him.

Unable to speak.

Unable to think.

The position feels impossibly large.

Like something meant for somebody else.

Someone older.

Someone wiser.

Someone who has everything figured out.

Then again, most of the people she had worked under certainly hadn't qualified on that front.

The thought almost makes her smile.

Manny steps closer.

"The vote wasn't even close."

This time there is no joking.

No teasing.

No sarcasm.

Only certainty.

"They trust you."

The statement settles somewhere deep.

Far deeper than the promotion itself.

Because that is what matters.

Not the office.

Not the title.

The trust.

The people who stood beside her through everything.

Helen.

The investigations.

The corruption.

The violence.

The chaos.

The mistakes.

The victories.

All of it.

And somehow, after everything, they had chosen her.

A hand settles against the small of her back.

Zosia.

Carol doesn't need to turn around.

She already knows what she will find if she does.

Pride.

Unfiltered and absolute.

The kind of pride that leaves a person's eyes shining.

The realization nearly undoes her.

Manny notices immediately.

His grin softens.

"Yeah."

For once his voice is gentle.

"I know."

The hallway falls quiet.

No jokes.

No smartass comments.

No attempts to break the moment.

Just honesty.

"They picked the right person."

For a long moment nobody says anything.

The silence feels full rather than empty.

The kind of silence people sit inside when something important changes.

Then Manny clears his throat.

Very loudly.

Carol immediately narrows her eyes.

Manny glances upstairs.

Then at Carol.

Then at Zosia.

Then upstairs again.

The grin returns.

"Oh wow."

"Manny."

"You two are absolutely not listening to another word I say."

"Manny."

"You both have the exact same look."

"Manny."

"I am leaving."

He points dramatically at Carol.

"You."

Then at Zosia.

"You."

Then toward the staircase.

"You are both disgusting."

Despite herself, Carol laughs.

Manny backs away toward the door, still shaking his head.

"Invest in some soundproofing."

The front door opens.

Fog instantly spills in around him.

He pauses on the threshold.

Looks back one final time.

And smiles.

"Chief."

The title still sounds strange.

Wonderful.

Terrifying.

Before Carol can respond, Manny disappears into the night.

The door closes behind him.

Silence settles over the house once more.

For several seconds neither woman moves.

Then Carol turns.

Slowly.

Looking at Zosia.

At the smile waiting there.

The certainty.

The pride.

The love.

And suddenly the title feels a little less impossible.

"I am very proud of you my love." Zosia says, her lips finding Carol's cheek.

Zosia grabs the back of her robe and starts pulling her back toward the stairs, "Chief Sturka, would you like to play with the handcuffs some more?"

Carol laughs and begins chasing her up the stairs.

She pushes her down on the bed, her robe falling open.

"You have the right to remain silent, young lady."

Carol laughs as she crawls on top of Zosia, her mouth finding her neck while Zosia laughs beneath her.

"God, I can't wait to marry you."

"Is that so, Ms. Borowska?"

"Yes, Chief Sturka."